“Happy to help,” Nevander says, his touch reverent, his gaze ravenous.
They finish undressing with desperate fumbling. It would have been faster had they separated for even a moment, but Seren can’t stop kissing every piece of Nevander he can reach. Legs and blankets tangle until Nevander plucks a vial of oil from midair.
Almost empty. They’ll need to replace it soon.
“I can’t wait,” Nevander says. “May I use your thighs?”
“Yes,” Seren says, then again after his thoughts catch up. “Yes.”
He moves eagerly under Nevander’s guidance, until he’s comfortable on his side. Nevander eases behind him, bare skin igniting with contact. There’s a quick, wet sound, and the scent of roses and fresh clover surrounds Seren.
“Press your legs together,” Nevander says, hoarse with the desperation that echoes through Seren’s empathy.
The feel of Nevander so uncontrolled, so needy, is hotter than any touch. Seren hooks his ankles together, tightening his thighs as much as possible, as Nevander’s cock pushes between them.
It’s as intimate as penetration. Each thrust rubs against Seren’s cock, his tightening balls. Nevander plasters so close, they seem to share a heartbeat. His breath is ragged against the sensitive point of Seren’s ear.
“How am I already so close,” Seren gasps, and fuck, hefeelsNevander’s surge of well-deserved arrogance. The only answer is a laugh that rumbles straight to Seren’s cock. An arm that pins Seren even closer.
Only Seren gets this side of Nevander. Obsessed, emotional, tender, greedy. All that careful planning focused onSeren, until they both lose control.
“Touch yourself,” Nevander pants. “But don’t come yet.”
Seren groans and grips himself tightly enough to hurt, otherwise he’ll disobey immediately. He won’t have a choice if Nevander keeps him waiting too long. “Not sure that’s possible.”
Nevander nuzzles his tingling ear. “I believe in you.” Cock dragging slower, he adds, “Just a bit longer.”
The reassurance helps. The hand wandering to Seren’s nipple doesn’t. He writhes in Nevander’s grasp, pleasure sparking inside and out. The slick heat between his thighs, the friction tugging his chest.
“Almost,” Nevander says, possessiveness blazing brighter. Seren realizes what they’re waiting for as Nevander growls, “Now.”
Seren cries out, vision whiting in ecstasy twice over. Nevander’s elation pours into him, sweetened with disbelief. As if Nevander too doesn’t know how he can be this lucky.
They remain entangled as they catch their breath. Seren carefully weaves his emotional shields together, and Nevander massages their mingled come into Seren’s stomach. Seren doesn’t need empathy to feel Nevander’s radiating satisfaction.
“Seren Calithel,” Nevander says. “I adore you.”
Seren has never felt so truly seen.
Hours later, despite some delays and unhelpful help from Harmony, they manage to clean up. Seren’s promise of obedience ends. A pot of tea steeps on the balcony table, and Seren curls up with Nevander on the lounging sofa.
Evening deepens the sky. Harmony stalks a butterfly through the honeysuckles. The fragrance blends with the clean warmth of Nevander’s skin.
Nevander is distractingly casual in loose trousers. Seren wears a robe. “So you don’t get cold,” Nevander had saidinnocently. Never mind that the robe is completely transparent. Seren would have been scandalized mere months ago.
Now, he just enjoys Nevander’s attention. Reverent fingers trace Seren’s skin through the sheer fabric.
“Don’t answer this recklessly,” Nevander says, his words as tender as his touch. “Someday, I’m going to ask you for a lifebond.”
Delight settles comfortably in Seren’s heart. He cuts off a million reckless replies, because Nevander’s right. They have hundreds of years to grow together, and they’re still recovering from the pain of Nevander’s last vow.
But Seren doesn’t need a vow to prove how much Nevander matters to him.
Now the butterfly is chasing Harmony. The squirrel races inside in a panic.
“I have a gift for you,” Seren says, reaching into his carryhold. “Though it’s late for a threshold gift.”
A book appears in his hand, bound in faded blue leather. He lowers it to their laps and traces the rippled, water-damaged edges. It’s hardly impressive next to the masterpieces in the palace libraries.