Chapter 23
The door slammed shut behind them.
Riven wasn’t sure if Thane had kicked it closed or just used the sheer force of his presence, but the sound echoed through the small guest room like a warning.
The lights were dim, the furniture bare save for a narrow bed and a dresser, neutral and anonymous.
A room meant for no one in particular—except, apparently, for what was about to happen now.
Thane didn’t speak. He stalked forward with a dangerous calm, his eyes never leaving Riven’s face. He looked like a man barely restraining a storm, and Riven couldn’t pretend he wasn’t drawn to it.
Riven’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, the plaster cold against his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but Thane was already there—crowding in close, bracing one hand on the wall beside Riven’s head.
“You still taste like alcohol,” Thane murmured, voice rough and low. “But under it…I think I can still find me.”
Riven’s breath caught.
Thane leaned closer, his mouth hovering just off Riven’s lips, his fingers trailing down the center of Riven’s chest, slow enough to make it feel like a threat. “Is that what you want?” Thane asked, his voice like a razor dragged soft over skin. “You want me to remind you?”
Riven’s body answered before he could. Heat surged, want curling low in his stomach. He didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust anything about this—about the way Thane could smell his need like blood in the water.
When he didn’t answer, Thane’s lips barely brushed his cheek as he spoke again. “Get on your knees.”
The command was soft. Almost gentle, but it brooked no argument.
Riven didn’t move at first.
His pride screamed at him not to. His shame, louder. But the part of him ruled by want won out in the end—by the memory of Thane in his mouth, heavy and demanding, by the weight of his mark on Riven’s skin.
Slowly, he dropped.
Thane watched him the whole way down, gaze sharpened by hunger and possession. When Riven settled on his knees, Thane’s hand drifted into his hair, not tugging, just curling there in a claiming hold.
“I didn’t think I’d have to tell you twice,” Thane said, husky with approval. “Good boy.”
Riven almost snapped at that, but his throat was dry. His mouth watered for something else entirely.
Thane unfastened his pants with an infuriating calm. He didn’t look away as his cock was freed—thick and flushed, already hard. Riven hated how much he wanted it. How badly his mouth ached to be full of it again. How just the scent of Thane made his resistance collapse.
“You kept thinking about it, didn’t you?” Thane asked, thumbing Riven’s cheek, then tracing the line of his jaw down to his lips. “How it felt. How you gagged on it. How I tasted.”
Riven tried to glare up at him. But Thane’s cock was inches from his face now, and the low, satisfied noise Thane made told him exactly how much that look failed to land.
“You’re drooling,” Thane said. “And you’re not even touching me yet.”
A flush burned up Riven’s neck. He wanted to throw Thane off his rhythm, knock him back, punish him for every smug inch of that voice.
So he opened his mouth.
Thane’s breath hissed out through his teeth as Riven took the head in, tongue flicking along the slit.
He tasted salt and skin. It wasn’t gentle—Riven didn’t want gentle.
He wanted to take control back in the only way left to him, so he pushed forward, swallowing more of Thane’s length, not stopping until he felt his gag reflex spike. He backed off, then did it again.
“Fuck,” Thane breathed, hand tightening in his hair now, a warning, or maybe a reward. “Look at you. So fucking desperate for it.”
Riven moaned around him, just to make him feel it. Thane cursed again, hips jerking forward despite himself. When Riven gagged again, Thane pulled back just enough to let him breathe, but didn’t let go.
“Take it,” he ordered, voice ragged now. “Take what you’ve been thinking about all fucking day.”
Thane didn’t move at first, letting Riven set the pace—let him work himself deeper, gag and swallow, spit slicking his chin. But Riven saw his eyes catch on it.
Riven’s hand.
Between his legs. Wrapped around himself. Stroking slow, shameful, helpless.
Thane groaned like it pained him. His hand fisted harder in Riven’s hair, tugging him back just enough to pop off his cock with a wet gasp. Riven blinked up at him, lips flushed, pupils blown, spit glistening at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re jerking yourself off while sucking my cock?” Thane said lowly. “You that fucking hungry for it, pet?”
Riven didn’t answer. He was too far gone, too drunk on Thane’s taste and the surge of shameful pleasure in his gut.
Thane’s free hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing wetly over Riven’s lower lip. “Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me how bad you wanted it. Tell me what you thought about when you had your hand wrapped around your pretty cock in that lonely bed of yours.”
Riven’s throat worked. His voice came out hoarse. “I…I thought about this. Your cock in my mouth. Me—on my knees.”
A low growl escaped Thane, and then he was dragging Riven up to his feet, spinning him, pushing him roughly onto the guest bed behind them. Riven landed on his back, dazed, legs spreading before he realized what he was offering.
Thane was on him instantly, kneeling between his thighs, pulling Riven’s pants down in one smooth motion. His eyes—hot and glowing with power—locked onto Riven’s flushed, leaking cock, and then lower, to the tight pink of his hole.
“You’re hard as a fucking rock,” Thane murmured, like it offended him. “And you let me think you didn’t miss me?”
Riven opened his mouth to protest, but Thane didn’t give him the chance. He shoved Riven’s legs up, spread wide, and dove in.
Riven gasped—choked on a moan—when Thane’s mouth closed over him, hot tongue lapping over his hole with obscene focus. He braced against the bed, fingers knotting in the sheets, hips jerking under the relentless press of Thane’s mouth.
“Fuck—fuck, Thane—” he gasped, completely unraveling.
Thane didn’t stop. He licked him open with dark, furious purpose, spit and heat and wet breath making Riven writhe. Every pass of his tongue felt like punishment. Worship. A reminder of exactly who he belonged to now.
“You’re mine,” Thane growled between licks. “This tight, needy little hole—mine.”
Riven could barely breathe. He nodded helplessly, every nerve ending on fire.
Thane pulled back, face flushed, lips wet. “Turn over.”
Riven hesitated, just a second too long.
Thane’s palm cracked across his thigh. Not hard—just enough to shock him.
“I said,” Thane repeated, voice full of steel and promise, “turn over.”