Free Tales of the Djinn: The Double by Emma Holly
Authors: Emma Holly
it. He pushed his hand down into his trousers, gripping his hardness within his palm and fingers. It seemed natural to pull his tight hold upward. Hadn’t he done that as a boy?
Fuck, he thought, pleasure coursing through him even more strongly than before.
His penis was larger than when it was relaxed. It responded to his slow drag by hardening more. The head was pulsing, the veins engorged.
What he wouldn’t give to thrust this stiff ache into a soft woman . . .
He reached the crest and pushed his thumb around on the silky skin. The slit at the center was leaking wetness, the hormones that stimulated its creation produced by his restored testicles. He was fully alive now: feeling, throbbing, capable of the act every djinni enjoyed. He bit his lip and let his head tip back.
Stop, he thought, but his thumb just kept going round and round.
It was like rubbing an itch that got worse as you saw to it.
He craved release more than his next breath.
Realizing the danger, he pulled his hand from his pants, fisting it hard enough to prick his palm with his fingernails. Surely he had the self-control to refrain from doing this.
He breathed in and out, his chest going up and down, his pulsing cock strafing its coverings with each movement. The air around his hips seemed hot, as if an invisible fire were wrapped around him. The fire licked at him like smoke, teasing his overexcited nerves. He started to rock his pelvis, the subtle motion instinctive. His scrotum ached, beginning to draw up with arousal. Within the sac, his testicles felt swollen. A little more sensation would bring him off. The tip of his penis tingled, moisture welling faster from the hole, sticking him to his light trousers. He could almost swear he felt a woman’s mouth closing around him there . . .
Air hissed between his teeth as his scrotum jerked. The bliss of imminent orgasm—or what he assumed that was—tried to streak up his nerves.
“Damn it.” Panting, he gripped and wrenched his balls so hard the pressure couldn’t be anything but painful.
The sensation of being about to come ceased abruptly. His erection faded as well, subsiding into the quiescent state he was accustomed to. He closed his eyes with a mix of disappointment and relief.
I am Joseph the Eunuch , he told himself. I put my city first.
~
Yasmin felt like she’d been slapped twice over: first when Joseph dumped her cat form into the hall and then when he chose to hurt himself rather than let her pleasure him.
Not that he’d known she was doing that.
Mortally embarrassed and once again in her cat disguise, she streaked away down the corridor. If she’d been wearing her own face, she knew it would have blazed. She should have known better than to smoke back into the room after Joseph had thrown her out. She’d told herself she was worried for him, because he’d seemed disconsolate. That, however, was no excuse for her uninvited “help.”
Yes, she’d been shocked to discover he was physically capable of desire. Every whisper she’d heard about the sultan’s chief magician suggested the opposite. In her fascination with him, she’d collected quite a few stories. For that matter, she’d spied on him in smoke form before. Joseph was very handsome, but more than that, she found watching him peaceful. He was often up at night, studying his magic books or wandering the halls like her. He didn’t give the impression that he was snooping, more that he was on patrol. He stood guardian to the palace even when others slept. His example had inspired her to keep an ear tuned for trouble when she ventured beyond its walls. She’d wanted to be more than a harem girl, sitting with her hands obediently folded in the hope that the sultan might someday return and notice her.
Yasmin longed to be useful, even if no one but she was aware of it. She’d thought it would make her and Joseph more alike—a secret bond she could cherish by herself.
That didn’t justify forcing herself
Fuck, he thought, pleasure coursing through him even more strongly than before.
His penis was larger than when it was relaxed. It responded to his slow drag by hardening more. The head was pulsing, the veins engorged.
What he wouldn’t give to thrust this stiff ache into a soft woman . . .
He reached the crest and pushed his thumb around on the silky skin. The slit at the center was leaking wetness, the hormones that stimulated its creation produced by his restored testicles. He was fully alive now: feeling, throbbing, capable of the act every djinni enjoyed. He bit his lip and let his head tip back.
Stop, he thought, but his thumb just kept going round and round.
It was like rubbing an itch that got worse as you saw to it.
He craved release more than his next breath.
Realizing the danger, he pulled his hand from his pants, fisting it hard enough to prick his palm with his fingernails. Surely he had the self-control to refrain from doing this.
He breathed in and out, his chest going up and down, his pulsing cock strafing its coverings with each movement. The air around his hips seemed hot, as if an invisible fire were wrapped around him. The fire licked at him like smoke, teasing his overexcited nerves. He started to rock his pelvis, the subtle motion instinctive. His scrotum ached, beginning to draw up with arousal. Within the sac, his testicles felt swollen. A little more sensation would bring him off. The tip of his penis tingled, moisture welling faster from the hole, sticking him to his light trousers. He could almost swear he felt a woman’s mouth closing around him there . . .
Air hissed between his teeth as his scrotum jerked. The bliss of imminent orgasm—or what he assumed that was—tried to streak up his nerves.
“Damn it.” Panting, he gripped and wrenched his balls so hard the pressure couldn’t be anything but painful.
The sensation of being about to come ceased abruptly. His erection faded as well, subsiding into the quiescent state he was accustomed to. He closed his eyes with a mix of disappointment and relief.
I am Joseph the Eunuch , he told himself. I put my city first.
~
Yasmin felt like she’d been slapped twice over: first when Joseph dumped her cat form into the hall and then when he chose to hurt himself rather than let her pleasure him.
Not that he’d known she was doing that.
Mortally embarrassed and once again in her cat disguise, she streaked away down the corridor. If she’d been wearing her own face, she knew it would have blazed. She should have known better than to smoke back into the room after Joseph had thrown her out. She’d told herself she was worried for him, because he’d seemed disconsolate. That, however, was no excuse for her uninvited “help.”
Yes, she’d been shocked to discover he was physically capable of desire. Every whisper she’d heard about the sultan’s chief magician suggested the opposite. In her fascination with him, she’d collected quite a few stories. For that matter, she’d spied on him in smoke form before. Joseph was very handsome, but more than that, she found watching him peaceful. He was often up at night, studying his magic books or wandering the halls like her. He didn’t give the impression that he was snooping, more that he was on patrol. He stood guardian to the palace even when others slept. His example had inspired her to keep an ear tuned for trouble when she ventured beyond its walls. She’d wanted to be more than a harem girl, sitting with her hands obediently folded in the hope that the sultan might someday return and notice her.
Yasmin longed to be useful, even if no one but she was aware of it. She’d thought it would make her and Joseph more alike—a secret bond she could cherish by herself.
That didn’t justify forcing herself