Chapter 47 #3
He caught Jassyn by the back of the neck and dragged him down into a kiss. Jassyn groaned into his mouth, the sound ringing through Lykor like struck iron.
Jassyn withdrew just enough to make Lykor feel the loss. Then again.
The rhythm built between them, and Lykor’s body turned treacherous almost immediately—clenching when he withdrew, lifting to meet him when he returned. He lasted only a handful of strokes before his legs locked around Jassyn’s waist and hauled him deeper.
The next thrust struck differently. Lykor’s head fell back into the mattress, his body locking around the pleasure before a curse ripped free.
“There.” The word came out shredded. “Whatever you just—don’t stop.”
Jassyn’s drove into him again at the same angle, with more force this time. Lykor’s hands searched blindly for purchase—headboard, sheets, Jassyn’s shoulders—his talons scoring whatever they found.
The careful pauses vanished. Jassyn’s fingers dug into Lykor’s waist, the arm braced beside his head shaking. Another thrust struck that place. The next followed before the pleasure from the first had finished tearing through him.
Each stroke left Lykor’s length harder against his stomach, slick at the head, the untouched ache there sharpening until Lykor finally closed his fist around himself.
He managed one rough pull before Jassyn snatched his wrist and pinned it to the mattress.
Green vines lashed between them, cinching around Lykor.
Jassyn’s eyes widened as the restraints bound Lykor’s arms.
Shoulders forced flat. His flesh recognized the posture first. Cold marble. Iron at his wrists. Nowhere to move. Violence surged through him, every instinct reaching for fangs and shadows.
Instead heat punched low in Lykor’s gut as Jassyn remained over him, still buried deep, staring at the vines.
“Leave them,” he growled.
Jassyn’s expression darkened into something Lykor recognized an instant before his hand closed around Lykor’s length.
The first stroke wrung out a snarl. Jassyn’s thumb swept over the head as his hips drove forward, and Lykor bucked into the stroke, taking Jassyn deeper with him.
Pleasure gathered low and vicious, tightening with every thrust and every pull of Jassyn’s hand until Lykor could barely hold himself inside his own skin.
Jassyn’s rhythm quickened, hips and fist driving Lykor toward the edge from both directions at once.
Then Jassyn leaned down, amber eyes snaring him, and breathed against his mouth, “I love you.”
The meaning crashed through Lykor before pleasure did. Pain had taught him to brace for every wound, to survive by becoming colder than whatever struck him. Jassyn’s words gave him nothing to fight.
Heat tore loose and climbed his spine.
Then Lykor detonated.
Frost erupted across the headboard, ice splitting through carved wood. Lykor’s release pulsed over Jassyn’s fist, his body tightening hard around him again and again.
Jassyn’s hips stuttered, his rhythm breaking apart. A feral sound broke from him as he drove deep one final time. He held there, shuddering, while heat spilled inside Lykor.
For a heartbeat, Jassyn stayed braced over him, breath ragged against Lykor’s neck. Then the strength went out of his arms and he collapsed against Lykor’s chest.
The vines slackened around Lykor’s wrists and slipped away. His arms closed around Jassyn before thought returned, holding him until the last tremors passed.
They stayed tangled together as the heat ebbed from their damp skin. Beyond the balcony, Asharyn lay silent under the moons, its stone courtyards empty and still.
Jassyn moved first, easing out slowly. The loss of pressure dragged a hiss through Lykor’s teeth anyway.
Jassyn settled beside him and draped an arm across Lykor’s chest, tucking his face against Lykor’s shoulder.
“You’re shaking,” Jassyn murmured.
“I’m not.”
He was.
Jassyn pressed closer and left the lie alone.
Lykor sifted his fingers through Jassyn’s curls, talons grazing carefully over his scalp. Little by little, Jassyn’s weight sank more fully against him, growing heavier as his breathing evened out.
Lykor knew he should move. Clean them before sweat and release dried on their skin.
Get Jassyn water. Proper food, something heartier than dried figs and flatbread.
Check the door. The balcony. The hall where Koln’s squad held watch.
Make certain no threat had slipped into the silence while Lykor had been foolish enough to let a bed become his whole world.
But he stayed where he was, staring at the ceiling while Jassyn’s breath warmed his skin.
I love you.
Jassyn had said it like a fact, not a confession. Like the sky was dark and the stars were bright and that he loved him.
Lykor had given him the truth once already, buried inside a future they might not live to see. But saying it that plainly was another thing entirely.
The three words rose but stayed on his tongue. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe before the war found its final way to claim them.
Lykor tightened his arms around Jassyn as he slept against his chest, warm and trusting.
And for once, Lykor let the rest of the world go unwatched.