Giant hands cup Noah’s plump stomach, exploring as much as teasing. He tilts his head into the client’s muscled shoulder, sighing as he spreads his legs across broad, leather-clad thighs.
“You said this was your first time at the Palace?” he asks, eyes darting around the room. Madame had graciously allowed him the use of the gold suite, large enough to fit a full-size bed, a chaise lounge, and an armoire stuffed with costumes for more discerning guests.
“Mm,” comes the deep grunt over Noah’s shoulder.
He’s spent all of seven minutes in his client’s presence—a stocky minotaur with rosy, maple fur—and Noah has ascertained he’s as quiet as he is large. He’s not shy with his touch, though he’d yet to actually ask for anything. Noah had simply taken a seat on his lap as soon as the client had sat down on the edge of the bed.
The rules are explained to all guests before the Palace’s consorts ever meet them, so the bull knows he can touch—and he does, without hesitation, pulling Noah tighter against his broad chest.
“So,” Noah says, moving his shoulders as if to make himself more comfortable. “What sort of night were you hoping for?”
A puff of breath breaks through the material of his chiton, right at the top of his spine, but the bull doesn’t give him an answer. It’s strange to not have this conversation face to face, and after a moment of silence, Noah cranes his neck to make eye contact. Doesn’t hurt he finds the minotaur handsome with his round face, black spirals for horns, and deep-set eyes that seem to carry a certain sadness.
“How about we start with a name?” Noah asks gently. “Doesn’t have to be your real one, just something I can call you.”
“Tyr,” the bull says after a beat.
“Alright. Tyr it is.” Noah smiles, using the moment to rearrange himself, facing Tyr but remaining in his lap. “You’ve no need to be shy about what you’re looking for. I’ve met all types and seen all sorts.” He places his hands on Tyr’s chest, trying not to stare too long at the swell of his pecs. “What do you like?”
“I want…” Tyr’s heavy hands once again find Noah’s waist, thumbs caressing his skin. “I want you to teach me,” he whispers, as if someone might be listening in the corridor outside.
“Teach you what?”
“How to, ah…” Tyr lowers his eyes. “How to please you.”
Noah presses his lips together to suppress a giggle—not that he’d be laughing at his guest; he certainly wasn’t the first client who’d wanted to give Noah pleasure instead of the other way around. “Wouldn’t you rather I please you?” he asks, holding gentleness in his voice as he slowly rubs Tyr’s chest.
Tyr huffs and shakes his head. “Madame recommended you after I explained what I was looking for.”
“And what are you looking for?”
“Someone with, ah, experience, and…” Noah finds Tyr’s blush insatiable. “I am not sure how to say it. I do not wish to offend.”
“You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to.” Noah cups the bull’s silky cheek. “So long as I’m what you’re looking for.”
Tyr closes his eyes before he nods.
“Good.” Noah gives one last caress of his thumb before he lowers his hand. “I find you very handsome, Tyr.” He once again places both palms on the bull’s chest. “I enjoy being with men like yourself with such large—” Noah rolls his hips to confirm the stiffness beneath him. “—laps.”
Tyr’s nostrils flare as his pupils swell.
“I want you to be gentle at first,” Noah continues. “Not as if I’ll break. Soft but firm. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“Good. Undress me.”
There isn’t much to work with, just the loosely knotted chiton, but Tyr gathers the thin material in his hands as if cupping water to drink, pulling it over Noah’s head without any snags. He drapes it over the bed next to them, not taking his eyes off Noah’s revealed body.
“Very good,” Noah murmurs. “Extra points for not throwing it on the floor.”
Tyr’s brows narrow. “That would be rude.”
“Mm.” Noah places his hands on Tyr’s shoulders and pulls himself forward. “I find good manners very attractive as well.” He presses himself against Tyr’s warm chest, reveling at the bull’s round belly flush against his own. “Would you like to touch me some more?”
“Yes,” Tyr whispers, pressing his palms into Noah’s back. “I like it—touching you. I like it very much.”
Sweet thing, Noah thinks as he licks his lips. “What else do you like about me?” He drapes one arm over Tyr’s shoulder, faintly rocking his hips.
“You’re soft,” Tyr mumbles, his gaze briefly meeting Noah’s. “And your eyes are pretty.”
Gods. Noah’s cheeks burn, even though it’s probably the least salacious comment he’s ever heard about himself. “You’re being entirely too polite for the Palace.”
“I think you prefer talking with your hands, don’t you?” Noah rubs one of Tyr’s wide wrists. “You can touch me wherever you want.”
Tyr’s eyes widen at that, his fat pupils endless and deep as he drags his fingers along Noah’s spine. He cups Noah’s shoulder blades before bringing his hands around, fingers hovering short of Noah’s chest.
Noah stretches his arms behind him, bracing himself against Tyr’s knees as he pushes out his chest. “As I said,” he murmurs. “Anywhere.”
Tyr’s hands blanket Noah’s chest, an entire thumb eclipsing a nipple as he rubs it stiff. He pinches it between two fingers, tweaking and pulling until Noah’s mouth drops open in a silent moan. He reaches out and cups the back of Tyr’s head, drawing it forward.
Tyr dips his chin and gives one of Noah’s nipples a cautious lick, the tip of his tongue darting out like he’s not sure he’s allowed.
Tyr’s thick tongue slithers out, so strong that the first long lick drags one of Noah’s tits along before it bounces back into place. And the sensation… Noah’s never felt anything like it, as if Tyr’s tongue is lined with a thousand tiny bumps, aiding friction as he licks Noah’s nipples raw.
He stops the minotaur with a firm hand around one of his horns. “That’s… quite enough of that,” he whispers.
Tyr tips his head back, concern in his eyes. “You do not like it?”
“Oh, I do,” Noah purrs. “That tongue of yours is something else.” He rakes his nails through the short mane across Tyr’s head. “Perhaps put to better use elsewhere.”
He hears Tyr gulp before nodding, and those broad hands slip under Noah’s ass and hoist him around, tipping him back-first onto the bed. Noah is already wet from the mere thought of what that tongue would feel like against his cunt, his cock; if it was strong enough to slip inside and fuck him.
Tyr’s head fits comfortably between Noah’s thighs, and he tries not to squirm as short tufts of hair tickle his skin. He sucks in a breath as Tyr noses between his legs, inhaling him deep like he’s savoring it. He’s not fully prepared when the long tongue traces up his slit and flattens over his cock, his back arching with it as if it’s dragging him with it.
Noah’s head falls back as Tyr licks him again, shoving him somewhere between agony and bliss. “Yes, gods, that’s it, right there—” Tyr presses his entire tongue against Noah’s cunt as he laps, catching Noah’s cock with each pass.
Noah yelps when Tyr’s big hands suddenly cup his ass, angling his hips and pulling his legs off the bed. His entire lower half rises higher than his head as Tyr devours him, the tip of his tongue dipping deeper inside Noah’s hole like he’s chasing the taste of him. Noah’s toes curl mid-air, his legs trembling as he plants both palms flat on the bed linens.
“Fuck me with your tongue,” Noah gasps out. “I need it—inside me, please.”
Tyr hums deep in his throat, the only warning Noah gets before the thick tongue pushes deeper inside with tentative thrusts. His hands tilt Noah closer by his hips, gradually meeting each thrust of his tongue until Noah feels like he’s little more than a ragdoll.
He’s never felt anything like it, not in all his time at the Palace. His nails curl into the sheets, the heat of their movements slicking his fingers with sweat. Then Tyr’s tongue shifts, curving and spearing deeper inside him, enough to make the ceiling disappear as his eyes roll back. Tingling pleasure shoots up his arm as he raises it, vicing his fingers around his cock as he strokes himself.
Words leave him in drawn-out moans as Tyr fucks him through a bursting orgasm, his lower half going numb, partly from pulsing ecstasy and redistribution of blood flow. His legs and feet feel needle-tender as Tyr slowly withdraws and lowers him to the bed.
His hand slides from between his legs across his sweaty stomach, plopping on the bed next to him. He gazes up at Tyr through hooded eyes, forcing a tired smile. “Now, then. What other lessons can I interest you in?”