I grip his hips harder, fingers digging into his flesh as I establish a punishing rhythm. The wet sound of our bodies meeting echoes through the alley, obscene and thrilling.
Julian pushes back against me, matching my thrusts. “Is this all you’ve got?” he taunts. “I thought you’d make better use of your freedom.”
I respond by fucking him roughly, hips snapping forward with bruising force. Despite my dominance in this position, Julian’s words remind me who’s really in charge.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Make your king come. Earn it.”
His body tightens around my cock as he strokes himself. The pressure is overwhelming—Julian’s heat, his commands, the public setting. I’m dangerously close already.
“Don’t you dare come before I do,” Julian warns, as if reading my thoughts.
I feel the tension building at the base of my spine, that telltale tightening that means I’m about to explode. Fuck. Not yet.
I reach down and grab my balls, squeezing hard enough to send a jolt of pain through my groin. The pressure momentarily staves off my orgasm, giving me precious seconds to regain control.
“You close already?” Julian taunts.
Determined to prove myself, I slam into him harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the alley. My hand comes down on his perfectly sculpted ass, the crack of my palm against his flesh sending a jolt through both of us.
“Fuck,” Julian hisses, pushing back against me. “Again.”
I spank him harder this time, watching his pale skin redden under my hand. The sight of my handprint on Julian Frost’s ass is intoxicating.
“Such a good boy,” Julian purrs, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that makes my cock pulse inside him. “Fucking your king just the way he deserves. You learn quickly, don’t you?”
I spank him again, finding a rhythm between my thrusts and the sharp slaps against his ass.
“You feel so fucking good,” I growl. “So tight around my cock.”
Julian looks over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with approval. “Tell me what you’re going to do to me.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Going to fill your ass with my cum, right here where anyone could see us.” I thrust deeper, harder. “Everyone walking by will know I fucked the king of Ravenwood in a dirty alley.”
Julian moans, his body tightening around me. “Yes, mark me. Make me yours.”
The power of being inside Julian—of claiming him as he claimed me—is overwhelming. I’m dizzy with it, my hips moving faster, harder, spanking his ass between thrusts as he demands more, calls me his good boy, tells me exactly how to fuck him.
His muscles clench around my cock as he strokes himself faster. “I’m close,” he growls, his voice strained. “Make it good, Elliot.”
I dig my fingers into his hips, angling deeper until I find that spot that makes him shudder. His breath hitches, body tensing. I reach around and knock his hand away from his cock, replacing it with my own.
“Fuck!” Julian’s back arches as he comes, hot ropes of cum shooting across the brick wall and over my fist. His bodysqueezes my cock like a vice, pulsing with each wave of his orgasm.
Julian Frost coming undone because of me pushes me over the edge. Heat builds at the base of my spine, spreading outward as my rhythm becomes erratic. I thrust deep one final time, burying myself completely inside him.
“Fuck, I love you,” I gasp as my orgasm tears through me, filling him with my release.
Julian’s body tenses under my hands. The words hang between us, impossible to take back.
When the last pulse subsides, reality crashes down. What have I done? Said those three words during a frantic fuck in an alley? Like some lovesick teenager?
Julian straightens, turning to face me with his pants still around his thighs and his softening cock exposed. His expression is unreadable as he pulls me into a kiss—deep and searching, so different from the frantic clash of lips before.
Our bodies press together, semi-hard cocks brushing against each other, sticky with cum. His tongue explores my mouth with the same thoroughness he’s approached everything else about me. My heart pounds against my ribs as I wait for him to say something—anything—in response to my impulsive confession.
But he doesn’t.
When he finally breaks the kiss, his eyes hold mine with an intensity that steals my breath, but no words follow.
