Chapter 17
The hour was late. The air in the Virellien estate had a certain heaviness to it—like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.
Riven lay on the bed in the dark, one arm flung across his eyes.
Sleep eluded him. His body still thrummed with leftover adrenaline from the mission, from the Matriarch’s fury, from Thane’s stillness.
But more than that, he kept replaying the moment Thane told him to be silent.
The snap of it. The sting. And the part of him that hated how much it had mattered.
A knock came.
Three sharp raps—deliberate, no hesitation.
He rose, padding barefoot across the cool stone floor.
When he opened the door, Thane stood in the hallway.
Still dressed in black from the mission, though his jacket was gone and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, forearms bare and corded with tension. His expression was unreadable.
Riven’s chest tightened. “Did you need something?”
Thane stepped forward, brushing past him. “I need to remind you.”
“Of what?”
The door clicked shut behind them. Thane turned, eyes dark and burning. “Whose mark you wear.”
Riven’s throat tightened. “I didn’t forget.”
“Didn’t you?” Thane moved closer, slow and certain. “You spoke for me. In front of her.”
Riven’s jaw clenched. “She was tearing into you. Your brother too.”
“She’s allowed. He’s irrelevant. You?” Thane stopped directly in front of him, their bodies close but not touching. “You’re mine. You don’t speak unless I ask it of you.”
It should have made Riven angry. Maybe it did. But more than that, it ignited something painful in his chest, humiliation and arousal knotted together. His heart pounded against his ribs, the taste of Thane’s presence thick in the air. Expensive cologne, sweat, smoke, danger.
“Then what do you want me to do now?” Riven asked, voice hoarse.
Thane reached for his shirt collar and tugged—not hard, just enough to make the meaning clear.
“Kneel.”
Riven’s breath hitched. He should have refused. Should have told Thane to go fuck himself. But instead, he dropped to his knees.
The moment his knees hit the stone, he felt the shift. The surrender. The pulse of heat low in his belly. He hated it. He needed it.
Thane’s fingers moved to his belt, unfastening it with clinical precision, the methodical stripping away of a barrier. He pushed his pants low enough to free himself, and Riven’s breath caught.
Thane was half-hard already, long and heavy, the scent of him intoxicating. Clean skin, sweat, and that deep, dark musk that was uniquely him. It hit Riven like a fist.
“Look at me,” Thane said, voice low.
Riven looked up. Thane’s expression was still composed, but there was heat behind it now. A glint of hunger in the sharp lines of his face. His chest rose and fell just a little too fast. His fingers threaded into Riven’s hair, tightening at the roots.
“No teeth,” he murmured.
Riven swallowed and leaned forward, lips parting. The first taste of Thane’s cock made his head spin—salty, warm, impossibly smooth. He let his tongue trace the underside, slow, savoring it, even as a flush of shame bloomed hot under his skin.
This wasn’t who he was. He didn’t kneel for anyone.
But Thane’s fingers tightened slightly, and Riven took him deeper.
Thane exhaled sharply, the first real sign that he wasn’t entirely in control either. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Just like that.”
Riven’s eyes fluttered shut as he worked his mouth around him, slick and wet. The musk, the weight, the way Thane’s body trembled with restraint—it overwhelmed everything else. There was only this.
Thane guided him with measured force, never brutal, but not gentle. A rhythm built between them, slow and aching. Thane’s thighs were taut, his abs flexing with every pass of Riven’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Thane breathed, one hand moving to Riven’s jaw, thumb dragging across the corner of his mouth. “You were made for this.”
Riven groaned around him, the praise a knife in his gut. He hated how much he wanted to hear it. How good it felt to be used like this.
Thane’s hips stuttered just once—then he pulled back, just enough. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Riven looked up, lips wet, chest heaving. “Why?”
Thane stared down at him, still exposed, still hard. His expression was unreadable again. “Because I want you thinking about it. I want you going to bed with the taste of me in your mouth and the ache of not being allowed to finish what you started.”
Riven’s cock throbbed, painful in his pants.
Thane tucked himself away and refastened his belt with maddening calm. Then he turned toward the door.
Before he opened it, he glanced back. “Sleep well, Riven.”
The door clicked shut.
Riven didn’t move.
He remained there on the cold stone floor, hands curled into fists, the silence of the room pressing in around him like a vice. The taste of Thane still lingered on his tongue. His mouth throbbed with phantom pressure. His throat ached from the stretch.
And his cock was rock hard.
“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. As if that could erase it.
He stood slowly, staggered back to the bed and dropped onto it, hands braced on his thighs, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. He stared down at his lap. The outline of his erection strained against his pants, pulsing with need, with humiliation.
He shouldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
But the ache only worsened. The memory of Thane’s voice in his ear, of fingers in his hair, the weight of cock on his tongue—
Riven swore again, louder this time, and yanked his pants down with shaking hands. His cock sprang free, flushed dark and already leaking. He wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed, once, hard.
A sharp gasp tore from him. He leaned back against the headboard, eyes falling shut.
Thane. The scent of him. The sound of his breath hitching when Riven took him deep. The sharp command of his voice. Look at me. You were made for this.
Riven groaned, pumping his fist hard and fast. The shame only made it worse. Made it hotter.
He imagined dropping to his knees again. This time, with no hesitation. Thane pushing his head down, forcing him to take it all. Not stopping. Using his mouth like it belonged to him. Riven gagging around him, spit dripping from his chin, helpless and hungry.
He bit down on his bottom lip, breath coming faster now.
He imagined Thane fucking his throat.
Holding him there.
Using him.
And the worst part—the sick, humiliating part—was how badly he wanted it. How desperately he needed to be taken like that. Owned. Erased.
His back arched. His fist sped up.
He came with a low, shuddering groan, spilling across his stomach, the aftershocks wracking his whole body. For a long moment, he lay there, breathless and dazed, staring at the ceiling as the heat cooled and the shame settled in.
Disgust curled low in his gut.
He hated this.
Hated himself.
And he hated Thane most of all, for knowing exactly how to get under his skin, for pulling this out of him like it was nothing.
Riven sat up slowly, wiped himself clean with a crumpled shirt from the floor, and dragged his pants back on. He didn’t bother with the lights. He lay back in the dark, heart still thudding with the rhythm of something dangerous and undeniable.
He knew he’d do it again.
And Thane knew it too.