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as we both shall live.”
Hugh
Finch kept his word—Funfetti cakes were had. Often. But not quite as often as Hugh had Finch.
The man was irresistible, and Hugh partook of him at all hours of the day. Sometimes that
meant slipping into the shower with Finch in the morning, where Hugh lifted him up and let
Finch hold on to whatever was within arm’s reach while he slid into him. Other times it meant
kidnapping Finch in the middle of the day and whisking him away from his duties to the
bedroom, where Hugh reminded him in myriad ways how treasured he was. Most times, unless
Finch was exhausted, Hugh indulged in him at night, lighting the air above them with dragon
fire so he could watch the shadows dance over Finch’s body as he came. And to Hugh’s
delight, the closer Finch came to giving birth, the more he sought Hugh out. There was nothing
quite like lifting his beloved secretary onto his office desk and knotting him amongst his
paperwork. The hitch of Finch’s breath as he found satisfaction and the way their mate bond
twanged with their mutual desire was much more interesting than investment documents, to
be sure.
So when, late one night, Finch woke Hugh from a deep sleep, Hugh assumed he was being
called into duty.
“Finch, you minx,” he whispered as he drew Finch onto his body. The insides of Finch’s thighs
were already wet and slippery—he must have spent time preparing himself before waking
Hugh. “You absolute temptress. Tempter? What the devil is the male equivalent of that word?
Whatever it is, you and it are synonymous.”
“Hugh,” Finch said in a low voice, “I appreciate it, but—”
“Mm, yes, butt.” Hugh squeezed the delightfully rounded muscles in question. “And what an
amazing butt it is. I can hardly resist.” It took no effort at all to squeeze his hardened cock
between Finch’s cheeks, brushing by his hole, but not yet slipping inside. “How do you want it
this time, my love? Prolonged and sweet, or hard and instantly satisfying?”
“Hugh,” Finch repeated, a little more sternly than before. “Neither. I—”
“Both, then.” Hugh took Finch by the hips and tried to lift him up, but was swatted for his trouble.
Right on his snoot. Or nose, rather, since he wasn’t in his dragon form.
“No,” Finch said firmly. “Now is decidedly not the time.”
