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“I trust you…” So many reasons, all of them muddled and complicated. Because he’d tried to save War’s people by almost killing himself, because inside all his neurosis there was a good, kind heart, because he’d survived terrible things, only half of which I knew, and he still somehow smiled and danced. Because he was one in a million, more than that, because he was Lark, my friend, my… lover, my love. “Because I’m not a good person, and you’re not a bad one, and together? Together, we’re better for each other. I don’t know. I don’t understand it, I wish I did. But I know I trust you.”
The front door slammed below us, rattling the boards.
“Arin?” Draven’s voice sailed up the stairs and through the locked door.
The man’s timing had never been worse. I blinked up at the ceiling, wishing the warlord away. “Yes?”
“Is Lark with you?” he called.
Lark shook his head and pressed a finger to his now-smiling lips. The shimmer in his eyes suggested he was planning something mischievous and downright wicked.
“No,” I lied.
Lark strode forward, but this time with the sultry sashay in his hips, and as he was still naked beneath the robe, his body made it clear he hadn’t lost interest in what we’d begun and I’d almost ruined moments ago.
“Is everything all right?” Draven called, now from behind the bathroom door.
“Yes, fine.”
Lark slipped the razor into my hand. Its weight was solid and real.
He leaned in, cheek to cheek, and whispered, “Turn around.”
I’d face the wall, if I obeyed. I blinked at him, locked my gaze with his. His fingers tugged at my trousers, jerking my hips. He loosened them off, then slipped his warm hands around my waist and stroked down. Firm fingers dug into my ass cheeks, nails biting. “Turn around, Arin.”
I knew what he wanted. I wanted it too. Flashes of our time in the library came back to me as short, sharp memories, his hand on my cock, the other on my mouth. But Draven was behind the door, and perhaps this was cruel. Lark’s breath whispered at my ear; his cheek, then jaw skimmed mine. Every touch set me ablaze.
He jerked my trousers down. They pooled around my boots. He looked up, into my gaze. “Turn around, Prince of Hearts.”
“Arin?”
“Draven, all is well,” I growled.
Lark clutched my waist and turned me.
“Brace,” he whispered. I raised an arm, leaning against the wall. Then he was gone. A glance back revealed him at the washbasin cabinet. I bowed my head and tried to slow my heart and my breaths. If Draven heard, he’d know… But he wouldn’t hear.
Lark’s gentle fingers plucked off my shirt, then those same fingers kneaded my ass, so exposed. By Dallin, how could I do this? Draven was so close, already hurting from being shunned, but Lark’s fingers digging and massaging, separating and squeezing—it was too good to stop. His left hand came around, gently pressed over my mouth, while his right hand—now slick—dipped between my ass cheeks and his fingers stroked my hole. I jolted, the moan almost slipping free. He was going to fuck me, and fuck me hard. I had to be silent. Fear, anticipation, and excitement mingled like a drug, shifting all reason away and sense away.
Lark’s right hand grasped my cock, fingers tightening. I shuddered and panted through my nose, the assault so sudden, there was no time to prepare. He pumped, ramping up delicious friction. His cock nestled between my ass cheeks, sliding up my crack, teasing its way deeper, separating my ass until his rocking motions stroked his hard dick over my hole, promising more with every stroke.
Crackles of heightened pleasure tingled my nerves. I might come too soon, already skimming the edges of ecstasy, but Lark knew, like he always did, and when he let go of my cock, he timed the thrust of his dick to push in at the exact right moment to muddle my mind and body. Pressure widened, tightened, Lark’s breaths sawed at my ear, his hand trembled over my mouth and briefly, the tightness was too much, the invasion too exposing—then his cock skimmed some internal part of me, making my own dick jump, twitch, and pulse, unwinding my tension.
His hand tightened, trying to stifle my guttural groan. If Draven heard us, I’d gone beyond caring. Lark had me now, hand at my mouth, cock in my ass, and I’d never felt anything like it, as though my body was awash with waves of white fire. He eased in and out, stoking the fire. By the god Dallin, could I come like this, without my dick being touched?
I thought I might, then his right hand with its two fingers and thumb clasped me anew, and I fucked his grip while he fucked my ass. I was coming undone, mindless and free, burning up from the inside. I cried out behind his hand and spilled with no hope of stopping it. Juddering, rippling waves rode me higher. Cum wet his fingers. His breath scorched my ear.
“Bite me,” he growled.
I’d do it, do anything. He tucked a finger against my lips. I opened my jaw and clamped down into pliable skin, and Lark’s thrusting became frantic. There was no muffling the slap of his upper thighs on my ass.
“Harder,” he ordered, his voice a vicious growl.
I dug my teeth in, bit as hard as I dared. Blood spilled over my tongue, alarmingly coppery, and I let go, afraid I’d hurt him too much.
Lark moaned in my ear, his thrusting stuttered, and there—the moment I’d wanted from him, his final release. His hips jerked, body shuddering. Gods, was there anything more rewarding, more satisfying, than having the man I knew I loved so thoroughly enraptured that he spilled his cum for me?
The bite, his blood. I tasted it still.
