Page 152 of Given to the Black King

Through the bond, he is still asleep.

Torgan asleep is nothing like Torgan awake. No maps. No listening for steps in the corridor. No part of him braced for attack.

Just warmth. Weight. Breath moving my hair.

I lie still and feel him from both sides.

His arm around me.

His contentment inside my chest.

His cock hard against the backs of my thighs.

That last part becomes difficult to ignore.

Want slips into the bond before I decide what to do with it.

His hand tightens.

His eyes remain closed.

“Again?”

His voice is rough with sleep.

“We have not done anything yet.”

“You thought about it loudly.”

“I was assessing the morning.”

“Your assessment is rubbing against me.”

I shift my hips once.

His breath stops.

The bond gives me the sensation from his body: my bare skin dragging over the slick flare, the thick ring catching lightly between my thighs, the heat trapped between us.

My own body answers.

He feels that too.

“Oh,” I whisper.

“Yes.”

I feel his arousal, then feel him sense mine, then feel my response to being sensed. The attention feeds itself until neither reaction belongs to only one body.

Torgan opens his eyes.

Gray in the dawn. Darkening already.

I turn within his arms. The first venom opening tore everything wide without permission from either of us. Since then, emotion leaks easily through the bond, but sending a single sensation takes focus.

“Before we learn anything,” I say, “what the bond tells us is information. Not consent.”

“Yes.” His hand stays open and still against my belly.