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He grinned, his long black hair wild about his pale face, eyes shining their wicked glee. “You come when I give you permission.”
No, this was too much, I couldn’t… I hadn’t… Not with anyone. If I didn’t stop him, he’d be the first to take me, and that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t be my first. Could he?
“Wait…” I panted.
Something cool, soothing, and wet touched my hole.
“Lark, wait…” I gripped the bed and tried to writhe away.
He slapped the flat edge of the dagger against the plane of my lower belly. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this. I will not believe you.”
I did, that was the problem. I hadn’t ever done this. I was the Prince of Love, and I’d never fucked anyone, or had anyone fuck me. It was a joke, or a tragedy. I wasn’t ready, or prepared; I didn’t know what this was, what we were doing.
Lark’s eyes narrowed. Damn him, he probably saw the fear on my face. His smile tipped half off his glistening lips. He withdrew his finger, set the dagger aside, tore his waistcoat off, then the shirt.
He was all tight, lean muscle, a dancer’s physique. And the scars, so many, just tiny things, like stardust on his skin. He dropped his hands and expertly whipped open his trousers, wasting no time in freeing himself. And he was… endowed, in that regard. Warmth heated my face and chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off the slow stroke of his hand over his veined length.
Of course, I knew the rumors, knew he had a reputation as an amazing lover. A dancer in bed too, they said. Whatever that meant. But to have a man inside me, and for that man to be him… I couldn’t do this.
I tried to sit up—the dagger was gone, lost somewhere in the sheets. If I was going to stop this, it had to be now.
He shoved me in the chest, knocking me back down, then spread my knees.
“No, wait.” I reached down. “I just…”
He fell forward, bracing over me, pinning me under him. All his black hair fell from his shoulders, stroking my chest with his every movement. His gaze searched mine. “If you trust me in nothing else, trust me in this, Prince of Love.”
He reached down between us. I feared he’d try and enter me again, feared a lot of things, like whether I could do what had to be done when this was over.
His slick grip collected my dick and trapped it against hard, silky, soft muscle. He rubbed with smooth, slick fingers—he’d found some oil from my dresser moments ago, when he’d left me teetering on the edge of orgasm. His little smile danced as his expert hand stroked me back toward the precipice. His mouth hovered over mine; his sly, dark eyes were all I could see.
I reached up to clutch at his arm, but he reared back, propped on his knees, straddling my hips, our dicks trapped together in his oiled fingers. A strangled, desperate moan left me, a noise I didn’t think I was capable of. His stroking hold quickened suddenly, and my breaths raced with it. This again… It was too good, damn him, and he knew it. I bucked, shuddered, moaned, so close…
He slowed, and I whimpered, clutched the sheets, then grabbed his knee and dug blunt nails into his skin.
“Harder,” he purred.
I didn’t understand. And then he slapped his hand down on mine and crushed it down on his knee.
“Harder, Arin.”
I dug my nails into his thigh, and he flung his head back, pumping our dicks together. He rocked, fucking his hand, sliding his dick along mine. He could be quick and sharp, like a whip, or soft and slow, like a caress, like now. His cock stroked mine, the motion easy, rocking me toward the edge. His eyes, their lashes so soft, demanded answers. He’d sauntered from the dark this night with murder in those eyes, more than capable of seeing me dead. I knew that and somehow I’d still let him into my bed.
I was close again, riding the same bright wave, needing to breach, but desperate to hold back. Lark dropped, braced over me. Our chests touched, slick with perspiration, hair clinging.
“I’m going to bite you, Arin, and when I do, you will come.”
“I… What?” Bite me?
His head dropped, teeth pinched into my shoulder, and then he pumped so hard, so fast, and so smooth that the maddening mix of pain and pleasure tore me apart. I wanted his cock then, wanted it inside, fucking me deep, couldn’t speak to demand it, and it was too late anyway, because the wave broke, pulsing down my lower back, and I spilled hot cum with his teeth in my shoulder and his hand on my dick, in complete control.
I’d resisted this, us, even as I’d ached for the touch he’d given so many others. I’d watched him from the shadows while he’d danced in the light. I’d envied his laugh, so bright it filled a room. Everything I felt for Lark was a muddle of madness, all of it probably wrong. And here, now, he had me pinned under him, and I’d given up fighting my feelings. Fighting him.
I’d needed to be someone else, and he’d taught me how to live that lie.
His grip vanished, eliciting my small, needy moan. His smile slanted sideways, heavy with knowing. He’d liked that sound. My cock twitched between us, slick and messy. Had he come? I didn’t know. I wanted him to, wanted to do that for him, but I had no idea where to start, or what he’d like.
He dragged the tip of the dagger—my dagger—down my neck. He’d snatched it up again without me seeing. Pain sizzled in the blade’s wake. If he hadn’t cut me, he was close to it. He stroked the blade over my left pectoral and encircled my nipple. His lips parted, his tongue slid over his teeth.
