Arching off the mattress, Shae gasps, “Gods, there. Right there.”
Arthur massages into the same spot, dizzy with how hot Shae is writhing beneath him, until he can’t take the waiting anymore. He withdraws his fingers and spills out a palmful of oil to slick up his cock. The touch of his own hand is nothing, but the thought of sheathing himself inside Shae’s waiting body nearly sends him over the edge again. Deep breaths help, and he hikes Shae’s legs up around his hips.
They join together slowly. Arthur’s too overwhelmed to crack more jokes, and Shae stops demanding that Arthur go faster. Every inch of Arthur’s cock slides into Shae’s body with agonizingly sweet pressure and heat. The oil is the only thing between them. He lowers himself to his elbow as he sinks to the hilt, and Shae’s arms wind shakily around his shoulders, then tighten. Holding him down.
Arthur meant to warn Shae before he moved, but he’s breathless with pleasure and his body has other ideas. His hips jerk, drawing a sweet groan from Shae, and another when he thrusts back in. As he moves, Shae only holds him tighter, buries his hands in Arthur’s hair, and drags him into a messy kiss.
Their lips slide together. Sometimes he kisses Shae’s mouth, sometimes his jaw, sometimes his ear. “Touch yourself while I fuck you,” he murmurs, then breaks off in a groan as Shae tightens around him. “I want you to come on my cock.”
Shae’s only answer is a whimper, but one of his hands untangles from his hair and drops between them.
They find a rough, artless rhythm, and eventually, Shae is the first to come. He bites into Arthur’s shoulder with a strangled yell, and his body clenches down in spasms around Arthur. He falls back, panting and flushed and dazed, and it’s the sight of him more than the sensation that finally sends Arthur over the edge as well. His orgasm rolls through him like a thundercloud, and he shudders his release into Shae’s body.
He hangs there, panting for breath, until Shae extricates his remaining hand from his hair. Now free, though he’s not sure he wants to be, he pecks a gentle kiss on Shae before sitting back on his heels and pulling out. A drop of come is visible on Shae’s rim, and the sight satisfies some primal, possessive urge inside him.
He collapses next to Shae and presses his forehead against the man’s narrow shoulder. “Still want to murder me?”
Shae laughs breathlessly. “You’re safe for tonight, brave paladin.” He turns onto his side, facing the window. Arthur brushes the hair from his neck to press a single kiss there, then settles naturally behind him. His spent cock rests against Shae’s ass, and Shae’s ribs rise and fall against his.
He should be washing up, getting dressed. Going around town and asking about vaidkos and paladins and petty thieves. But his body’s filled with languid satiation, and he’d rather stay another few moments with Shae in his arms.
?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Shae
Shae picks at his breakfast and ignores the way Jessop the innkeeper avoids eye contact. Right now, he doesn’t care if the man thinks he’s about to summon corpses at the breakfast table; he just wants his ham and toast, and an entire pot of shaflower tea to wake him up. The inn’s front room is cozy, with more bright curtains and blue-painted tabletops. Shae and a pair of merchants by the window are the only guests at the moment. They either don’t notice Shae or don’t care.
A slight chill creeps through his bones even as the warm food settles in his stomach. Arthur needed to check on Duchess, and Shae had said he should get the lay of the town while he was out. Usually Shae would insist on going with him, but he trusts Arthur to come back before he gets too cold. At least, he wants to trust him.
And he could use twenty minutes or so to breathe on his own. Savor the soreness lingering deep within his body. It’s hard to think about anything when Arthur’s right next to him, impossibly bright and attractive and distracting.
Now that he’s alone, he’s able to admit that maybe sex isn’t the solution to everything. He’s glad they fucked—truly, viscerally glad—but his desperation and urgency were driven by anxiety as much as desire. He doesn’t like being near people who hate him. He doesn’t like thinking that other paladins might be around with a claim on Arthur’s time and attention.
At least instead of just being anxious, now he’s well-fucked and anxious.
He’s only halfway through his first mug of tea when a familiar warm aura brushes his awareness. Shae swallows his tea and glances over as the front door swings open, and a tall stranger with Vara’s sun on his chest walks in.
Shae reels, stunned.
The paladin is stouter than Arthur, paler and clean-shaven. His light brown hair is pulled back in a knot behind his head, and a long sky-blue cloak billows behind him. He calls out as he enters, “Jessop, my good man! A pint of ale, as fast as you can pour it!”
“Sir Bernard!” The innkeeper emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His cheer sounds strained. “I thought you lot were gone west.”
“I thought so too, but well—confidential details. I’m afraid I can’t say more.”
Their voices drop to a low enough volume that Shae can’t eavesdrop without effort. He turns back to his tea, unsure whether he’s amused or disgusted. Sir Bernard’s arrogance wafts through the room like a sour perfume. Shae decides to finish eating quickly and return to their rented room. Or should he try to find Arthur in town? Head him off? He stares into the pink-gold shaflower tea, mind racing. Every selfish instinct tells him to keep Arthur away from this man.
The familiar but unfamiliar aura intensifies. Shae’s head whips up as Sir Bernard strides towards him, cloak billowing unnecessarily.
“Necromancer,” he says, far more loudly than necessary. Shae is too aware of the way the merchants at the window table drop their utensils to listen in. “I’m from the Radiant Order, and I need to ask you a few questions.”
Shae clenches his jaw. On the one hand, his entire body craves the warmth emanating from the paladin’s spirit. On the other hand, his ten years’ experience with self-important men like this tells him to run out of the room or draw his knife. Neither instinct is particularly helpful.
He finishes his mug of tea. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any answers.”
Bernard sets his hand on the table in front of Shae. Not slamming it, but hard enough to jolt the empty mug. “My friend Jessop says you came into town yesterday. What are you doing in Lanwatch?”
