Carrick thrust forward harder and deeper, pressing the slave's back harder against the wall, pulling the slave down onto his cock with every thrust. He impaled the boy brutally hard even as his lips sought yet more deep, heated kisses.
"You are," he gasped, nipping at the slave's lower lip. "My perfect boy."
The scent of fae blood was overwhelming. Carrick felt himself trembling on the edge of climax, the combination of Hermes; tightness and the worshipful, desperate words that fell from his slave's lips almost too much pleasure to bear.
He let his fangs flick out once more and sank them into the smooth, bare flesh where the slave's neck met his shoulder. He cried out, his hips pumping wildly as his climax hit him, and he emptied himself deep inside the slave even as the sweet, luscious lifeforce of the boy he had come to love surged through him.