They’d face tomorrow, well, tomorrow.
Sometimes, with random lovers, Draylon thought of someone else, but the only person in his mind tonight was Yarif.
The taste of Yarif, the scent of him, the feel of him, the way the soft hair on his legs brushed Draylon’s cheeks permeated every sense. Yes, tonight Draylon would enjoy, pushing aside thoughts of how Father manipulated and bonded Draylon to a stranger he wasn’t sure he could trust.
What he could do was…
Yarif moaned, tangling his fingers in Draylon’s hair, the occasional yank on the strands firing electric currents to Draylon’s groin. Oh, yes. He pulled off Yarif’s cock to say, “Be as rough as you want.”
Yarif pulled harder. Draylon nearly came.
He rolled Yarif’s balls with his fingers, gently tugging, listening for the sharp intake of breath and waiting for the hip thrust that indicated Yarif liked the treatment. If Yarif had been trained to be a consort, had he been taught to give pleasure but not receive?
Yarif nearly whined when Draylon abandoned his current pursuit and rose to capture Yarif’s mouth in an insistent kiss. When Draylon reluctantly broke the contact, he asked, “Were you taught to receive pleasure or to give only?” What a barbaric practice.
Yarif gave a bitter laugh. “Consorts are taught that we exist to please our mates.” The twinkle in his eyes said he’d not fully bought into the lessons. “Thank goodness for certain books that taught me better.”
“Where do you get those?”
“From Craice.”
As commander of the Cormiran forces, Draylon should demand to know how Yarif obtained books from a hostile country. But he wasn’t commander anymore. “Are they translated?”
Instead of answering, Yarif rejoined their mouths. Great evasion. So Yarif knew Cracian too? A question for another time.
Past lovers admired Draylon’s muscles, his strength. Would Yarif? Testing the thought, Draylon lifted Yarif in his arms, placing him easily on the bed.
“Although I’ve read about fair maidens who needed wooing, I’m not one.” Yarif grasped Draylon’s shoulders, tugging him onto the bed. Oh, Yarif liked forceful, did he?
Draylon found himself on his back, Yarif’s nose coming closer, and a curtain of silky blond hair hiding them from the world.
Yarif plundered Draylon’s mouth, moaning and grinding their lower bodies together. No shy thing, then. Yarif pulled back, settling on his knees on the bed, then began removing Draylon’s clothing, starting with the tunic, scattering kisses over Draylon’s chest, laving a nipple, shoulders, neck, and earlobes.
He paid attention to Draylon’s many scars, kissing or running his tongue along a groove of puckered skin. Never once did Yarif wince or make sympathetic noises. He accepted the marks as part of Draylon. Good.
Draylon’s cock pushed against the fabric of his trousers, needing attention—now! He bucked his hips, seeking friction.
Yarif smirked, running a finger over Draylon’s length through the straining fabric, pausing over the wet spot at the tip. “For me?” He took the head, cloth and all, into his mouth.
Oh, gods! Draylon groaned. This man would be the death of him. Slowly, slowly, Yarif worked the fabric down Draylon’s hips, pausing sucking long enough to release Draylon’s cock from the trousers, then taking it into the warm, wet confines of his mouth.
Draylon couldn’t fight a moan, sinking his fingers into Yarif’s mass of golden hair or bucking hard into that oh-so-welcoming mouth, with its wickedly lashing tongue.
No time to worry about traitors, forced marriages, or kingdoms. Tonight, he’d find mutual pleasure with an apparently willing lover. Tomorrow could take care of itself.
“You do that so well,” he moaned, though likely Yarif didn’t need verbal praise. His chuckle around Draylon’s cock said he knew the impact of his efforts.
All Draylon could do was lie back and enjoy, thrusting his hips, clawing at Yarif’s shoulders. So damned good.
As caught as Draylon was in the moment, Yarif startled him by releasing his cock and, in a fluid motion, rising to position himself over Draylon’s erection.
“No! Wait! You’re not prepared. I’ll hurt you!”
Yarif laughed. “You might be big, but I can manage.”
“But—”
Yarif kissed him. “You’re not very attentive. While I sucked you, I prepared myself.” He proved his point by lining Draylon up and sliding down with painstaking slowness, fully stretched and slicked. Up, down, up, down a little more, working Draylon into his depths.
