The silence in the car was thick, humming with unspoken tension.
Riven shifted in his seat, trying not to think about the images still burning through his mind—the way the dancer’s body had moved, the lewd sound of Sorrell’s pleasure, the raw hunger on display. But mostly he tried not to think about his own reaction, the ache in his cock that hadn’t let up since they left.
Beside him, Thane drove like he was trying to punish the road. One hand tight on the wheel, the other tapping against the console with barely contained irritation. His eyes were fixed ahead, jaw locked.
Riven glanced over. And that’s when he saw it.
The bulge pressing against the expensive cut of Thane’s slacks.
He blinked, startled. For some reason, he hadn’t expected it. Thane had acted so unaffected by the display, yet here he was as turned on as Riven.
Riven’s mouth went dry.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “Well. That was…an interesting meeting.”
Thane didn’t glance at him, but his voice cut through the space between them. “Sorrell’s always like that.”
He took a corner fast. Riven braced himself against the door.
“He likes to disarm people,” Thane continued. “Control the room by throwing them off balance. Anything he can use—shock, lust, disgust—it’s all ammunition. The fact that he’s a shameless exhibitionist just makes it easier for him.”
Riven let that sit for a beat. “I suppose he did that, huh?”
Thane growled. “You made it easy to notice how it got to you. Like a bitch in heat drooling over all the cock in the room.”
A smile tugged at Riven’s lips even as a flush of embarrassment crept into his cheeks at how obvious he’d been. “What, jealous?”
The car jerked slightly as Thane took the next turn harder than necessary.
Then, with no warning, he shifted in his seat—and freed his cock.
Riven’s breath caught.
It sprang out, thick and flushed, already fully hard. The veins along the shaft pulsed with heat, and the head gleamed in the dim dashlight like it was daring Riven to touch it.
Thane’s voice came low. Dangerous.
“This is the only cock you should be aching for.”
Riven didn’t hesitate.
The sound he made was barely human as he twisted in his seat, unbuckling before dropping to his knees between Thane’s legs. He braced one hand on Thane’s thigh, the other on the dash for balance, and leaned forward—eager, desperate, already opening his mouth.
He took Thane deep.
The taste of him was like the heat of the night—salt and smoke, like danger made flesh. Riven inhaled him the way Sorrell had done to the dancer, but this wasn’t performance. This was hunger.
Thane let out a breath through gritted teeth, his free hand tangling in Riven’s hair. “Don’t tease,” he growled.
Riven didn’t.
He sucked hard, let Thane hit the back of his throat, adjusted to take more. Each thrust was punishing, brutal, as the car swerved only slightly under Thane’s expert control. The rhythm was merciless—Riven’s lips stretched wide, jaw aching as Thane fucked his mouth.
Riven moaned around him, the sound buzzing against Thane’s cock. He loved this. Loved the way Thane lost composure, the way dominance took over, how every thrust meant mine.
Then Thane came.
A hard, choked grunt, his grip tightening, holding Riven down. Hot release hit the back of Riven’s throat and he swallowed greedily, not even flinching, staying there until Thane’s grip finally slackened.
