Page 4 of Henrikk’s Secret

Asher left the goblets on the table and turned back to him. “I want to do something first before we drink. May I?”

Curiosity unfurled within Henrikk, spurred by a quiet awakening panic as he felt the last of his time on this earth fade. “You may.”

Asher extended his large hand in offer, his broad fingers emanating assurance and strength.

Henrikk tentatively placed his hand in Asher’s, cursing silently at how slender his looked in comparison.

Asher guided him the short way to his chair. “Would Your Majesty please take a seat?”

“Henrikk,” he heard himself correcting, hating how vulnerable he felt. “Let’s drop the formalities.”

Asher didn’t hide his smile. “Even better.”

Henrikk sank onto the chair as if it was a throne. To his surprise, Asher went down on his knees.

His heart jolted. “What are you doing?”

Asher looked up at him, his features even more handsome as he offered a wry smile. “Proving a point.”

“And what is that?”

“You know what,” Asher responded, his blue eyes inviting like refreshing pools of water.

He did know. Asher wanted to hear those precious three words, the ones Henrikk was keeping clutched close to his heart. He would take them to the grave, not to hurt Asher, but to spare him from further pain once he was gone.

Do not mourn my death, Asher. It will be a good thing.

Despite the height difference, Henrikk felt anything but in control as Asher’s fingers reached for his belt. He drew a sharp breath as the general opened his trousers and brushed his half-hardened cock with his knuckles.

“This is a fine way to send your king off,” he said, making a show of stretching his arms before relaxing them on the arm rests.

“I thought so,” Asher replied, stroking Henrikk’s cock up and down and causing a flurry of sensations to rush through him.

Holy shit.

He was on his way to being fully hard when Asher surprised him by leaning forward and kissing the tip of his cock.

It was so innocent, so sweet.

So filthy.

And Henrikk knew he didn’t deserve such an intimate, voluntary act of…of pleasure.

“Asher,” he began, unsure of what he planned to say.

He never got the chance to formulate the words because Asher took him in his mouth, sending a shooting pleasure to activate all his nerve endings as wet heat engulfed his head and shaft.

Sweet mercy.

His hand twisted in Asher’s hair, fisting the beautiful, glorious blond strands, but he didn’t direct him to move. Asher was doing a fine job by himself—bobbing his head up and down, taking Henrikk deeper and deeper, pummelling his throat.

“A man of conviction,” Henrikk panted as his head fell back.

He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But he loved what Asher was doing to him. This would be a sweet death, smothered in sin.

Asher made a deep, throaty sound that could have meant anything, but meant everything to Henrikk as he took his entire length in his mouth. Asher took him so deep that his top lip met Henrikk’s lower abdomen where the fine trail of hairs led down, and his lower lip grazed his balls.

“Ohhh, you are so good,” Henrikk said in a breathy moan, his hand loose in Asher’s hair now as he tousled it.