Makara jumped at the words, though he quickly took a deep breath to settle himself. No. No more Afron. He fluffed out his hair, gathered his courage around him, and went to tell Afron to leave. He stopped on the balcony and perched himself on the rail, trying to look nonchalant as he pretended to ignore the throng of noise rising up from the ground floor.
He ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips as the barbarian sauntered through the lobby below. Even from this distance, the foreigner's musky male scent filled Makara's nostrils. Or perhaps he just imagined it did. Either way, he drew in a long, lingering breath through his nose and held it in until his chest hurt. He let the breath out slowly, cocked his eyebrow as the barbarian's head lifted and that violet gaze locked on him. Makara shivered. He toyed with the ruffles of his shirt as the barbarian mounted the stairs, eyes intent on him.
Afron gestured to the hallway behind Makara.
Makara folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin. "Didn't I make myself clear last time?"
Afron nodded. "I heard your words."
"I meant them."
"Just like you meant them the time before that? Or the time before that?" Afron chuckled and shook his head, took a step closer.
"Unless you have some other business here" -- and Makara had no idea what that could be -- "or some issue to discuss, I suggest you leave."
"There is much to discuss." Afron grunted and nodded down the hall again. "But talk can wait. I cannot."
Makara suppressed another shiver -- though just barely -- and slid down from the railing. He shook his head. "I told you--"
Afron closed the distance between them in two strides of those powerful legs. He fisted his hands in Makara's shirt and ripped it open, pushed Makara back against the railing, and claimed Makara's lips in a crushing, bruising kiss that gave more pain than pleasure and said in no uncertain terms he would not be denied. Afron slid his hands down to grope Makara's ass, raising Makara off the floor and grinding his hips against Makara's none too gently.
Makara surrendered to the kiss, wrapping his arms around Afron's neck, his legs around Afron's waist, and clinging. He allowed Afron to devour his mouth -- gave Afron's lips and tongue dominion over his -- allowed Afron to lean him precariously back over the railing. Blood rushed to his head, making his temples pound, though Makara would have sworn Afron alone caused the effect.
Afron broke the kiss at last and straightened. He let Makara slide down to stand as he stepped back and again nodded to the hallway. "Attend to me, my whore."
"I'm not your whore," Makara mumbled, though his actions just then would have surely proven otherwise to anyone who saw them, even if they hadn't been standing in the region's most famous house of pleasure.
Afron chuckled deep and low, filling the space around them with a rumble like distant thunder. "You will be my whore today, will you not? Will you refuse my desires?" He sniffed at Makara's neck as he trailed his index finger down Makara's chest. "Are they not your desires as well?" he whispered, breath hot on Makara's skin. "Do you not weep for me when I am gone? Does your cock not weep for me? Do you not count the hours until we are together again?"
His words fanned a fire that burned deep in Makara's soul, and Makara wanted to melt at his feet. "Yes," Makara whimpered, both embarrassed and elated at his show of submission.
Afron turned and walked down the hallway a few paces, then faced Makara again. "As do I."
To be continued...