Page 20 of Henrikk’s Masquerade

Asher brushed his tears away, but it was no use. More followed.

Mercifully, he cried silently.

“Shh,” Asher soothed, undressing him, undressing himself, exposing them both to the bitter cold.

Soon, their clothes lay in a heap at their feet, their trousers collected around their ankles as the frosty wind bit their skin.

Henrikk jerked violently when Asher’s hard cock slid along the cleft of his ass. “No! Do not. Don’t you dare—”

He fought. He tried to throw Asher off.

He put everything into it, swinging his head around, elbowing, bucking.

He even attempted to haul the general over his head to plummet to the grounds below.

But it was no use. Asher was a solid wall of strength and muscle that pinned him into place, overpowering him with little effort.

“Get off!” Henrikk shouted. “Guards! Guards!”

“No one is coming,” Asher replied calmly. “It’s just you and me, old friend.”

“Don’t do this,” he begged, no longer seeing anything of the grounds as his vision blurred. His broken voice turned commanding, enraged. “Do not do this.”

He heard Asher spit, and dread transformed into a horrid certainty as Henrikk realised he was wetting his cock. Preparing himself for his conquest. Asher pressed closer.

Henrikk flinched as he felt Asher’s slick broad head rest against his asshole.

“Let me in,” Asher implored. “Let me love you.”

He shook his head furiously, his head spinning, his body racked with tremors. “I cannot.”

Large, gentle hands rubbed his shoulders, his upper arms. The bow hung limp; the string pressed on the back on Henrikk’s neck.

Henrikk, too, went limp in Asher’s arms. “I cannot,” he repeated, more feebly this time.

“You can,” Asher whispered. “And you will.”

Henrikk shook his head. It was all he was capable of doing as his frozen fingers clawed at snow.

“You’ve fooled me for so long,” Asher murmured. “Why did you never tell me how you felt?”

He couldn’t reply. How could he, when so much had gone unspoken for so long? When he’d sacrificed his body, his soul, his life, to preserve the dark secrets that had been carved into him?

A soft kiss to his cheek, Asher’s lips lingering.

A second kiss, nearing the corner of his mouth.

Asher’s face nuzzled his neck. His fingers combed his hair.

So gentle.

So tender.

So much more kind than he deserved.

Henrikk sobbed, a wretched sound.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he whimpered. “Can’t you see that?”