Why couldn’t Martin move?
The door opened, and Addie called out, “Well, come on in, then.”
He shouldn’t have come, or waited until later. But no, he’d been seen. No hope for escaping now. Going to his doom, Martin gave a hard swallow and entered the tavern, empty save for Peter and Addie.
Potential mages, untrained. Their magic now shone in his sight, a faint golden glow.
His nerves jangled. Funny, he’d served as a guard, finely honed his fighting skills, killed demons without flinching, yet the possibility of rejection terrified him.
Smile strained, Peter approached. “To what do I owe the courtesy of your visit?”
Martin whispered, “How long since you last traded a secret for a secret??”
Peter scowled at Martin, arms folded across his chest. Dyed hair topped a face that, while not particularly handsome by local standards, carried an open friendliness, inviting men and women alike to chat. To Martin, no greater beauty existed in the universe. Peter’s nearly-black eyes drilled into Martin’s. Peter canted his head, whispering into Martin’s ear, “You’ve been gone a long time; I’ve no secrets to tell.” The rich timbre of his tones caressed Martin’s spine like a velvet glove.
Addie, the bar, hunting, all faded away, Martin totally enraptured by his lover. “My apologies, Peter. My duties have kept me away of late.”
Peter brushed his lips against Martin’s. “I’ve longed to see you. Are you really here, or do I share company with a wraith?”
Martin made a confession of his own. “I’ve missed you.”
Grasping Martin by the hand, Peter shouted, “Addie, you close tonight.”
Not waiting for a reply, Peter pulled Martin toward the storeroom and shoved him up the ladder to the room above. A wall-mounted lantern glowed a welcome.
The moment he joined Martin, Peter grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him soundly, desperate, seeking. He drew back, resting his forehead against Martin’s. “That’s what you get for leaving me to my own devices.”
Somewhat breathlessly, Martin replied, “Then I guess I’ll have to leave you to your own devices more often.”
“Don’t you dare!” Peter slammed his mouth down with no hesitancy in his all-consuming kiss.
Should Martin be thrilled to have been missed, or sorry he’d have to give this up again? Deep in his heart, uncertainty grew. He should leave here, stay away. His presence put Peter at risk, brought the wrong kind of attention.
This is war!
But Martin had never felt so helpless as in Peter’s arms. Too weak to fight, too powerless to do the right thing. He wanted only Peter. Why? What was it about this man that drew Martin in, touched his heart in a way he couldn’t resist—didn’t want to resist?
In Peter’s strong arms, Martin found comfort, purpose, a reason to fight an unseen enemy.
He remembered his mother’s tales of two heroes.There are always two.
Mouth to mouth, hands roaming, tugging at clothing, moans and grunts, and the patter of rain on the roof. Naked, they fell onto the bed, Peter a reassuring weight on Martin’s body. Warmth, comfort. Together.
The mat of hair on Peter’s chest told the truth of his coloring, ranging from dark blond to medium brown. Martin brushed his lips over the puckered scar on Peter’s shoulder.
Martin’s own body hair was thicker if lighter, his muscles bulkier than Peter’s.
After their second time together, Peter had prepared, a small vial of oil sitting on the crate serving as a bedside table. “I don’t know—”
Martin cut him off with a kiss and pulled away to murmur, “I do.”
Taking the oil from Peter’s hands, Martin shifted, giving wordless instruction. Peter lifted up, allowing Martin to apply oil to his own entrance.
Many times Martin had done the same, had grown skilled in fast preparation. Even so, now his heart pounded, and his hands shook slightly. Why? He was no nervous, untried virgin.
This was his first time, however. His first time with Peter, with someone he… loved. Depositing the oil on the crate, he wound one arm around his lover’s back, applying oil to Peter’s cock with the other and, at last, at long last, guided him to where he needed to be. Martin pushed back, impaling himself on the head of Peter’s cock.
They both gasped. “Am I hurting you?” Peter asked. “I’ve been told it can hurt if I’m not careful.”
