Chapter 51
Riven wanted more.
He wanted to taste every inch of Thane, wanted to mark this memory deep into his bones—the shape of him, the sounds he made, the way his body responded with raw, unguarded hunger.
He slid lower again, dragging his tongue down the shaft he’d just worshipped, over the familiar weight of Thane’s balls, and then even further.
Thane’s breath caught above him as Riven gently pushed at his thighs, encouraging them up and apart.
There was a pause—brief, uncertain.
Then Thane let him.
It was a rare kind of trust, and Riven knew it. He cradled Thane’s legs, holding them open, and bent down until he could kiss the skin just below, soft and smooth and flushed. He worked slowly, reverently, until his tongue circled the tight ring of Thane’s hole, teasing him with barely-there licks.
The sound Thane made wasn’t quite a moan—it was something deeper, more startled.
Riven smiled against his skin.
“Oh,” he murmured, dragging his tongue in slow circles. “No one’s done this to you before.”
Thane didn’t answer. But his body did.
The shiver. The way his thighs tensed in Riven’s grip. The low, guttural noise that tore from his throat when Riven flattened his tongue and feasted.
He licked with slow, deliberate strokes, letting spit and pressure work Thane open just enough to make him gasp. The taste of him was heady, rich, and clean, and Riven lost himself in it—devouring him, pressing his face in closer, tongue circling and then pressing just barely inward.
Thane’s whole body was flexing now, a sheen of sweat rising across the inked planes of his abdomen, the powerful tattooed lines of his thighs.
“Fuck, Riven,” Thane groaned, voice ragged. “What—what are you doing to me…”
Riven didn’t answer. He only doubled down, licking deeper, rougher, his fingers digging into the backs of Thane’s thighs to hold him exactly where he wanted him. He was rewarded with more sounds, helpless and almost disbelieving, as if Thane had never been undone like this before.
Which, Riven had realized with something aching in his chest, he probably hadn’t.
That made him feel something fierce and possessive—almost proud.
He was still licking, still savoring, when his free hand drifted down to his own body.
He didn’t mean to.
He hadn’t even realized how hard he was, how much he ached. But the second his palm slid over the length of his cock, slicking over the head with the smear of pre-cum already there, a bolt of sensation shot through him so intense it nearly made his knees buckle.
He stroked once. Then again.
Fuck.
It was too much.
The taste of Thane. The sounds he was making. The way his body trembled under Riven’s mouth. The trust in every muscle he’d surrendered.
Riven kept licking, moaning into the heat of him, even as his hand moved on his cock, slow and hungry. He tried to resist—tried to focus only on Thane—but it was like denying gravity. He needed this, needed him, needed everything.
His grip tightened. His mouth moved faster. And above him, Thane looked wrecked—eyes half-lidded, head thrown back, the muscles in his stomach twitching with every flick of Riven’s tongue.
“Fucking—gods,” Thane gasped, his voice little more than a breath. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Riven grinned into him.
That was the plan.
Riven’s tongue moved in slow, relentless circles before he slid back up to Thane’s balls, licking along the sensitive seam before taking one gently into his mouth. He suckled, soft and wet, then switched to the other, letting his tongue swirl and tease.
Thane’s hips flexed under him, hands bunching the sheets at his sides, breaths coming faster now—hitched and ragged.
“Riven…” he murmured, half-wrecked.
Riven looked up at him, lips slick with spit, eyes gleaming with a mix of hunger and mischief. “Yeah?” he asked, voice low and teasing.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He licked his way back down, slower this time, more deliberate, until he was pressed right against Thane’s entrance again, kissing it, licking it, letting the vibrations of his groan sink into him.
His fingers drifted down, slick with spit. He circled Thane’s rim with one, letting it press just a little—not enough to breach, just enough to tease.
Thane hissed, but didn’t stop him.
Encouraged, Riven pressed more firmly, letting his finger sink in with patient pressure, watching Thane’s face as he worked him open. When Thane let out a low, guttural grunt, Riven stilled.
“Should I stop?” he asked, voice gentle but rough with arousal. “Tell me now.”
Thane’s eyes were nearly black with lust. He didn’t speak—he growled, a deep, affirmative sound—and spread his legs wider in answer.
Riven let out a breath in awe and pushed in deeper, working Thane open with reverent care. His other hand reached up, wrapping around Thane’s cock and gently tugging it down toward his mouth. He kissed the flushed head before parting his lips and sinking down.
The taste of him was electric—salt and skin and power. Riven moaned around him, the vibration making Thane buck beneath him, but Riven held firm, taking him deep and slow while his fingers began to move.
He kept the rhythm deliberate, a dual assault: sucking Thane’s cock in long, steady drags while his fingers curled and thrust inside him. The stretch made Thane shudder, made him groan low and dark like it was being pulled from somewhere deep in his chest.
Thane’s hand came to Riven’s hair, not to guide or stop him, just to touch, to feel. His fingers clenched in the strands as his hips jerked involuntarily, held back only by the strength of Riven’s hands pinning him.
“Fuck—” Thane gasped, voice hoarse. “That mouth—those fingers—gods, Riven—”
Riven swallowed him deeper in answer, hollowing his cheeks, working him as he pushed a second finger in beside the first, scissoring them gently, stretching him. The tight heat of Thane around his fingers, the weight of his cock on his tongue, the way the elf trembled for him—it was overwhelming.
But Riven didn’t stop.
He devoured.
If it was the only time, he was going to make it count.
Riven leaned back into the plush, ridiculous chair, legs spread wide, his grin smug and hungry as he beckoned Thane with a lazy curl of his fingers. “Think you can take it?”
The glint in Thane’s eyes sharpened like a blade catching sunlight. He didn’t answer with words—just stalked forward until he was standing between Riven’s knees. He reached down and gripped the arms of the chair, caging Riven in.
“You’re lucky I indulge you,” Thane growled, voice rich with amusement and warning, before capturing Riven’s mouth in a kiss that scorched. His tongue swept deep, his hand slipping to Riven’s throat in a gesture more possessive than punishing.
And then Thane dropped to his knees.
The sight alone stole the breath from Riven’s lungs. Thane Virellien, heir and blade, power made flesh, kneeling like a devotee before him, gaze dark and locked on his.
Thane didn’t hesitate—he leaned in and took Riven’s cock into his mouth with slow, deliberate confidence, the heat of him unbearable. Riven groaned, fingers sliding into that thick silver hair, anchoring himself.
Thane set a pace that was maddening—deep, unhurried pulls, the wet heat of his mouth exquisite. Riven thrust shallowly, testing, and when Thane didn’t flinch, didn’t falter, just looked up at him with a cool, wicked approval in his eyes—Riven lost it a little.
“Fuck, you’re good at this,” Riven rasped, his hand tightening in Thane’s hair as he began to thrust more deliberately, hips rising to meet each stroke of Thane’s mouth.
And Thane—gods, he took it.
Didn’t gag, didn’t blink, just opened for him, a smug flicker of amusement in his gaze even as Riven fucked into the heat of his mouth.
It was a battle, and Riven wasn’t sure who was winning.