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“Holy shit,” Rohan grated out, stroking Jamil’s smooth thigh reverently, as his unfocused black eyes roamed between the place their bodies were connected and Jamil’s face. “Look at you, sweetheart.”
Jamil realized that Rohan had meant it literally when Rohan merged their minds, allowing Jamil to see and feel what he felt. Jamil whimpered, his pleasure doubling as he now could feel how tight he was around Rohan’s cock, how much the sight of Jamil’s wantonly spread legs turned Rohan on, how badly Rohan wanted to just fuck him hard, pound him into the mattress, make him beg for his cock. “You love this, don’t you?” Rohan said hoarsely, pulling out and watching as Jamil whined and tried to impale himself on his cock. “You love being fucked. You love cock. You want cock for breakfast, lunch and dinner, night and day, up your ass and deep down your throat, don’t you?”
“Please,” Jamil mumbled, feeling delirious with need. “Please, please, please.”
A muscle clenched in Rohan’s cheek. Rohan’s hands took his hips and spread his thighs even wider. Their eyes locked, Rohan slammed back into him.
Jamil cried out. “Ah! More.”
Rohan gave him more.
After that, it was a blur of pleasure. Jamil was only vaguely aware that he was moaning, meeting every hard thrust, his fingers digging into Rohan’s muscular buttocks in order to pull him deeper into himself. They found a brutal, broken rhythm that was all need, their lust feeding off each other, the merge urging them to be closer, deeper, more, more, more.
They rolled all over the bed, fucking in every possible position, trying to sate the maddening desire to be one. It was never enough.
At some point, Jamil ended up on top, fucking himself on Rohan’s cock.
Rohan stared up at him with black, glazed eyes as Jamil rode him with shameless abandon, Jamil’s head thrown back and his mouth open in a soundless cry. Gods, it felt so good, so unbelievably good, the thickness of Rohan’s cock inside him incredibly satisfying. He didn’t care that his thighs were already trembling with the effort; he needed this.
So fucking tight and look so pretty taking my cock.
Jamil whimpered, catching Rohan’s thought. He couldn’t help but sink deeper into the merge, allowing himself to see through Rohan’s eyes again. Was that him? That moaning, panting, lustful creature riding Rohan’s long cock as if something possessed it? Lips bitten red, cheeks flushed, his cock leaking and red against his pale stomach? He couldn’t deny that the image aroused him. It didn’t help that his thoughts and desires were mixing with Rohan’s and it felt like he wanted to fuck himself, push Jamil under him and pound into him until they both saw stars. He was made for his cock—
Rohan growled and rolled them so that he was on top again. Gripping his hips, Rohan set a furious rhythm. Harder, faster, so good, the thrusts deep and sure. A roaring filled Jamil’s head as their pleasure built. “Need you, need you, need you.” He wasn’t even sure whose thought it was; it didn’t matter. They came, clutching each other and kissing desperately, Rohan’s hips still grinding into him as the pleasure exploded between them.
They fell asleep like that, their bodies and minds still one.
Chapter 20
Sunlight filtered through the closed curtains in Jamil’s bedroom, bathing everything in warmth. Or maybe it was their bond, pulsing with warmth, affection, and belonging.
Sighing sleepily, Jamil tried to wiggle out of his arms.
Rohan made a protesting sound, his arms tightening. “No, don’t go.”
Jamil laughed, a happy, warm laugh that made Rohan’s chest swell with affection. No, affection was the wrong word. Possessive adoration. Fuck, he wanted to hold Jamil in his arms forever. Nine days of this had been nowhere near enough. He felt like he’d never get enough. It was probably strange how little he cared anymore that Jamil was male. He felt perfect in Rohan’s arms, as if he was created for them. Maybe he was. Such a perfect mental Fit like the one they shared was incredibly rare. It was the stuff of legends and myths—old stories Rohan usually scoffed at, but now couldn’t help but wonder if there was a grain of truth to them.
Soulmates. Two people with one soul and opposing personalities that complemented each other.
Rohan used to laugh at the mere idea of soulmates, but he had to admit the definition strangely fit him and Jamil. Their personalities really couldn’t be more different, but Rohan had never fit with another person so well; it felt like they were two puzzle pieces put together. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how little he minded Jamil’s prim and reserved nature—he had always gravitated toward cheerful, easy-going women in the past—but with Jamil, his prim, proper behavior just made him smile fondly. With Jamil, his every smile, every laugh, and every naughty smirk was just all the more precious.
Fucking hell, he couldn’t believe how besotted his own thoughts sounded. Sirri and Warrehn would never let him live it down if they could hear them.
“Let go, Rohan.”
He didn’t want to.
“Do you really have to get up?” Rohan said, his voice still hoarse from sleep and his eyes closed as he pulled Jamil back against his chest.
He could feel that Jamil was smiling. “Yes. I’m the Crown Prince. I wish I could laze about in my bed until afternoon, but I don’t remember a time it actually happened. I have a meeting with a councilor, and then I’m taking Tmynne out. She loves being outside.”
Rohan didn’t say anything, nuzzling into the back of Jamil’s neck.
“You’ve been here nine days, but you haven’t gone to see her,” Jamil said, his voice very neutral. “Since that first time.”
Rohan opened his eyes. All he could see was the graceful curve of Jamil’s shoulder, but he didn’t need to see Jamil’s face to know that he was frowning.
Rohan pressed his lips against that smooth shoulder and sighed. “I don’t want to get attached, Jamil.”
Silence.
He didn’t need to say anything. They both knew what he meant, of course.
He’d already stayed longer than he should have, far longer than he had expected, but it was unlikely to last. Although the Blind was still blockaded by the High Hronthar’s people, sooner or later, the monks would have to give up. Frankly, Rohan was surprised they hadn’t given up already. That apprentice boy must really be valuable for the Order—or for its Grandmaster—if they still persisted with the blockade. Sirri and Warrehn had been forced to lie low in the safe house, gradually losing their patience as days went by. It also didn’t help that the Grandmaster’s apprentice had turned out to be a handful and had nearly escaped several times already. Selfishly, Rohan was glad he wasn’t stuck in a tiny house with a frustrated Sirri, an inpatient Warrehn, and some stubborn, slippery kid hell-bent on returning to his master.
In any case, the current state of affairs couldn’t continue indefinitely. Rohan would have to leave soon—to save Warrehn and Sirri from doing something rash and go home the moment they could get to the Blind. If worse came to worst, they would activate their TNIT transponders outside the blind spot, but it would be a last resort. The unregistered use of a transgalactic transporter would be immediately detected by the Calluvian authorities, and they couldn’t risk them to be traced back to Tai’Lehr, not at this point. So it was a waiting game.
But every waiting game had to end. And when it ended, Rohan would have to leave. It was bad enough that everything in him felt sick at the idea of leaving Jamil behind. He didn’t need to get attached to the child too.
“I understand,” Jamil said, his voice still neutral as he pulled away from Rohan and sat up, putting his mental shields up.
Rohan’s hand twitched toward him. Fucking hell, it was unhealthy how much he hated having any barriers between them. He wanted to be inside Jamil, always. He had to actually bite the tip of his tongue to stop himself from saying something he would regret later. It was bad enough that he’d stayed so long, coming up with pathetic excuses to stay instead of joining Warrehn and Sirri at the safe house. He had no right to tell Jamil all the nauseatingly sweet—and disturbingly possessive—things that were threatening to choke him whenever he looked at him.
He didn’t want to break Jamil’s heart. As long as they kept it casual—or pretended well enough—it would be easier when he eventually left. At least he hoped it would be.
Rohan closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of Jamil’s taking a sonic shower, and then starting to dress. It all felt so domestic. It would be so easy to fool himself into thinking that he could have this.
He couldn’t have this, not with them being who they were.
In another world, where there was no Bonding Law, he would have been Jamil’s lord-vassal, which would have made them more than an acceptable match. Technically, Rohan was more blue-blooded than Prince-Consort Mehmer had been: he was a direct descendant of a secondary royal line of the Third Grand Clan. He actually had a claim to the throne if the current royal line was extinguished. In another world, he would have been considered a good match for Jamil: royal blood, but an extremely distant relation so there was no concern about inbreeding.
In this world, none of it mattered.
In this world, Jamil was the Crown Prince while Rohan was the leader of the ‘rebels,’ which made him a criminal in the eyes of the law.
In this world, they could only live in the moment.
Setting his jaw, Rohan made the decision. “I’ll meet you in Tmynne’s room.”
Maybe he was making a mistake, one that would end up hurting them all, but at this moment, it was absolutely worth it when Jamil turned around and beamed at him, his green eyes bright.
Rohan wished he could capture that smile and bottle it up. He had a feeling he was going to need it when it all came crashing down on them.
Chapter 21
Rohan wasn’t ashamed to admit that holding his daughter for the first time had been the scariest thing he’d ever done. She was just so tiny—Jamil had laughed at him at that; apparently Tmynne was a lot bigger now than she used to be. Rohan still felt like he might snap her delicate bones if he held her too tight or drop her if he didn’t hold her tight enough.
That fear had abated a little since then; he was pretty comfortable holding the baby now. At least she didn’t seem to mind, watching him with her beautiful green eyes and smiling at him whenever he made funny faces at her. She was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
