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“I need…” Sean didn’t dare say it. Couldn’t put into words what it was he wanted. He had to lie with the King in order to take his powers, but this was the first time in a long time, maybe ever, that he truly wanted to.
Which made Malcolm de Moray more dangerous than Sean had ever considered.
Through with words, he rose on his knees, and undid the ties of his trews, letting them fall to the earth.
The king—Malcolm—regarded him from those jewel green eyes like one would an approaching viper. Which was closer to the truth than Sean would like to admit.
His nostrils flared, and his fists clenched at his sides, but Malcolm de Moray remained where he was, obviously locked in a battle with his decency. His eyes devoured Sean like a starving man at a feast, but he didn’t make one move in advance or retreat.
Decency be damned. Once the king realized who he was and what he’d done, he’d wish he’d left Sean in the woods to rot.
Firmly pushing that thought to the side, Sean reached for him, sliding his hands up corded shoulders to lock around his neck, pulling his head down.
Lips pressed, but Sean didn’t have control of the situation for long.
Malcolm dragged him hard against his body in a deep, starving kiss. With a groan of surrender, he plunged his tongue into Sean’s welcoming mouth with a thrusting rhythm that set his loins on fire.
Sean would have to try very hard to keep his wits about him. Already, his legs were beginning to fail, becoming weak enough that he leaned into the king. Once he felt that submission, he lowered them to the furs and stretched his hard body above Sean’s yielding one.
He whispered a few unfamiliar words against Sean’s mouth and the packed earth beneath their thin bedding suddenly became soft and fragrant with flora.
“Magick,” Sean marveled aloud, wondering when was the last time anyone cared for his comfort.
“Like yer skin,” Malcolm murmured, before claiming a kiss again. One moment his hot, silky tongue tangled with Sean’s, the next he was nibbling and sucking, teasing with alternating pleasures.
Sean shifted so his thighs could split beneath him, cradling that swollen, needy part of him against his own sex. Malcolm’s clothes still separated them, but they ground against each other instinctively, and Sean hissed at the intensity of the sensation.
Hungry for more, Sean lifted the hem of Malcolm’s shirt and wordlessly demanded that he help peel it away.
The firelight threw shadows into the groves and valleys of his sinewed frame. The king was pale and fine, like the marble statues in the Roman ruins. He lifted himself to sweep away his kilt and boots while staring right back. His eyes traveled the length of Sean’s form and latched onto the now throbbing cock sprouting from lean hips.
“I’ve never seen anyone of yer like,” he breathed. “Someone so…open. So unabashed in their desires. Especially when the desire is becoming vilified as the Holy Roman Empire and their pyres of damnation keep pressing closer.”
You need not fear those fires, my liege.
Sean’s guts twisted with regret for a sin he’d not yet committed.
Malcolm de Moray was beautiful, as well. Not in the lovely way a woman was, but in a raw-boned, utilitarian way. Each swell and dip and angle fashioned for power and purpose.
And all that power was about to be unleashed upon him.
Within him.
Sean’s breath sped to a pant, and he reached for Malcolm, suddenly feeling vulnerable stretched out and spread beneath him.
Malcolm settled against him instantly, hands roaming everywhere, mouth capturing Sean’s with a wild possession. Finding the meat of his bare ass, Malcolm’s fingers dug into the flesh there, pulling him firmly against his cock.
Sean would have liked to think he was not as affected with lust and wanting as Malcolm was, but they both shuddered with the intensity of their connection.
Keep your heart encased in ice, he warned himself. Let your body burn.
Malcolm’s venturing fingers found his shaft, and they both moaned their pleasure. He was gentle, crooning things into Sean’s ear as he kissed and licked the sensitive lobe. Dark words melted his core as probing fingers drove Sean higher than he’d ever imagined.
“Come for me, lad.” The whisper threatened to undo him, but Sean held fast to his wits. To his sanity.
To the chance of freedom.
When teeth nipped down on his lobe, Malcolm’s astonishingly smooth hand gripped and slid with equal parts insistent pressure and slow, torturous movements, just enough launch Sean to the stars with an astonished cry.
