He had twenty minutes.
Chapter 9
Riven tried the cold water. He really did.
Let it bite down his spine, pool in the hollow of his back, run in rivulets over his flushed skin. He braced himself against the tiles, forehead pressed to the cool wall, breathing hard. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.
He was still hard—obscenely so. His cock ached, thick and flushed and leaking against the inside of his thigh. Every nerve still buzzing with the imprint of Thane’s voice, the weight of his gaze, the heat of his body pressed so fucking close. Riven had spent years mastering control. Years pretending he didn’t want, didn’t need, didn’t ache.
But Thane—
Thane undid him with a look. A word. A fucking smirk.
Riven gritted his teeth and wrapped a hand around himself. The sting of it was almost a relief—palm too rough, grip too tight, like he could chase the shame out of his blood if he jerked it hard enough. He bit down on a groan and worked his fist over the head, thumb smearing pre-cum along his slit.
He imagined Thane watching him like this.
And fuck, that was a mistake.
Not imagined. Knew.
Because when he finally turned, Thane was there.
Standing just past the glass, half-shrouded in shadow, fully dressed in black, not a stitch out of place.
Not shocked. Not apologetic. Waiting.
Riven froze, fist tight around his cock, pulse thrumming in his throat.
He should’ve been furious. Should’ve shouted, covered up, shut it down.
Instead, his cock twitched in his hand.
Thane didn’t blink. His gaze dragged slowly down Riven’s naked, wet, trembling body like he was being devoured.
“You’re hard,” Thane said, voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.
“No shit,” Riven growled, but it came out rough. Desperate.
Thane’s lips twitched. “You want me to leave?”
Yes.
No.
Riven’s breath hitched. His hand hadn’t moved. Still wrapped around his shaft, knuckles pale.
Thane stepped closer, just enough to lean against the wall near the entrance. “Then don’t stop.” And Riven hated how fast he obeyed.
He started moving again—slow strokes, base to tip, the sound wet and filthy in the echo of the room. His free hand braced on the wall to keep him from buckling.
He kept his eyes on Thane.
Thane didn’t so much as flinch. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt with deliberate ease, just enough to loosen the collar, then slid a hand beneath it and over his chest, tracing the line of his sternum down to the front of his trousers.
He didn’t undo them. Didn’t take his cock out.
Just pressed the heel of his palm against the growing bulge like he was staking claim.
