‘Then it’s a bargain. Right: that’s one thing. The other . . .’
‘What?’
Daizell’s hand slipped downward, to his groin, not provocative, just covering him. ‘You might tell me what’s so exciting about the idea. So I understand.’ His hand tightened a fraction. ‘So I can make it good.’
Cassian attempted to clear his throat. ‘Uh. I . . . it’s the idea of . . .’ He wasn’t sure how to voice it. He’d been tossing himself off with this in mind for years, one way or another, and the idea of exposing the details of those private dreams was excruciating. The only worse prospect was that of holding back now and wondering for the rest of his life what might have happened if he were braver. ‘Just, that someone could justdothat. Not in an unkind way, not unwanted, but to wake up to your body being used by someone – that sounds dreadful.’
‘Not to me.’ Daizell’s voice was gravelly in his ear. ‘Not if you want it. And since the only people hearing it are you and me, tell me more.’
‘I want you to touch me while I sleep.’ He said it in a breath. ‘I want you to – to take whatever liberties you care to, because you can, and to be trying not to wake me so you can carry on doing as you please.’
‘Sweet Jesus.’ Daizell swallowed audibly, and, Cassian realised, he could feel the hard line of a cockstand against his back. ‘And that’s what you think about when you stroke your prick at night?’
‘Sometimes. Yes.’
‘And you look so innocent. I am going to do my very best to live up to this.’ He crawled over Cassian, tugged him round, and kissed him, hard. Cassian kissed him back,snaking his arms over those sturdy shoulders, feeling himself relax into Daizell as the kisses became slower, more gentle, decidedly sleepier.
Daizell shifted off, snuggling against him. ‘Thank you for trusting me, Cass. I will do my best. For which we both need some sleep.’
Cassian couldn’t argue. He blew out his candle as Daizell did the same, and felt a solid arm settle over his waist again as his eyelids fluttered closed.
Chapter Eleven
Daizell woke first.
He was, as ever, spooned against Cassian, his arm over Cassian’s hard hip bone, chest to back. It was very warm and comfortable, and he enjoyed the sensation for a moment before he remembered last night.
Well.
He wouldn’t have imagined that Cassian harboured such peculiar desires, but then again, if peculiar desires were obvious, he supposed they wouldn’t be peculiar. This one did no harm, or at least he hoped it wouldn’t. Daizell had not in the slightest enjoyed waking up to find a strange hand rummaging between his legs, and he had not forgotten the sense of violation, the fear, the fury. He couldn’t help wondering what would happen if Cassian woke up with a similar set of sensations.
But he’d been asked, and it had cost Cassian something to do the asking, and if it worked, well, that would be something he’d have given Cassian that nobody else ever had. Something he’d wanted and not been able to have, something he’d remember and be happy for. Daizell, leaving a mark on Cassian’s life for the better.
He wanted to get this right.
He dwelled for a moment on those whispered words from last night.Take whatever liberties you care to, because you can. As you please.Cassian had sounded so lost, so longing, and thetone as much as the words had gone straight to Daizell’s groin. He’d woken with a reasonable case of morning wood: now he pressed gently against Cassian’s bare arse, wondering how to go about this.
He shifted his hips, pressing a little closer, rubbing against the soft skin of Cassian’s back and buttocks. It felt undeniably wrong to be doing this to a sleeping man, and he reminded himself he’d been asked. Cassian had trusted him with this strange wanting; Cassian trusted him enough to hand over his unconscious body. The thought quivered through him.
He could do this. He’d just take his time. And be wary of flying elbows, because he liked his nose the way it was.
So he moved a little more, just a little, thinking of that soft pleading voice, imagining Cassian’s murmured endearments whenever he got near a horse.Such a good, willing boy. Gently frotting himself, moving lightly, finding the groove of Cassian’s arse and rubbing against it.
He felt it when Cassian woke. A slight shift in the body he pressed against, a slight change to the breathing that Daizell had come to know so intimately. He froze for a second with a feeling of dreadful guilt at being caught, and indeed an instinctive desire to shield his face, but Cassian didn’t react, just stayed unmoving. Pretending to be asleep.
That brought a couple of other mornings to mind. Daizell found himself wondering if this was what he’d wanted the first time they’d woken tangled together. The cheeky little beggar. The thought was a spur, and he started moving again, perhaps a touch harder, rubbing himself against Cassian’s unmoving flesh, ears twitching like a bat’s for the tiny shifts in breath.
He’d bet money Cassian was loving this. Something in the quality of the silence, the shallowness of his breathing:Daizell couldn’t have put his finger on it, but now he was sure, and it spangled through his veins. And since he was in fact awake . . . He slipped a very light hand down, between Cassian’s legs, gently parting the meat of his thighs with as much care as if he had believed him asleep, and so slowly, so carefully, eased his stand between Cassian’s thighs, quite as if he intended to pleasure himself at Cassian’s expense.
No reaction. Cassian must have been very good at statue games as a child, or had been taught a deal of self control. Daizell frigged himself gently against the warm pressure, wondering when he might force his lover into reaction, and suddenly realised he was enjoying himself enormously in this odd game of pretence.
He wasn’t going to touch Cassian’s prick. That was not in the spirit of his instructions. Therefore . . .
Daizell applied a little pressure, just a little, easing Cassian onto his front with immense care, and now he had Cassian under him, now he could thrust just a little harder, just as he might do if he didn’t care about waking him up any more. As if all he wanted was his own climax, and he was going to take it. He ground his hips against Cassian’s firm arse, and heard an audible moan of pleasure, no more pretence, and, driven by an impulse he didn’t understand or question, he put a hand to the back of Cassian’s skull, pushing his head down into the mattress. He held him there as he thrust harder, quite as if he only cared about finishing himself off, and as Cassian bucked under him, he spent as if his balls were on fire.
Once his head cleared, that seemed a slightly less good idea.
‘Hell,’ he said, snatching his hand away. ‘Cass?’
