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He hadn’t, not yet. Not now, not on the beach, and not in the library. We’d kissed, groped, I’d stroked him to climax, but he hadn’t touched the part of me we both knew he wanted to feel and grip and taste. I needed him to touch me, ached to have his mouth on me, for him to feel how damned hard I was for him.
He dropped his left hand between us, and when his fingers skimmed my cock, their featherlight touch lit a dozen more sparks down my spine, twitching my dick.
His eyes widened, his sneer softened, and now he searched my face for permission. So fierce, this prince of love, but so willing to submit. I still didn’t know if I was here to kill him, or fuck him, or punish him. Maybe all three.
“How many times have I featured in your dreams?” I asked, my voice a smooth rumble. “How many times have you woken hard and fucked your hand, thinking of me?”
I tilted my hips, grinding against his dick, trapped between us. He rolled his eyes and clutched my ass, so willing that I struggled to hold myself back from tearing his trousers down and plunging into his tight hole. He’d claw at me, demand I stop, but he’d take it, want it.
I returned the knife to his throat. His glare sprung back to me, accusing and full of hate all over again. “How many times?” Definitely a demand, this time.
“In the beginning? Once or twice. Lately? Every night. And I hate you for it. I hate that I can’t think about you without wanting you to touch me. I hate how hard I am for you, right now.”
Fuck. A moan slipped away from me.
“I hate how much I want you.” He grasped my dick, pinching hard. I gasped and took the blade away from his neck to brace over him.
“I always have.” He palmed my length, rubbing through my trousers, each rough and desperate stroke a lick of bliss. “I hate what you’ve done and who you are,” he sneered. “I hate where you come from.” Faster, he rubbed, driving all reason from my thoughts. “I hate that I cut Draven to keepyourwretched secret within these walls. And I hate myself for needing you, like this. For wanting to taste…”
“Taste what?”
He turned his flushed face away. “Your cum.”
It took a while for his words to sink through the madness of lust.
I couldn’t stand it. Any more of his rage-filled talk, his angry touch, and I’d lose control. I pulled free, scooting low, and yanked his undergarments down, over his hips. His dick sprang free and I had it in my mouth, sucking him deep, before he could draw breath to demand I stop.
It was just sex. Just pleasure between two men, nothing more. But even now, with his hate all over me, my excuses felt like lies. Just sex was what I’d engaged in with the rest of the Court of Love; this—with my mouth on Arin’s dick, his hand twisting in my hair—was something else.
This felt like… freedom.
CHAPTER12
Arin
I knew Lark,knew how he lied with every breath and cheated behind every flick of his graceful hands, and how he loved every moment of it. He’d ruined my life. But he’d also made it worth living. That was the contradiction I fought against.
Because as I’d watched him for years, I’d learned to be like him, how to lie and misdirect. I’d stolen what I’d needed from the spy in my court to win this hidden war. And I’d hated every moment of it, hated what it had turned me into, hated myself.
Lark believed he was my downfall, my obsession, but I knew, when the end came, he’d be my savior.
And in the years I’d watched him laugh and dance, I’d seen the pain he carried inside him, like a second beating black heart, and against every instinct, every rational thought, I’d vowed to save him, whatever the cost.
Foolish thoughts, made even more ridiculous while he sucked my dick and held a dagger to my middle. But by Dallin, he was my beautiful lie.
His finger slipped between my ass cheeks and skimmed my hole. I bucked, sinking my cock deeper between his lips, stroking the back of his throat. The dagger nicked my hip, leaving its stinging bite, and pleasure pulled tight—too much, he was too much, everywhere, all at once. “Lark—wait.”
He looked up, his sharp mouth sealed around my thickness.Wait…There was nothing in his eyes to suggest he’d do anything I said. Dark, beautiful, catlike eyes promised he’d hurt me, and I’d want it. I breathed too fast, and the words telling him to stop stuck in my throat. His finger stroked below my balls again, but this time, it pushed in, through my hole, widening me as it dove deeper.
No, this was—
He lifted his head, sucking up my length, then keeping my dick between his lips, he tongued its head, shocking pleasure down my back. That might have been enough, but he did something with his finger, stroked some part of me, and a different ripple poured through my body. I flung my head back, grasped the sheets, and stuttered an agonizing moan of pleasure. But it didn’t stop, and as his finger stroked, the sizzling ecstasy came in wave after wave, and his tongue flicked, lapping the tip of my dick.
I was going to come, didn’t stand a chance to stop it. I’d come in his mouth, down his throat, and I knew his smile, having seen it a thousand times in dreams like this.
Lark suddenly pulled away, both finger and mouth, gone in an instant. I was too close to climax. With my head spinning, I looked for him. My dick lay against my belly, leaking, proud, flushed. But he wasn’t there… Desire strummed me like a bow. All I had to do was think about his mouth on my cock and I’d—
He flew back in, pinched my dick, and white-hot fire shot up my spine. “Gah—stop!”
