So the boy was still insisting on being stubborn. Very well. Perhaps teasing and denying him pleasure was the way to break this one.
"It will be hard to lose him," Carrick agreed. "But I've found that mortal slave boys are like flowers in the garden of the world; they bloom for a season, their beauty fades, they shrivel and die. But there will always be more."
The angel's words struck home harder than Carrick was willing to show. The pain of losing Russell to old age was something that had weighed on his mind ever since the night he had shown his lover the shrine where he kept his ancient armour. Hermes' aging or his eventual death had not yet crossed his mind. Samandriel was right. He would mourn the boy, and mourn him bitterly.
That bitterness coloured the next series of spanks, which were brutally hard, turning the soft skin white before it reddened further.
"The longer you resist me, the longer it will be before I allow you any release tonight," he warned.
He began to caress and stroke Samandriel's cock once more with his left hand, while his right worked over the puckered entrance to the angel's body. His low voice was throbbing with mingled desire and anger.
"Submit,Samandriel. Beg me to take you. Kneel, and crawl to me. Lick my boots and plead for me to use you. Tell me everything you long for me to do to you. Then I'll fuck you harder than you've ever known, and you'll come so hard that you'll weep with thanks."