So he did speak. “Then maybe you should shut up for once and listen to someone else’s reasoning.”
Thane’s nostrils flared. For a moment, Riven genuinely thought he might strike something—maybe not him, but something.
“The plan is solid,” Riven said, refusing to look away. “You’re too close to this. You’re letting your past screw with your judgment—”
Thane laughed. A bitter, sharp sound. “You think I don’t know what this is? You think I haven’t run enough missions to see every possible failure point before we even begin?”
“I think you’re scared—”
“No.” Thane’s voice sliced through the room. “You don’t get to stand there and pretend this is some noble risk. You’re not the one with a target on your back.”
He advanced another step, chest nearly brushing Riven’s now. “You go back to the Seam and what happens? You’re made in five minutes. Maybe they recognize you, maybe they don’t. Maybe they follow you back. Maybe they slit your throat in some alley and dump your body where no one finds it. Or maybe they let you live just long enough to gut someone else in this House.”
Riven’s throat was dry. He hadn’t considered all of that, not fully. Not until Thane gave the fears shape and weight and let them settle like stones in Riven’s gut.
“Worst case,” Thane continued, quieter now but no less brutal, “they use you to get to me. Or Caerel. Or Luca. Or my fucking mother. You think you’re not handing them leverage? You think they won’t sniff out every weakness and exploit it?”
Riven didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. He let the silence stretch between them, let Thane’s words crash around them both. Then, quiet and just a little mocking, he said, “What, you worried about me?”
Something sharp and volatile flickered in Thane’s face. And then he moved.
Riven barely had time to react before Thane’s hand was at his throat—not choking, not cruel, but firm enough to knock the breath out of him as he was shoved against the door. The wood groaned behind his back, mirroring the sound that rumbled out of Thane’s chest as he kissed him.
It wasn’t tender.
It wasn’t careful.
It was rough and bruising, all teeth and frustration, and Riven met it just as hungrily. He gave as good as he got, lips parting, tongue meeting Thane’s with a groan of sheer want. But when he surged forward to deepen it, Thane didn’t allow it. That hand on his throat tightened—just enough to hold him there, restrained, not letting him take control.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Thane muttered, his breath ragged, lips brushing against Riven’s like he couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.
Riven’s pulse thundered in his ears. He was half-hard already, cock aching from the friction of their bodies pressed together. But it was Thane’s restraint that really lit a fire under his skin. The way he held back, even now, even when he’d slammed Riven into the door like he wanted to take him right there.
“I think I do,” Riven said, and slid his hand down between them, cupping the thick, unmistakable bulge in Thane’s trousers.
Thane inhaled sharply, his hips twitching forward into the pressure. His eyes, already dark with anger, went nearly blackwith need. For a moment, Riven thought he’d given in, that he’d let go. But instead, Thane stepped back.
The loss of contact hit like a slap. Riven stared at him, surprised—but not hurt. Because the way Thane’s chest rose and fell, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes tracked every inch of Riven like a predator denied its prey…it told him everything he needed to know.
Thane was barely hanging on.
Riven advanced. Slowly. Deliberately.
One hand returned to the swell of Thane’s cock, stroking it through the fabric, feeling it hard and pulsing under his palm. The other slid up his chest, fingers brushing the front of his shirt, tracing the line of his collarbone with a lover’s boldness.
“What is it, Thane?” Riven asked softly. “You upset about the plan? Or upset that your pet isn’t heeling properly?”
Thane laughed, but it came out rough, almost strangled. His head tipped back slightly, and Riven saw the war in him. The need. The fury. The control that had cracked and now threatened to shatter completely.
And under Riven’s hand, Thane’s cock throbbed.
Riven’s lips curved, slow and satisfied. He might have disobeyed. Might have gone too far.
But he wasn’t the only one.
Chapter 37
Thane’s breath was ragged, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile—but it wasn’t exertion. It was restraint, and it was shattering. Riven could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his eyes darkened, heat and fury tangled together. He wanted this. He wanted Riven.
