Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Henry was tired. A whipping followed by several days of lying in bed could do that to a person. And although he’d never admit it to Stefano, his back still hurt whenever he moved.
But Stefano was beside him on the mattress again, their bodies pressed close, and even the scent of him was enough to help revive Henry.
They used the same soaps and ate the same foods, but Stefano nevertheless carried his own personal aroma.
He smelled of flowers and fresh grass, of a sweet summer breeze and of piney woods.
It didn’t matter that he’d spent days confined to his chambers, nursing Henry back to health; Stefano smelled of places wilder and freer than the royal palace.
“Did I hurt you, Henry?” After a single kiss to Henry’s forehead, Stefano had gone still.
“You did not.”
“But you groaned.”
Henry grinned at him. “The sound I made did not indicate pain.”
Stefano, who seemed charmingly innocent sometimes despite his age and experiences, blinked in confusion for a moment before comprehension dawned. Then his eyes widened, the gray irises heating like ashes revealing hidden embers. “You’re injured,” he protested. But he didn’t move away.
“My back is injured. The rest of me is quite well.” To emphasize his point, Henry moved Stefano’s hand to his groin where the linen of Henry’s nightshirt did little to block the delicious pressure and warmth.
It was Stefano’s turn to groan. But then he shook his head. “We shouldn’t. You’re still—”
“Please, Stef.” This was playing dirty because Henry knew that Stefano could never resist his pleas.
But Henry had used this tactic before—including the very first time he seduced his prince, when they were barely into their teens—and he was willing to use it again.
He also did his best to look both imploring and sexy, which wasn’t an easy combination.
He didn’t feel guilty about this little ploy.
He wanted Stefano very badly. Even more important, however, he knew that Stef wanted him.
His prince hungered for touch more than for food, perhaps because as a young child he’d received sufficient of the latter but very little of the former.
Feeding this appetite was one of Henry’s favorite duties.
And it was a duty he hadn’t been able to fulfill for days.
As Henry had hoped and expected, his strategy worked. Stefano rolled onto his side, so close that their noses almost touched and each breathed the other’s air. That alone was enough to make Henry hard: the knowledge that some part of Stefano was being consumed by his own body.
Stefano threaded fingers through Henry’s hair. “I don’t want to hurt you. Not any more than I have already.”
“I told you. You have never hurt me.”
The answering smile held more sadness than joy, and Stefano sighed deeply before touching his lips to Henry’s. Just barely, a ghost of a kiss really, but it was enough to fully awaken Henry’s senses like a flower freshly bloomed. “Take off our clothing,” he commanded.
Looking happier now, Stefano obeyed. First he knelt so he could draw his own nightshirt over his head, throwing the shirt carelessly aside.
Then he worked Henry’s shirt above his hips and, with infinite gentleness, up his torso and past his head and arms. Even though the new wounds stung a bit with the jostling, it was a minor thing, far outweighed by the delight that his prince so dutifully followed Henry’s commands.
“You winced,” Stefano accused as he settled back beside him. “I saw.”
“Perhaps, but did you see this as well?” Henry returned Stefano’s hand to his groin, but this time there was no intervening fabric, and this time Henry’s cock was stiff and eager.
Stefano made a small, delighted sound as if surprised at Henry’s arousal. He began to stroke with the exact amount of firmness that he knew Henry preferred.
“There are many things I love about you,” Henry whispered. “One is that although we’ve had sex hundreds of times, you treat every time like a wonderful discovery. As if the act were a shiny new beetle you’d found, or a bird with particularly interesting coloration.”
Stefano stopped caressing him long enough to tickle his ribs. “You are not a beetle or a bird. You are a man”—he emphasized this by returning his attention to Henry’s cock—“and a magnificent one at that. But now that I have discovered you yet again, what will I do with you?”
Henry had many suggestions. But since he wanted to heal quickly, he chose one that would be gentler on his back. “You will taste me.”
Immediately Stefano licked his lips. Although his face was tanned from all his time spent in the gardens, still his flush showed beautifully. “I think I will.”
He started far north of where Henry had expected him, nibbling on Henry’s earlobe and along his jawline. Henry stretched his head back, baring his neck as if offering himself in sacrifice, and Stefano mouthed the tender skin.
Henry managed to work one arm under Stefano’s body so that he could clutch both of Stefano’s shoulders.
He pressed hard with his fingers, both to anchor himself and to remind Stefano that their connection was mutual.
Besides, Stefano preferred a bit of not-quite-pain when they lay together. Sometimes he begged for it.
Now, however, his mouth was too busy for speech.
While Henry arched and moaned, Stefano worked his way to Henry’s chest to suck his nipples and lick the spot where his heart pounded beneath his skin.
Just as that was becoming almost too much for Henry, Stefano continued his journey southward, down the sternum and abdomen, veering slightly to the side to tongue at the point of Henry’s hip.
He seemed to be taking his orders quite seriously, tasting every inch of skin, sending Henry into a deliciously maddening frenzy of want.
Although Henry felt as hot as a smith’s forge, he shivered, and although he loved to watch his lover, he closed his eyes to prevent himself from being overcome.
Then Stefano slid his mouth over Henry’s cock, and Henry was overcome anyway.
Lava coursed through his veins, just as in the volcanoes that Stefano had told him about.
His skin was too small to hold him, to contain all of the sensations buffeting him like mighty waves.
His mind could find only a few words: Stef and Yes and My prince.
And he laughed because all the beatings he’d endured, every deprivation he’d ever faced, every look of scorn he’d experienced—all of these together were such a small price to pay for the great privilege of belonging to Stefano. And having Stefano belong to him.
Stefano pulled back, but only so he could say a few hoarse words. “Let me taste you, my beloved.” He returned to his task… and Henry fell apart almost at once, shouting in completion and triumph and elation.
By the time Henry’s breathing was almost back to normal, Stefano had scooted back up the mattress and tucked himself into Henry’s embrace.
They kissed deeply this time. If Henry hadn’t still been recovering, the taste of himself on Stefano’s tongue might have spurred him to a second round.
But as it was, he took Stefano’s erection in hand, kissed the crook of his neck, and said, “Now.”
That was all it took for Stefano to gasp and climax with a shudder.
“I ought to clean us up,” Stefano said sleepily a few moments later, but he didn’t move away. “And change our bedclothes.”
“That can wait.”
Stefano yawned loudly. “I suppose it can. I am the most selfish man in the world, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve always found you quite generous.”
“But I’m too selfish to make you leave. Even when I know this can’t end well for us.”
Henry knew this too. “But we are well now, and that is enough for me.” That was an untruth.
In his heart, Henry yearned for forever with Stefano, for a life together and free.
But even princes didn’t always get what they wanted, and Henry was no prince.
If he couldn’t have the entire feast, he’d be grateful for a few bites of one exquisite dish.
Stefano kissed him again, gently this time, and then they fell silent.