Eternal Light “Claim Its Due” Alternate POV #2
Rowan can only watch as Grayson slowly pulls the front of his sweats down, tucking them under his balls. The action shows off Grayson’s mating bites, his taut abdominals clenching. Seeing that tight V marked with his pack’s ownership never fails to make Rowan’s mouth water.
He does not say no. He never would. He never could.
Instead, he’ll show Grayson where the real power lies when it comes to giving head—and it’s not with the guy with the cock. Luca has taught him that much.
The air holding him down gives way and lifts him into a sitting position as Grayson shuffles backward onto his ass, where he can easily reach the phone.
A firm pressure of air directs him onto his knees, but it’s a real hand in his hair that pushes him down. “Open wide, Ro.”
This kind of play—the fight for dominance—has been their thing for months now. Giving or taking, it’s always a win-win for Rowan. Whether he makes Grayson bend over and beg, or lets him fuck Rowan stupid, it satisfies his wolf. Leaves him calm, content, and eager to do it all over again.
He lets those long fingers pull him in, resisting a little until they yank his hair. The tingle of pain shoots sparks straight to his dick. It doesn’t stop him from taking the perfectly rosy tip of Grayson’s cock in his mouth.
Sucking once. Twice. Grayson groans above him.
“Hey, Angel. Are you coming home soon?”
“Gray, what did you do to Rowan?” Nix asks, breathless.
Isn’t the question more about what Rowan is doing to Grayson?
He pulls back slowly, tongue dragging along the underside, lips stretched wide and wet. He pops off with a smug little smack, hand replacing his mouth as he pumps, watching precome bead at the head.
“Beeeeep. Rowan can’t come to the phone right now. Please try again later,” he chuckles darkly. “You’re okay, though?”
“I’m good. We’re coming now.”
“You’ll be the only ones coming for at least the next twenty minutes, isn’t that right, Rowan?”
He thinks of pulling off so Nix can hear him, but Grayson thrusts up, cock head breaching the back of his throat and making him gag.
“No. Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he drawls breathlessly.
He does it again, the sensation making Rowan’s belly kick and his hole clench. A stream of precome soaks the front of his boxers when he hears Nix’s moan in response.
“Hurry home. Love you.” Grayson drops the phone into the laundry pile on the floor next to them.
“Such a good mouth,” Grayson gasps, voice wrecked. “So fucking greedy.”
The hint of condescension prickles Rowan’s wolf. Without thinking, he sinks a single fang into the slick slit at the crown.
“Oh, fuck—Rowan—” Grayson chokes, followed by a deep groan and a flood of slick.
Rowan’s eyes widen. They’ve never played with sounding before. It’s not on anyone’s menu but Luca and Jay’s.
But maybe they’d just never tried.
Grayson’s thighs twitch under his hands. His fangs bite his lip, holding back something dark.
This is power.
“You want more?” Rowan says, voice dripping with smugness. “Maybe next time—if you’re nice to me.”
He could tease him more, make him beg in retaliation for taking Finn’s phone back. But all he wants is to see Grayson come undone—hear his name shouted from that perfect mouth.
So he goes hard.
One long, punishing suck, followed by three fast downward thrusts of his head, rewards him with a scrape of his human teeth along the pulsing vein along its underside—and Grayson breaks.
Hips bucking, thighs trembling, a hand pulling Rowan’s head down, he shouts “Ro!” coming hot and thick down Rowan’s throat.
He swallows all of it, one hand holding Grayson down by the hip while the other milks his shaft with relentless pressure. He doesn’t stop when it’s over. He sucks until Grayson’s panting turns to gasping, until the overstimulation hits and his whole body twitches like an electric live wire.
Only then does he pull back, licking his lips, eyes gleaming.
“You feel better?” he asks, voice wrecked and smug. What? He has every right. Grayson looks incredible—chest slick with sweat, tendrils of black hair clinging to his neck and forehead—but his scent is more basil-vanilla than patchouli, his magic calm.
Grayson laughs breathlessly, collapsing back. “You’re a fucking menace.”
Rowan grins. “Damn right.”
Sitting back on his heels, Rowan pulls off his now come-stained t-shirt, throwing it into the wash pile. He relishes Grayson’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down and his cock twitching against his thigh in admiration.
And then, before Grayson can blink, Rowan’s got him flipped over onto his stomach. Sweatpants tugged down to his knees, hips braced firm in Rowan’s hands.
“Fuck you, Rowan,” he moans, but when Rowan pulls his cock down between his legs, it’s already hard again. He gives his ass a shake to get Rowan moving, but he’s going to take his time.
He leans over Grayson’s back, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and says, low, dangerous, and dark:
“Say no, now—and mean it.”
Grayson moans, pushes his hips back again, and it’s all the answer he needs.