Then Thane shifted—angled his hips just enough—and Riven broke.
“Fuck,” he gasped, eyes rolling back. “Right there—gods—Thane—”
Thane groaned, fingers digging bruises into Riven’s hips. “Say it again.”
“Thane—”
“Say whose cock’s inside you.”
Riven bit down on a cry. His pride flared, but it drowned under the weight of pleasure—under the sound of Thane’s breath behind him, the brutal rhythm of his hips, the feeling of being utterly, wholly claimed.
“Yours,” he whispered, then louder, desperate. “Yours.”
That earned him a sound—half-growl, half-moan—as Thane slammed into him again, and again, faster now, harder. Riven felt his own orgasm crawling up his spine like fire, every muscle tight, sweat dripping off him as he jerked himself in time with the rhythm, matching Thane thrust for thrust, groan for groan.
“You gonna come for me?” Thane panted, his voice wrecked and close. “Gonna spill all over yourself while I fuck you full?”
Riven whimpered. “I—I can’t—Thane—”
“Yes, you can,” Thane snapped, one hand tangling in Riven’s hair, yanking his head back just enough to growl into his ear. “You’re gonna come for me. Now.”
It was that voice. That command. That awful, devastating tenderness hidden behind cruelty.
Riven cried out, spine bowing, and came with a shudder, spilling hot across the sheets beneath him, thighs trembling. The orgasm tore through him so hard he saw black at the edges of his vision, his whole body seized in pleasure.
Thane followed a heartbeat later with a low, guttural noise, slamming deep one last time before he came with a violent shudder, hips jerking, cock pulsing inside Riven as he filled him. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, panting like he’d just fought a war—and maybe he had.
The silence after was deafening.
The only sound was their breathing—labored, unsteady, tangled with sweat and come and something too fragile to name.
Thane eased out slowly. Riven winced, oversensitive, body shaking. He collapsed onto his side, still catching his breath, and felt the mattress dip as Thane laid beside him.
Neither of them said anything.
Until Thane reached out and brushed Riven’s hair back from his damp forehead, fingers surprisingly gentle.
“You okay?” Thane asked, quiet now.
Riven’s throat worked. His pride screamed at him to snarl, to run, to bury this whole thing under anger or shame or anything else.
But instead he nodded.
And didn’t pull away from the hand still resting in his hair.
Riven stayed where he was, cheek pressed to the sheets, breath finally slowing. His body ached in that fucked-out, oversensitive way that almost felt like peace. Thane hadn’t moved much, only shifted onto his side behind him. One of his hands still rested on Riven’s waist, thumb tracing lazy, absent circles into his damp skin. Not possessive now. Not demanding. Just…there.
Riven closed his eyes.
“This isn’t going to become a habit,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
Thane hummed low in his throat. “No?”
“No.”
A pause.
“You say that every time I have my cock in your mouth.”
