Chapter 8 #2
Ryneth squeezed his eyes shut. A half-sob, half-growl escaped his mouth. Every sensation tripled. “I hate you.”
“Your mouth says that,” Daven murmured, “but your body’s been shaking for me since I walked in.”
He brushed his hand through Ryneth’s hair and lowered his lips to his ear. “But your body already knows who it belongs to.”
The words hit like a verdict.
“Feel how it trembles for me? How it gets hard for me?”
“No.” Ryneth tried for his static, wanted to ignore how his head had lolled to the side and was now resting against Daven’s thigh.
Daven’s air was relentless, stroking his cock while teasing his rim and balls.
“Don’t,” Ryneth pleaded, but he could feel the pressure building in his exhausted body, could feel how his toes curled and his lips parted.
He moaned again. Good Light, he was so desperate that he let Daven trace the shape of his lips, humming in smug approval when Ryneth could do nothing else but let him have his way.
“So desperate for a little friction,” Daven whispered, his air tightening around Ryneth’s cock in a hot, merciless grip.
Ryneth’s hips bucked, seeking the release, but Daven’s air suddenly went still, holding him right at the edge of the cliff.
“Not yet, aethera. You don’t come until I say you can.” Daven leaned down, his lips brushing Ryneth’s sweat-slicked temple. “I want you to sit in it. I want you to feel every spark of that static screaming for me to let you go.”
“Please,” Ryneth wheezed, his fingers clawing at the sheets. “D-Daven, please.”
“Begging already? We haven’t even started.” Daven’s thumb dragged across Ryneth’s lower lip, pulling it down. Then he leaned in until their mouths almost touched, close enough that Ryneth could feel the heat of his breath. For one awful second, Ryneth thought he was going to kiss him.
Instead, Daven only brushed his mouth against the corner of Ryneth’s lips, taking his time.
“You’re going to be a mess for me by the time we get to my penthouse.
I’ll have you dripping for me before I even touch you with my hands.
” He pulsed the air once, a sharp, rhythmic squeeze that wrung a choked cry from Ryneth’s throat, before dropping the pressure just enough to leave him hanging, aching.
The IV pump blared. Somewhere outside the room, boots hit the tile, fast.
Finally, a nurse came running through the door. Her eyes darted to Ryneth. He was panting, still caught on the edge. “Sir, are you—”
“We have everything under control here,” Daven snapped. His hand reached for the blanket, covering Ryneth’s groin with his palm. The pressure on Ryneth’s wrists eased, air cornering him in a soft, tight embrace that felt strangely comforting. His breathing slowly evened out.
“Please, I want to be alone,” he croaked. “He won’t go. Can you please get him to leave?”
Daven snorted. “He is an Imperial prince, Ryneth. He doesn’t take orders.”
The nurse checked the IV pump, her hand shaking. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to need to search the patient. Make sure he’s okay.”
“I can assure you, he’s fine. Now get out.”
“But—”
“Now.”
The nurse gave Ryneth an apologetic smile, but before she could leave the room, the door opened once again and the doctor walked in, the same silver-eyed man from before, his attention already on his multi-slate. “Doctor Zimeon,” she said, stepping aside.
“Hello, Ryneth. How are you feeling today?”
“I-I—”
“I’ve got good news for you. Your discharge request was approved.” Zimeon reached out and peeled back Ryneth’s eyelid, staring at the silver iris like it was a specimen. “You are dismissed. You can go home.”
“Home?” Ryneth asked, confused. He hadn’t requested anything. He had barely been awake since they brought him here.
“I’m glad our request has been approved.” Daven squeezed Ryneth’s shoulder. “Let’s get you ready then.”
Wait, what?
Ryneth recoiled, static snapping off his skin in a wild arc. It cracked against the bedframe and flared once. “I’m not going with him.”
Air closed around it instantly. The spark vanished inside the pressure, and the same force pressed Ryneth back into the mattress. His limbs went heavy. His breath caught.
Daven leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Ryneth’s ear one last time. “You heard the doctor. You were promised to me by your new ruler.”
Ryneth’s pulse hammered. Zimeon watched the static flow mid-air, encased by Daven’s air, his expression one of fascination.
As Daven reached for the IV, his ring clicked sharply against the bedframe. The sound was identical to the lock on that cage.
In the corner of Ryneth’s eye, the blue monitor light shifted to a warning red, and for a heartbeat, he wasn’t in a hospital. He was back in the cage, listening to a voice call out a number.
He tried to shout that there had been a mistake, that the transaction hadn’t finished, but the pressure at his throat tightened.
Ryneth looked at the doctor for help, but Zimeon was staring at the static instead.
It was caught mid-flow, trapped inside the pressure.
Ryneth’s heart pounded against his ribs.
He wanted to shout that he wasn’t anyone’s, that he didn’t belong to any Prince, but the air cinched at his throat just enough to turn his protest into a shallow wheeze.
Daven slid an arm behind his shoulders and dragged him half upright off the mattress.
Then he brushed a hand through Ryneth’s hair before yanking him farther into the crook of his neck.
Ryneth stiffened, his nose pressing into the heat of Daven’s skin.
The scent of woodsmoke and storm filled his lungs, making his head swim.
“You’re coming home with me. And once we’re behind my doors, you’re going to learn exactly what happens when you keep fighting me like that.”
A shiver ran down Ryneth’s spine, clashing with the lingering, shameful heat in his gut. He tried to pull back, his fingers curling into the hospital sheets, but Daven was immovable.
He let his hand slide from Ryneth’s shoulder down to his hip, a possessive squeeze that promised no escape. “You wanted your life back? You don’t have one anymore. You have me.”
Ryneth’s eyes went wide, reflecting the amber fire in Daven’s gaze. He looked at the closed door of the ward, then back at the man who held him, realizing with a jolt of terror that the hospital had been his last sanctuary.
Now, there was nowhere left to run.