Chapter 232: "This Is Physically Impossible"

Grayson’s words died in his throat as Neville wrapped both hands around him experimentally. Neville looked at it and measured the length with his hands, his brow furrowing in genuine concern.

"This is never going inside me," he muttered, more to himself than to Grayson. "Never."

Grayson’s chest shook as he laughed, though it came out a little strangled. "Your determination is admirable."

"I’m just being realistic." Neville shot him a look.

"A body of my size has limits. This—" He gestured vaguely at the situation. "This clearly exceeds those limits."

"We’re not—" Grayson took a steadying breath. "We’re not doing that tonight unless you want it. I already promised you."

"Good. Because if you even had even a speck of that idea on your head, I would have to stop you with all my might."

Another choked laugh from Grayson. "Noted."

The humor helped ease the tension between them a little.

"You do have at least an idea of what you’re doing, right?" Grayson asked, his voice dropping in a soft inquiry.

Neville met his gaze head-on.

I’ve read more BL novels than anyone he knew, he thought. I’ve seen every type of manhwa, manhua, and manga scene imaginable and available in the market. How could I not know how this works?

Out loud, he simply said, "I know a thing or two."

Grayson’s eyebrow twitched. "A thing or two?"

"Just random stuff."

"Should I be concerned about the nature of this ’random stuff’?"

"Probably not?"

Neville lowered his head before Grayson could ask any more questions. He tried to replicate what Grayson had done to him earlier.

But the reality of attempting such a thing without preparation proved to be difficult. His jaw ached after barely covering a little, but on the top. He had to pull back, spluttering slightly.

"This is physically impossible," he said with utter certainty.

Grayson’s hand came to rest on his head, fingers threading through his hair with surprising gentleness. "You don’t have to—"

"I said I will help you." Neville glared up at him. "I just need to adjust my strategy a little."

So, he changed tactics. Instead of trying to take it all, he focused on what he could do. His tongue traced along the length, exploring the heated skin, while his hand wrapped around the base and began to stroke.

Grayson’s breath hitched. The fingers in Neville’s hair tightened.

"We’re not supposed to be doing this," Grayson groaned out, even as his hips jerked involuntarily.

Neville paused just long enough to respond, his voice muffled. "And you’re saying that now?"

"Yeah... haa..." Grayson’s head fell back against the couch cushion. "I’m sorry."

"You don’t sound sorry."

"’Cause I’m not."

Neville would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t otherwise occupied. Instead, he redoubled his efforts, finding a rhythm that seemed to draw increasingly desperate sounds from Grayson.

And then he felt it.

Something brushed against his lower back, something scaled and cool and definitely not a hand.

Neville’s eyes widened as Grayson’s tail appeared, sleek black scales shimmering under the lighting. It curled around him almost possessively, stroking down his spine in a motion that started innocent enough.

But it didn’t stay innocent for long.

The tip of the tail traced lower and lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear.

Neville’s breath roughed out as it found the slick and dripping heat that had been building down there.

His hands trembled. His rhythm faltered.

He glanced upwards and saw Grayson watching him with dark, hungry eyes, clearly savoring each of his reactions.

"If you keep looking at me like that," Grayson warned, his voice a low rumble, "I might do something you don’t want me to."

Neville lifted his head just enough to glare at him with a flush spreading across his cheeks. It was filled with defiance, lust, and challenge.

"Try me," his eyes seemed to say.

Grayson’s tail pressed deeper, teasing, and Neville had to bite back a moan.

Annoyed, he threw himself back into his work with renewed vigor. He could feel Grayson getting close. The tension was building in those powerful thighs beneath his hands. Grayson’s breathing had gone ragged and uneven, the subtle tremors running through his entire body.

When Grayson came, it was with a groan that rumbled through his chest like distant thunder.

Neville tried to catch it all, but there was simply too much. It spilled from his mouth, splashing across his chin and cheeks. He was left sputtering, overwhelmed by the taste of fresh water pheromones flooding his senses.

The taste was... not what he expected.

He swallowed what was in his mouth instinctively, then immediately regretted it when he saw the way Grayson’s eyes flared.

"You should probably stop that," Grayson said, his voice rougher than before, "unless you want another round."

Neville blinked up at him, still dazed, his face a mess of white fluid.

"Another...?" His voice came out hoarse.

His eyes dropped a little, and he almost jumped in shock. Grayson’s member was already standing at attention again, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all.

"How—" Neville’s voice cracked. "It hasn’t been thirty seconds!"

"Rut," Grayson said simply, as if that explained everything.

Before Neville could say anything, Grayson’s hands closed around his arms and hauled him up. Neville found himself back on Grayson’s lap, straddling him, their bodies pressed together.

Grayson’s thumb traced along Neville’s jaw, wiping away some of the mess there. His eyes looked at Neville with an unreadable gaze.

"Did you swallow it all?" Grayson asked hoarsely.

Neville’s face, already flushed as it was, went seven shades redder. "Not... not everything..."

His words died as Grayson kissed him.

It wasn’t like the frantic, desperate kisses from earlier. Grayson explored his mouth slowly, like he had all the time in the world. His tongue swept against Neville’s, tasting himself there.

Just the thought of it made Neville’s head spin.

It felt like Grayson was making love to him with nothing but his mouth.

Neville soon melted into Grayson’s rhythm. His fingers began tangling Grayson’s dark hair, holding on like an anchor as the world narrowed down to nothing but this moment.

The heat between them, the slide of lips and tongues, the solid warmth of Grayson’s body beneath him.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard.

Neville’s lips felt sensitive and clearly swollen. He was pretty sure he completely forgotten everything in the middle of that kiss.

"You know," he said, breathless, "no one would believe me if I told them you had this personality during rut."