“Then what do you want me to do now?” Riven asked, voice hoarse.
Thane reached for his shirt collar and tugged—not hard, just enough to make the meaning clear.
“Kneel.”
Riven’s breath hitched. He should have refused. Should have told Thane to go fuck himself. But instead, he dropped to his knees.
The moment his knees hit the stone, he felt the shift. The surrender. The pulse of heat low in his belly. He hated it. He needed it.
Thane’s fingers moved to his belt, unfastening it with clinical precision, the methodical stripping away of a barrier. He pushed his pants low enough to free himself, and Riven’s breath caught.
Thane was half-hard already, long and heavy, the scent of him intoxicating. Clean skin, sweat, and that deep, dark musk that was uniquely him. It hit Riven like a fist.
“Look at me,” Thane said, voice low.
Riven looked up. Thane’s expression was still composed, but there was heat behind it now. A glint of hunger in the sharp linesof his face. His chest rose and fell just a little too fast. His fingers threaded into Riven’s hair, tightening at the roots.
“No teeth,” he murmured.
Riven swallowed and leaned forward, lips parting. The first taste of Thane’s cock made his head spin—salty, warm, impossibly smooth. He let his tongue trace the underside, slow, savoring it, even as a flush of shame bloomed hot under his skin.
This wasn’t who he was. He didn’t kneel for anyone.
But Thane’s fingers tightened slightly, and Riven took him deeper.
Thane exhaled sharply, the first real sign that he wasn’t entirely in control either. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Just like that.”
Riven’s eyes fluttered shut as he worked his mouth around him, slick and wet. The musk, the weight, the way Thane’s body trembled with restraint—it overwhelmed everything else. There was only this.
Thane guided him with measured force, never brutal, but not gentle. A rhythm built between them, slow and aching. Thane’s thighs were taut, his abs flexing with every pass of Riven’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Thane breathed, one hand moving to Riven’s jaw, thumb dragging across the corner of his mouth. “You were made for this.”
Riven groaned around him, the praise a knife in his gut. He hated how much he wanted to hear it. How good it felt to be used like this.
Thane’s hips stuttered just once—then he pulled back, just enough. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Riven looked up, lips wet, chest heaving. “Why?”
Thane stared down at him, still exposed, still hard. His expression was unreadable again. “Because I want you thinking about it. I want you going to bed with the taste of me in yourmouth and the ache of not being allowed to finish what you started.”
Riven’s cock throbbed, painful in his pants.
Thane tucked himself away and refastened his belt with maddening calm. Then he turned toward the door.
Before he opened it, he glanced back. “Sleep well, Riven.”
The door clicked shut.
Riven didn’t move.
He remained there on the cold stone floor, hands curled into fists, the silence of the room pressing in around him like a vice. The taste of Thane still lingered on his tongue. His mouth throbbed with phantom pressure. His throat ached from the stretch.
And his cock was rock hard.
“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. As if that could erase it.
He stood slowly, staggered back to the bed and dropped onto it, hands braced on his thighs, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. He stared down at his lap. The outline of his erection strained against his pants, pulsing with need, with humiliation.
