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The sheen of his bunching, flexing shoulders proved irresistible, and Reggie turned loose of the table so he could take hold of skin instead. It was a chaste touch, compared to everywhere else they were in contact, but the feel of strong, trembling sinew beneath his palms, the way the skin gave when he pressed in with his fingertips, added another layer to the intensity of the moment.

“Gods,” he swore. “Connor.”

Connor growled something unintelligible and ducked lower over him, shoulders lifting up into Reggie’s hands like a cat seeking a stroke. His hair fell across Reggie’s chest, teasing silk, breath rushing warm over his peaked nipples.

A hand slid off Reggie’s hip, the pace faltered – and then Connor had hold of Reggie’s cock, squeezing and tugging and stroking.

That was the moment Reggie realized how close he’d been.

A half-dozen pumps, and then a shout was catching in his throat, and his heart was stuttering, and the rushing in his ears became the crescendo of breakers at high tide. Pleasure peaked, snapped, and crashed over him with the burn and sparkle of lit powder.

He fell apart.

When he became aware of the world outside his own thrumming body, he cracked his eyes open – when had he closed them – and saw Connor gazing down at him with unguarded reverence. A look more intimate and toe-curling than anything he’d ever been on the receiving end of before; a look of which he hadn’t thought Connor capable. If he hadn’t been pulsing and spent, he would have blushed and turned away from it.

He became aware that Connor was stroking his chest – rubbing Reggie’s own spend into the grooves between his muscles, stroking it slippery over his nipples; he was still thrusting into him, but slow and unhurried, the sound of it sloppy. Reggie could feel the mess, there, between them, sliding down his skin.

Connor had come inside him, filled him up with spend.

He had no idea why he found that so scintillating, but he clenched hard on Connor’s shoulders before he let his hands fall back over his head. They hit the table with a thump.

Connor’s hips flexed: thrust, thrust, thrust, chasing the clench and release of Reggie’s body, and no doubt the final pulses of his own climax. The wet sound of it broke Reggie’s brain a little. Left him smiling, hugely and stupidly, even as he winced with oversensitivity.

Connor petted over his stomach; ran a thumb up his hyper-sensitive cock where it lay softening in the groove of his hip, making him hiss. His grin broke slow, and crooked, and woefully handsome. Reggie felt like a rabbit in a snare – one who’d put himself there intentionally.

“Well,” Connor said, and finally slipped out of him. “What do you think?”

Reggie whimpered a little at the loss, beyond caring about such trivial things like dignity, then sighed in relief when Connor slipped two fingers inside him. He reached to drag his fingertips through the mess on his chest. “You know what I think,” he said, voice shaking. He was exhausted, now, and growing more so by the second.

Connor’s grin got sharper, and he pressed in just so with his fingers, to watch Reggie squirm. “Come now. It’s not so much the knowing as it is the hearing, sweetheart.”

Reggie huffed out a breath…and then sighed. Let himself go boneless across the table, save the way his hips chased the press and retreat of the fingers inside him. “Fine,” he said, feigning exasperation, but missing the mark, too pleasure-drunk to completely wipe the smile from his face. “You’re a good fuck, Connor Dale.” Souring: “And you’re being a prideful sod, because I know I’m not the first to tell you that.”

Connor’s sharp-edged smile softened; the mischief melted out of his gaze, leaving it fond. Something else, too, perhaps, but Reggie refused to name it. “No,” he agreed, “but definitely the prettiest.”

He leaned down, then, to kiss him, slow and soft. And when he pulled back, he shifted lower, and laid his lips against the noose scar on Reggie’s neck. Held there, still and purposeful, while a lump formed in Reggie’s throat.

When he could, Reggie lifted a hand and fisted it tight in his too-long hair.

“You’re all right,” Connor murmured, and perhaps, now, he could begin to be.

11

Tessa was pacing the width of her bedchamber, the one she shared with Rune. Her husband. Who didn’t yet know that she intended to march south with them.

She reached the wall, spun on her heel, and paced the edge of the rug again, stepping over the runes woven into it, trying to decide how she’d present her argument. She didn’t like that:argument. She wasn’t going toarguewith Rune. She was going to inform him – yes,inform, that was better. When she’d discussed it with Oliver earlier, he’d taken on this pained expression, cheeks dusting pink beneath his freckles.

“Not to speak, ahem, indelicately,” he’d said, gaze skating over her shoulder, refusing to meet her head on, face growing even pinker. “But I’ve found with Erik that, um, how shall I put this – a bit of sugar helps him swallow the medicine with greater ease. Offer your decision” – he held up one hand, and then the other – “alongside a bit of sweetness. If you – uh – take my meaning.” He’d pressed his lips together. “Please don’t make me say it, dear.”

“Seduce him, you mean.”

“Yes.” He’d heaved a relieved breath, and then flushed crimson. “Or, wait! No! I shouldn’t encourage that, as your elder. I should – you see – oh, bollocks.”

Tessa had tried and failed to suppress a giggle. “Relax, Ollie. I’m a married woman, now. I know all about seduction.” But then she’d blushed, too, face heating until she’d clapped her hands over her cheeks in an attempt to hide them.

“Aren’t we a pair?” Oliver had muttered. “Look: I’ll only say this once, because otherwise both our faces might catch fire. If you’re going to make a declaration such as this, get your man good and soft, first. Or, well…” He’d winked, despite his scarlet cheeks. “Hard, actually.”

She barked a startled laugh, and walked away from their conversation feeling much more confident about the matter.