“Let’s get these off,” Daromir says, pulling Vana’s trousers and smallclothes to his ankles. Vana touches his shoulders lightly for balance as he kicks the clothing free of his feet. Each pinpoint where they touch burns deliciously hot.
“Lie down,” Daromir says next.
Vana backs up until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Then he sits down hard but doesn’t lie back. He sits upright, hands fisted in the bedding, intently watching Daromir undress.
Daromir makes far quicker work of his clothing than Vana’s. He throws his clothes away carelessly and nearly topples over in his haste to remove his boots. Vana laughs until Daromir surges forward to take him in another fierce kiss.
Vana seems stunned by the sight of him, which Daromir doesn’t entirely understand. He’s strong, sure, but he isn’t gorgeous like Vana. That’s not a self-esteem issue—Daromir knows he’s good-looking. But Vana isperfect. Flawless.
No. Vana wouldn’t like being called flawless.
Daromir pushes Vana back onto the bed and asks, “If I tell you to grab the headboard, will you be able to hold still?”
“Yes.” Vana licks his lips and reconsiders. “Maybe. It depends.”
“Let’s try it,” Daromir says with a grin.
He gently pulls Vana’s wrists above his head, and Vana obediently grabs the smooth wooden bars. The frame of Daromir’s bed is much better for this than Vana’s bed would be. Too many complicated carvings. Next, Daromir shoves Vana’s legs apart and settles between them. He has to move fast, because if he stops for one moment, he’ll be lost in the sight of Vana spread out beneath him.
Vana’s cock looks like it would fit perfectly in Daromir’s hand or mouth. But instead of leaning closer, Daromir sits back on his heels. He runs one hand down his own chest. A teasing touch over his own stomach.
Daromir holds eye contact with Vana the entire time and sees the moment Vana realizes what he’s doing—just before Daromir grips the base of his own cock.
Vana arches up untouched with the sensation. “Oh,fuck.”
Daromir’s own cock is heavier and hotter than ever before. Daromir strokes himself lightly, pulling his foreskin teasingly. If he uses any more pressure, he’ll finish on the spot, and he wants to drag this out as long as he can. “Is this how it felt last time?”
“Yes.” Vana rocks up with the force of the bond. “No, fuck, this is better.”
Fuck, Daromir has hardly even touched Vana. This is their bond, their magic, driving Vana crazy. Vana’s thighs tense visibly, muscles taut beneath smooth skin. When Daromir strokes the head of his cock, precome beads from Vana’s. Vana throws his head back, neck tense, and heat flushes down his chest.
Daromir leans over, one hand next to Vana’s side, the other exploring himself. Vana’s legs hook over his hips, trying to drag him closer.
“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” Daromir confesses. “You told me not to feel guilty, because I didn’t know.” He inhales. Everything smells like sweat and storm and Vana. “But every night since, I’ve been fucking you in my dreams.”
“Don’t just say that. I’ll believe every word.”
“I won’t lie to you.” Daromir tightens his grip, watching every movement of his hand translate into Vana’s quickening breath. “Not ever, and especially not here.”
“Promises, promises.” Vana laughs, then hisses, “Fuck.” One hand jerks away from the headboard—then snaps back into place. “You’re going to have to tie me down if you want me to stay put.”
The idea races through Daromir’s veins like lightning. Except he doesn’t think he’ll be able to put one foot in front of the other long enough to find a scarf or belt. So, he just leans over Vana, strokes himself, and says, “No, you can do this just fine. You’re so perfect for me, Vana.”
Every muscle in Vana’s arms tenses. He arches up towards Daromir—and his hands stay in place. “Only you.”
“What?” Daromir can barely remember what he’s been babbling. He’s so caught up in Vana’s every sound.
“I don’t want to be perfect for anyone else,” Vana says, holding Daromir’s gaze. “I don’t want anyone else to know me like this.”
Daromir lets go of his cock and traces Vana’s jaw. Presses his thumb against Vana’s lower lip, claiming him with the stain of precome. Vana’s lips part, but he doesn’t take Daromir’s finger. Just looks up at him, pupils blown, waiting.
“I’m yours,” Daromir promises. “In every way.”
A thought passes Daromir’s hazy mind as he resumes touching himself. That this intensity, this wildfire pleasure coursing through his body, might be more than just adoration. Maybe the bond is intensifying his own pleasure too. Doesn’t matter. All Daromir cares about is how fucking right this feels as he pulls them both to a blinding orgasm.
?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
