I stepped closer. Watched his jaw tighten, watched his hands flex at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching for something. For me, maybe. Or a weapon. Sometimes I wasn't sure which impulse was stronger in him.
“Your tie's crooked,” I lied.
It wasn't. But he let me fix it anyway.
My fingers found the silk, warm from his skin. I could feel his pulse through the fabric, steady and strong, the most honest thing inthis room full of mirrors and masks. He stood absolutely still while I worked, barely breathing, like he'd turned himself into stone.
“You're staring again,” I whispered.
“Can't seem to stop.”
The admission gutted me. Three words, delivered in that rough accent, and I felt them everywhere. In my chest. My throat. The base of my spine.
I looked up. Met his eyes. Found him watching me with an intensity that made my fingers stumble on the knot.
“We should...” I started, but the words dissolved.
Because he’d lifted his hand. Slowly, deliberately, giving me every chance to pull away. His fingertips traced my jaw, callused and gentle, like I was something fragile he was afraid of breaking.
He kissed me. His mouth crashed against mine, forcing the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping into his heat, his taste, his grip. My body bent to his will before my mind caught up, lips parting, tongue tangling with his, the slick slide of want and memory making my head spin.
His hands found my waist, fingers digging into the fine fabric, wrinkling silk and crushing velvet, dragging me up onto my toes, forcing my body flush to his. The force of him was a storm—hard, barely restrained, the kind of hunger that left bruises and confessions in its wake. My fists caught in his jacket, dragging him closer, needing more, always more.
He pivoted, pressing me back until my shoulders hit the wall with a thud that vibrated through the polished wood paneling. My breath stuttered; his weight boxed me in, thigh shoved between my legs, grinding up, making my cock throb inside tailored slacks. I moaned into his mouth, careless, shame and fear forgotten for the space of a stolen minute.
“Fuck, Sebastian,” he growled, words muffled against my lips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
His mouth dragged down my jaw, teeth scraping the skin beneath my ear, tongue flicking the pulse hammering there. His hand bracketed myhip, holding me in place, grinding me against the solid heat of his thigh. Every brush of his body sent sparks flying up my spine, every drag of silk and wool and skin made my head spin, made me desperate to let go.
“We’ll be late,” I managed, the words barely a gasp as he sucked a bruise into the line of my neck, hidden just beneath my collar. “They’ll notice?—”
“Let them,” Viktor muttered, voice dark with something dangerous. “Let the whole palace wonder why your lips are swollen, why you walk out of here with your pulse racing.”
His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, claiming, tongue plunging, lips bruising, hand sliding down my chest to grab my thigh and hitch it up, pinning me tighter to the wall. My cock pressed against him, trapped by layers of luxury, aching for more friction, more contact, more of the desperate, wild heat he always brought out in me.
Viktor’s hand dropped from my thigh and gripped my shoulder, guiding me down. The power in that single touch unraveled me, my knees hitting the thick rug without hesitation, formal slacks tight, breath ragged. I stared up at him, every inch of me thrumming with hunger and submission.
He looked down, eyes dark, jaw tight, cock already straining against the front of his tailored trousers. “Want your mouth on me, now,” Viktor said, voice wrecked and rough, need bleeding through every word. “Been thinking about it all night. Can’t get you out of my fucking head—your mouth, your tongue, the way you take my cock like you were born for it.”
His hands moved with practiced urgency, working open his belt, unzipping his fly, freeing himself from the press of the expensive fabric. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, the head already wet, the sight enough to make my mouth water, my own cock throb against the seam of my trousers.
“Open,” he growled, hand curling into my hair, guiding my face closer. “Show me how hungry you are. Show me why I can’t think about anything but you.”
I opened for him, lips parted, tongue out, greedy and eager, eyeslocked to his as he pressed the heavy weight of his cock against my lips. The taste of him, salt and musk, flooded my senses as I sucked him in, jaw straining to take as much as I could. His grip tightened, hips rocking forward, the blunt head pushing over my tongue, filling my mouth, stealing my breath.
“That’s it, prince,” Viktor groaned, a tremor running through his whole body. “You look so fucking good on your knees for me. This mouth was made for me—don’t ever forget it.”
He began to fuck my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, careful not to choke me, but making sure I felt every thick inch, every desperate pulse of need. I moaned around him, letting spit drip down my chin, hands fisting in the fabric of his trousers, using him for balance as I let him use me for pleasure.
His head fell back, a soft curse torn from his lips. “Can’t get enough of you,” Viktor rasped, hips snapping forward, cock pressing deep, the edge of pain making everything sharper, sweeter. “All I think about is your mouth, your cock, the way you fall apart for me.”
The thrill of being caught, of kneeling in my suit, sucking him in the palace dressing room just minutes before we were meant to play our parts, only made me harder. I sucked him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, tongue swirling around the head, swallowing every drop of precome, loving the taste, the helpless sound he made as I took him to the root.
“Fuck, Sebastian—just like that. Don’t you dare stop. Want you to remember this all night. Want you leaking for me through the whole goddamn gala.”
Viktor’s hips jerked, cock thick on my tongue, fingers tight in my hair. His breath came ragged, but then he paused, the tip of his cock resting against my lips, eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker. “You ever think about another cock in your mouth?” he asked, voice thick with lust, the words sending a jolt straight to my core. “Ever wonder how it’d feel, two of us, using you at once? You’d take it, wouldn’t you, prince?”
The question made my own cock twitch, breath catching in my throat. Shame and hunger tangled, but there was no doubt, no hesitation.I moaned around him, nodding, letting my tongue tease his slit, inviting more.
