Chapter Ten #16
A soft laugh escaped Flynn, then turned into a moan when Zavier rolled his hips shallowly. The movement dragged them both into a new heat. Zavier braced himself over him and moved again, still gentle, still controlled, letting Flynn’s body learn the rhythm.
The bed gave a quiet creak under them. Their skin slid damply together.
Every thrust pulled a sound from Flynn now—breathy moans, sharp little gasps, helpless noises he seemed to hate and love making.
Zavier kissed him each time the noises climbed too high, swallowing them, licking into his mouth while he fucked him in slow, deep strokes.
Flynn’s hands wandered. One clutched at Zavier’s upper arm, feeling the tension there. The other slid down his back, then lower, nails dragging lightly before gripping his ass and making Zavier groan into his mouth.
“That got your attention,” Flynn murmured, dazed but smug.
“It did.” Zavier rocked into him harder, enough to pull a cry from his mate. “Smart mouth.”
“That’s all I’ve got right now.” Flynn’s breathing hitched. “Brain’s just gone. Completely evacuated.”
Zavier smiled despite the pressure building hot and relentless in his gut. “I noticed.”
He shifted, angling deeper, and Flynn’s whole body jerked.
The moan that tore out of him was louder this time, filthy and sweet enough to make Zavier’s cock pulse hard inside him.
Flynn grabbed the sheets with one hand and Zavier with the other, holding on as if he could not decide what to anchor himself to.
There. That angle. Zavier did it again, then again, savoring the way Flynn’s body reacted each time. His mate writhed beneath him, slim frame taut with sensation, cock trapped hot between their stomachs and smearing wet across both of them.
“Oh fuck,” Flynn gasped, head tipping back into the pillows. “There. Do that again. Be evil.”
Zavier laughed under his breath and gave him exactly that, keeping the rhythm deliberate and deep until Flynn was trembling.
Then he slowed just enough to kiss down his throat, over his collarbone, across one flushed nipple, body worship mixed with possession until he could feel Flynn melting under his hands.
Every touch mattered. Flynn seemed starved for it, for the softness of it.
Zavier kissed his shoulder, stroked his ribs, ran his hand down Flynn’s stomach and back up again, as if he could memorize him by feel.
It amazed him how easily Flynn fit beneath him, how his narrow hips opened for Zavier, how his lean body held such vivid response.
Nothing about him was small in this. Flynn filled the room.
Filled Zavier. There was no space left untouched.
“Zavier,” Flynn said again, almost helpless now.
Reaching between them, Zavier wrapped his hand around Flynn’s cock and started stroking in time with his thrusts.
Flynn broke.
His back bowed off the bed. A string of moans poured out of him, wrecked and breathless, his grip turning desperate on Zavier’s shoulder.
The sound of his pleasure soaked through Zavier like heat.
He kept the pace steady, watching his mate come apart piece by piece while rain whispered harder outside.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” Zavier said, unable to hold it in.
Flynn shook his head weakly on the pillow. “Don’t say pretty things while I’m being fucked. It’s unfair.”
“You started it.”
“That sounds fake,” Flynn panted, then cried out when Zavier tightened his hand and drove deeper.
The sheets had twisted around their legs. Sweat slicked their skin. Zavier’s body strained with the effort of going slow when instinct urged him to chase his own release, but he wanted his mate drowning in pleasure first. Wanted him fully there with him.
He rolled them suddenly, taking Flynn with him until his mate sat over him, startled and flushed, hair falling into his face.
Flynn blinked down at him. “Zavier.”
He grinned and pushed the hair back from his mate’s forehead. “You can handle it, kitten.”
A shaky laugh left Flynn. Then Zavier guided his hips, helping him find the motion.
his mate gasped at the deeper angle and braced his hands on Zavier’s chest, learning quickly.
The sight nearly destroyed him. Flynn sitting over his dick, slim body moving with increasing confidence, lips open, nipples tight, cock flushed and leaking against his stomach.
Zavier gripped his hips and helped him rise and sink, slow at first, then with more purpose as his mate found the rhythm that made him moan.
“Fuck,” Flynn said, voice wrecked. “This is obscene.”
“It is.”
“You sound so calm.”
“Baby, I am not calm.” Zavier slid his hands up Flynn’s sides, feeling every ripple of movement under his palms. “I’m trying not to lose my mind.”
That seemed to please Flynn. A crooked, dazed smile flashed across his face before it dissolved when Zavier thrust up into him and hit that same spot again. Flynn shuddered hard.
“There. Again,” his mate said, the words falling apart on a moan.
Zavier sat up enough to pull Flynn down into his arms and took over, fucking up into him while Flynn clung to his shoulders.
Their mouths met messily, all tongue and breath and soft bitten sounds.
Flynn’s body gave itself over more with each stroke, tension and vulnerability and pleasure turning him molten in Zavier’s hands.
When Zavier rolled them back, Flynn came willingly, legs opening wide around his hips.
Zavier settled over him and drove in with a little more force now, still careful, but no longer pretending he was not close.
The wet slap of their bodies filled the room.
The mattress knocked softly against the wall.
Flynn moaned into Zavier’s shoulder, then licked and kissed at his throat in messy gratitude that made Zavier’s entire body tighten.
“You feel so good,” Flynn murmured, sounding wrecked by the truth of it.
Zavier’s control frayed.
He caught Flynn’s face and kissed him hard, then braced one hand beside his head and fucked him deep, the rhythm turning urgent. Flynn met him as best he could, slim body taking each thrust, breath breaking louder now. Zavier wrapped a hand around Flynn’s cock again and stroked him faster.
That pushed Flynn right to the edge.
His mate came with a sharp cry, spilling hot over Zavier’s hand and both their stomachs.
The pulsing drag of Flynn’s orgasm around his cock nearly sent Zavier over immediately.
For one burning second he only watched him—flushed, trembling, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open—and a primal certainty tore through him.
Mine.
The bond slammed into instinct.
Zavier bent his head to where Flynn’s neck met his shoulder and bit down as orgasm ripped through him.
Flynn cried out and arched under him, not in pain, but in shock and intensity, and Zavier came hard with his teeth sunk into that tender place, his body locked over his mate as release pounded through him.
Then everything narrowed to heartbeat.
His. Flynn’s.
One rhythm. Then the same.
Under his palm, pressed to his mate’s sternum, Zavier felt the exact moment their hearts synchronized. The pounding matched beat for beat, steady and impossible, and his breath caught in his throat.
Mist rose from Flynn’s chest in a thin ribbon, pale yellow and bright against the warm gold lamplight.
At the same time, another ribbon spilled from Zavier’s own chest, a different color, violet and just as luminous.
He could only stare, half-drunk on climax and awe, while the two streams curled upward, twined around each other with liquid grace, and then shot forward.
One sank into his mate’s chest. The other pierced Zavier’s.
There was no pain. Only a violent rush of belonging that spread through him so fast it stole the air from his lungs. Flynn’s scent flooded his senses even harder, but something else came with it too.
A bone-deep connection no longer just desire or instinct.
A pledge to protect and cherish Flynn.
A Vow to destroy whoever brought him harm.
Chapter Nine
Flynn yawned, shuffling toward the kitchen to grab something to drink. Then he was crawling back under the covers. As he reached the kitchen entrance, Flynn gave the wall a scratch. “Just in case, furball,” he mumbled, then yawned, eyes nearly closed.
The knock landed hard enough to rattle the cheap frame.
Flynn jerked, hand flattening against the kitchen counter while his half-awake brain tried to sort dream from real life.
Gray early light seeped through the blinds, turning the apartment dull and bluish.
The coffeemaker had just started its sad little burbling, and the whole kitchen smelled like grounds and toast he hadn’t actually put in yet.
Bare feet cold against the floor, he blinked at the door, wondering why someone was at his apartment at the ass crack of dawn.
Another knock.
Not a polite tap either. The knock that said, “open up, I know you’re in there, and also I’ve never respected a sleeping schedule in my life.”
“Jesus,” he muttered.
Behind him, the apartment stayed quiet. Bedroom quiet. Warm-man-in-bed quiet. Flynn pictured Zavier sprawled in the sheets. Sleepy, naked, and very much worth returning to. That image alone nearly made him ignore the door on principle.
The knock came again.
“I am so gonna punch you,” Flynn snarled quietly. “In my imagination.”
With all the grace of a haunted Victorian child, Flynn shuffled forward.
His body was not awake enough for extra steps.
It was more of a soft-footed trudge, one shoulder dipping every few steps like he was manually operating himself.
He scratched at his hair, yawned so hard his jaw ached, and reached the door totally annoyed.
After Flynn had been wrecked so thoroughly, his only goal was to burrow back under the covers.
When he opened it, morning air slipped in, cool and faintly damp from sometime before sunrise.