27. A Dangerous Gift #3
Nevander’s oil-slick thumb brushes Seren’s nipple. Seren whimpers, the sound echoing. Nevander’s fingers are too slick to get purchase, and the sliding touch might drive Seren insane.
“Seren,” Nevander says, fingers withdrawing. Trembling. “I can’t wait.”
“Then don’t,” Seren begs.
With a groan, Nevander notches against his hole. Then slides in.
It’s overwhelming and right. Too much and too perfect, and Seren isn’t afraid of being awkward or doing this wrong.
He’s too busy arching into the gorgeous sensation.
Nevander carves into him, and Seren’s glad his every other dalliance ended prematurely.
None could have compared. Seren wants Nevander and only Nevander, and he’s about to say so when Nevander’s wet hand covers his mouth.
“You should be careful,” Nevander says, voice tight. “Promises are too easy when you feel this good.”
Not an order. A warning.
That’s Nevander’s right hand over his mouth. Clover and rose and unmistakable musk fills Seren’s lungs. He clenches down on Nevander’s cock, winning an exquisite moan.
“I could feel better,” Seren manages, a challenge instead of a promise.
Nevander’s hands drop to cover Seren’s, pressing down against the marble. “Yes, my prince,” he growls, and fucks in deeper.
Seren is safe to clutch the marble edge and feel. Water, steam, lilacs, honey, wet skin gliding against his. Elladar Palace may as well be a separate place. Like they’re tucked away in a haven, where nothing can hurt them.
“How is this?” Nevander asks, hand sliding down Seren’s stomach.
“Good. More than good. Do you—should I—” Seren doesn’t know what to offer. He can’t think beyond the firm grasp around his cock, the heat tightening his balls.
“You should do exactly this,” Nevander rasps against the delicate point of his ear. “Let me take care of you.”
That last order seizes Seren’s mind. He whines, and his orgasm unfurls like blossoming magic. Sparks punctuate his blurring vision, and he spills into the water.
Finishing heightens every other sensation. Nevander feels impossibly large inside Seren. The last few thrusts are staggering, until Nevander groans, forehead pressed to Seren’s shoulder.
Nevander falls still, and Seren understands the urge to keep memories in glass, to live them perfectly again and again.
Seren almost protests when Nevander withdraws. But Nevander urges him around, and his summer-bright kiss sears the emptiness away.
They don’t speak much as they rinse off. Seren allows Nevander to slowly dry him in front of the fire, heat and soft furs restoring his sense of reality. Harmony tries to join them, but she dislikes the dripping wet hair.
They aren’t in a haven. They’re in a palace. What’s supposed to be Seren’s palace. And that’s more tolerable than it was an hour ago.
Nevander takes a very long time brushing Seren’s hair. Much less time brushing his own, even though it’s longer.
Then he leads Seren naked to bed, and after turning off the lanterns, slides in with him. Nevander doesn’t lie down immediately. He sits, gaze methodically traveling the shadowed room.
“Are you staying tonight?” Seren asks from the pillow.
Nevander traces Seren’s thigh through the fine quilt. “I would like to.”
As Seren revels in that confession, another weight lifts. The hour is up, and Seren’s obedience has expired.
Perhaps that’s what Nevander was waiting for. He lies down, pulling Seren closer.
Seren settles against Nevander’s chest. His mind is free to wander, and another question escapes. “Is this a secret?”
Nevander strokes Seren’s hair. “Not on my part.”
“What would you advise?” Seren asks. When Nevander hesitates, he adds, “I’ll do what I think is best. But you know this place and its people better than me. I’m still lost.”
He doesn’t bring up Gevain’s marriage proposal. That would rather spoil the mood.
“Affairs aren’t rare at court,” Nevander says at last. “We can behave as we like and let others assume what they will.”
That makes sense. An announcement sounds overwhelming. Hiding sounds far too stressful. One word twists uncomfortably, but Seren isn’t sure what to replace it with. “Is that what this is? An affair?”
“What do you want it to be?” Nevander asks, then sighs. “You don’t have to answer that.”
This is the other reason Seren’s attractions have never gotten far. Telling the truth is often unromantic.
“I don’t know what I want,” Seren confesses. “I barely know who I am anymore.”
Nevander abandons his hair to hug his waist under the quilt. “Fae speak freely of feelings, but carefully of commitment.”
Seren has always wondered how anyone could promise a lifetime to another, when nobody knows what the future holds. Too often humans make promises only to break them the next week, the next day. It used to madden Seren. But there are safeguards in the ability to break a promise.
“For your own protection,” Nevander continues quietly. “I would not bind your heart. You are new to this world.”
How sensible.
Seren wants to make promises. Lofty, irresponsible promises.
One day at a time is safer. And in his fucked-out bliss, Seren dares to ask for a moment of the future. “Will you kiss me tomorrow?”
Nevander promises, “I will.”