Page 44

Indeed, Luke’s body must have known, just as Syrus knew. Instinctive. Primal. Not to be refused.

When he was taken to the very root, Syrus managed to keep a leash on that feral hunger and lifted his head, studying those mossy green eyes. There wasn’t much green to be seen now, with Luke’s pupils so large and his lids so heavy. It was too seductive by far, seeing Luke this way, wanton and inviting.

But Luke had barely made a sound during Syrus’s invasion, other than panting breaths. Syrus held back the urge to thrust and pound and take, nuzzling into the prickly hair at Luke’s jawline. “Did I hurt you, sweet Luke?”

Luke shook his head. “No. It’s…” He shifted, inner muscles clenching around Syrus’s cock. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so full.”

Even with the torture of staying still, Syrus couldn’t help the slow spread of his grin. “I’m very large, as you said.”

“And so humble,” Luke groused. He tried to roll his eyes as well, but he ended up closing them with a gasp when Syrus withdrew—just a little—and nudged forward again.

“You like me here,” Syrus murmured, tonguing at the salty skin of Luke’s neck. “Inside you.”

“Yes.”

“I like it too.”

Another gasp, an almost silent moan. “Show me.”

Yes. Syrus would show him. Even with a foreign form, he knew this part well enough, the rocking motion of two bodies pressed together, the give and the take. Even if his cock had never been held so tightly before, gripped by these hot, silken walls.

Syrus hitched Luke’s leg up higher with one hand and let himself move. Let himself thrust.

Luke’s silence didn’t last. His breaths grew heavier, little moans and groans escaping, just as they had with Syrus’s fingers inside him. Luke’s hands roamed greedily over Syrus’s chest, his shoulders, along his back. When Syrus palmed Luke’s inner thighs and spread his legs even wider, going deeper than before, Luke’s blunt nails dug into the skin of Syrus’s back, trying to tear and claw.

Syrus had said he’d be gentle, hadn’t he? But the urge to claim was too great. The need to bury himself so deep Luke could never dislodge him. He pounded his hips more fiercely, setting a hard, rough pace. And while Luke may not have been a vicious man-eater, he was no frail lover. He was built of hard muscle and grounded strength. He could take it. He was taking it, urging Syrus on with his greedy hands and the welcoming angle of his hips.

“Yes, Luke,” Syrus crooned. Or did he growl the words? “Take me.”

The heat in Syrus’s veins was coiling and building, twisting around his spine. It was nothing compared to the heat of Luke’s body, his mortal skin burning hot and slicked with sweat.

Syrus’s belly clenched, low and hot. It wouldn’t be long now. He was going to fill Luke even more, give him the spend he’d earned so well. Make his belly swell, not with spawn, but with Syrus. Only Syrus.

“Syrus,” Luke moaned, as if reading Syrus’s thoughts. “I’m gonna⁠—”

“Yes,” Syrus hissed.

He moved faster. Harder. Luke didn’t protest. He slid his hand between them, stroking his pretty cock, getting himself right where Syrus needed him to be. His neck arched beautifully as he let out a deep, ragged groan. Syrus growled harshly, undone by the way Luke’s muscles fluttered and spasmed around his cock.

He tilted Luke’s hips and deepened his thrusts, pounding into Luke with a sort of blind fever as he chased his own release.

Beautiful Luke. Sweet Luke. Dearest Luke.

The sound Syrus let out as he came was unlike any he’d ever made—a strangled, tortured roar. Never had he been so taken over by the sensation of rightness, the feeling of getting exactly what he wanted. Needed. Craved. The pleasure washing over him was foreign in its completeness.

In the aftermath, they were both left silent other than their panting breaths. Syrus remained inside his human as his cock slowly softened, and he couldn’t help but take Luke’s mouth again in a breathless, openmouthed kiss that was as graceless as it was necessary.

And no matter what Luke claimed about his own appeal, the small, tender smile he gave Syrus afterward was the prettiest thing Syrus had ever seen, on ocean or on land.

Syrus woke from slumber to hear a small voice saying, “Dada.”

Syrus blinked into the darkness, letting his eyes adjust. There was a short, dark shape in the doorway of Luke’s bedroom. Little Colby, up from his crib in the middle of the night.

Syrus glanced down at Luke, who was sleeping soundly under the weight of the arm and leg Syrus had thrown over him. He was so warm and soft and sweet in slumber Syrus could eat him up.

Perhaps he would do just that.

But not this very moment. Right now, his mate needed his sleep. As did his mate’s precocious spawn.