Chapter 4: The Night Begins
The silence stretched, thick as the forest outside. JT could hear the crackle of the last embers, the whisper of his own desperate breath. He looked at the clawed hand on his cheek, then up into the burning coals of Kane’s eyes. The war inside him wasn’t over, but one side had just seized the only weapon that mattered: his own hunger.
“Yes,” JT whispered. The word was ash and fire on his tongue.
Kane’s eyes blazed. A slow, terrifying smile split his wendigo face. “What was that, little hunter?”
“I said yes.” JT’s voice gained strength, fueled by a reckless surge of desire that drowned out the shame. “I want to try it. All of it.”
A deep, rolling laugh erupted from Kane, a sound of pure, unadulterated victory that shook dust from the cabin rafters. He stood, pulling JT up with him as if he weighed nothing. “Oh, this is exquisite,” Kane growled, his hands sliding down to grasp JT’s hips, digging in with possessive pressure. “After all his lectures, all his holy protections… Marcus Thompson’s precious baby boy is going to beg for his father’s greatest enemy to ruin him. It’s going to be so much fun to know that, every time I’m sheathed inside you, I’m fucking his legacy into oblivion.”
He leaned down, his breath hot against JT’s ear. “At least the stubborn Thompson bloodline finally did something for me. It gave me you. Something so perfectly, beautifully made for this.”
Before JT could process the words, Kane moved him with effortless authority. He sat back in the massive chair, a king reclaiming his throne, and pulled JT down to kneel between his spread legs. The view was staggering. Kane’s cock, fully erect, was a massive, brutal column of gray flesh, thick as JT’s wrist and veined with dark, primal energy. The head, a smooth, blunt crown, leaked a bead of fluid. The scent of him—musky, ancient, overpowering—filled JT’s mouth.
“Lick,” Kane commanded, his voice a low thunderclap. “Worship what you belong to now.”
A final shiver of defiance—or was it pure adrenaline?—coursed through JT. Then he leaned forward, his tongue tracing a tentative line along the heavy underside. The taste was salt and iron and something indefinably other. A groan rumbled from above him, spurring him on. He became overzealous, lapping at the length, nuzzling the thick base, his hands braced on Kane’s mammoth thighs.
“That’s it, hunter-slut,” Kane murmured, tangling a hand in JT’s dark hair, not forcing, but guiding. “Your mouth is pretty, but it’s not your primary purpose. You were made to be my sheath. But I want you to know every part of your god.”
He guided JT’s head lower, to the immense sac beneath. JT nosed at the heavy balls, each one large as a plum. He opened his mouth, straining to take one inside. He could barely manage it, his jaw aching instantly, the weight and heat of it flooding his senses. He licked and suckled, a low, pathetic moan escaping him as he did it. He was worshipping, and the sheer blasphemy of it, the absolute surrender, made his own cock throb painfully against his stomach.
“Enough,” Kane growled, pulling him off gently but firmly by the hair. “Now, the main event.”
He lifted JT as if he were a doll, turning him and draping him over his lap, chest down on the fur of the chair, ass presented high. Kane’s broad, slick head nudged against him. There was no preparation beyond the spit and precome, only the immense, blunt pressure.
“You will take me,” Kane said, and it was neither a question nor a request. It was a fact.
He pushed.
JT cried out, a sharp, broken sound, as the impossible stretch began. It burned, a searing fullness that tore at his limits. He clenched, struggling, but Kane held his hips in an unbreakable grip and pushed again, sinking another devastating inch inside.
“Fuck! Kane, it’s—!”
“It’s what you said you wanted,” Kane grunted, his own breath hitching. “So take it. Take your claiming, you tight little whore. My whore.”
The filthy words, instead of humiliating him, lubricated something in his mind. They were a dark permission. He forced himself to relax, to yield, and with a final, brutal thrust, Kane sheathed himself to the hilt. JT saw stars, his body shuddering, overwhelmed by the penetration. He was stuffed, speared, utterly filled.
Then Kane began to move.
It was a brutal, piston-like rhythm, each withdrawal a near-complete loss followed by a driving, unforgiving re-entry that stole JT’s breath. The chair rocked with the force of it. Kane’s claws pricked his skin, anchoring him.
“Look at you,” Kane rasped, his pace relentless. “My beautiful mate, split open on my cock. My hunter-slut. Made for this. Born for this.” His voice would twist from a cruel taunt to a dark croon in the same breath. A particularly deep thrust knocked a sob from JT’s throat, and Kane smoothed a massive, tender hand down his spine, a finger tracing the line of his jaw. “So beautiful taking me. My perfect JT.”
The juxtaposition was maddening. The degrading names made him heat with shameful arousal; the sudden tenderness shattered him completely. He was a thing being used, and he was a treasure being cherished. He couldn’t separate the two. His own cock, trapped beneath him, leaked onto the fur with every jarring impact. The pain had melted into a deep, radiating pleasure, a fullness that sparked through his entire nervous system.
“Gonna come,” JT gasped, the coil in his gut winding too tight. “Kane, I’m gonna—”
“Come,” Kane ordered, slamming into him with a force that felt final. “Come for me, mate. Show me.”
The command was all it took. JT’s orgasm ripped through him, silent at first, then erupting in a choked shout. He spasmed around the immense intrusion, his vision whiting out, stripes of pleasure-pain lighting him up inside. He felt Kane stiffen above him, a low, guttural roar filling the cabin as his own release hit. It was scalding, a flood that seemed to have no end, pumping into him until he felt impossibly, obscenely full.
Kane stayed buried inside him for long minutes, both of them breathing in ragged unison. Finally, he pulled out.
The sensation was a shocking emptiness, followed by a hot, wet trickle down JT’s thigh. He collapsed, boneless, onto the furs. He felt used. Wrecked. Gaping.
A clawed hand patted his ass lightly, almost approvingly. “Look at that,” Kane said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “My mark. My seed. Leaking out of Marcus Thompson’s son. I did that.” The pride was palpable, primitive.
JT could only moan, spent, drifting on a tide of exhaustion. It was over. He had survived it. He felt a strange, shattered peace.
The peace lasted about ten seconds.
He felt himself being hauled up, turned onto his back. Kane loomed over him, his cock, still semi-hard and slick, nudging against JT’s abused entrance. The demon’s eyes glowed with renewed, terrifying hunger.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Kane murmured, a dark smile playing on his features. “I’m nowhere near done.”
He pushed the thick head back inside, making JT arch off the furs with a shocked, oversensitive cry.
“We’ve only just begun, my mate.”