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“You’re mine,” Cass said, his voice nothing but gravel as his fingertips brushed over the Source Mark on the back of Cyrus’s hand. His eyes followed the movement, transfixed on the black Mark. Cyrus could hear it in his voice, feel it in the tremble of his hand as he gripped his wrist. As his chest continued to rise and fall too rapidly.

He was on the brink of losing control. He was doing everything he could to keep it.

It struck Cyrus then that dragon possessiveness might rival Fae possessiveness. Not only that, Cassius was part-dragon, part-Witch. Both bloodlines were notorious for being dominant and controlling. If he lost that control, it would shove him into his own dark place, but if Cyrusgavehim that control…

“You said you take what’s yours,” Cyrus said into the space between them.

“I do,” Cass said gruffly, slowly dragging his eyes up to meet his, but they snagged on Cyrus’s mouth. Cass’s tongue darted out, running along his bottom lip as he stared.

Cyrus reached out, tugging him forward by the band of his pants. “Prove it.”

With another growl, Cassius’s hand snapped out, gripping the back of Cyrus’s neck and hauling him forward. Their mouths slammed together, and a new battle for dominance took place. This one with lips and tongues and teeth rather than magic and flames.

Cassius pressed Cyrus back into the wall once more, sinking his teeth into the line of his jaw as his hips rolled forward into Cyrus’s, making them both groan.

“Fuck,” Cyrus spat, his brow falling to Cass’s shoulder. Then he cursed again when Cass wedged a thigh between his legs, parting them enough so that when his hand pulled Cyrus’s thigh up to wrap around his hip, Cyrus could feel the friction everywhere it mattered.

A hand fisted in Cyrus’s hair, tipping his head back, and Cassius licked a long line up his throat before he brought his mouth to his ear and said, “On your knees, Cyrus. Make it sloppy so I can take what’s mine.”

That was the moment all coherent thought left.

As he sank to his knees, Cass pulled Cyrus’s tunic over his head, burning away the rest of their clothing, before planting a palm on the wall above them. His hips rolled forward again, his tip brushing along the seam of Cyrus’s lips. And because he was who he was, Cyrus smirked up at him before he flicked the tip of his tongue over his crown.

Cassius growled what Cyrus thought might be his name, but Cyrus was already taking him deep. The growl became a curse. Cass’s other hand slid into Cyrus’s hair again, cupping the back of his head as he thrust forward. Cyrus did as he’d ordered, sucking and licking and taking every surge of Cass’s hips.

“Cyrus,” Cass groaned, fingers flexing in his hair, and Cyrus knew what he wanted. He didn’t need him to say it. He had one hand on Cass’s thigh, and he trailed his other hand up his torso, until Cass snatched his wrist. He took two fingers into his mouth, sucking hard, and Cyrus moaned around him as Cass’s tongue lapped over the digits. The moment Cass released him, Cyrus was reaching around himself and getting ready for him the same way he was getting Cass ready.

The string of curse words that left Cassius had Cyrus huffing a laugh around him, but it turned into a moan a moment later, the sensation of his own fingers working himself open and Cass in his mouth almost too much.

Cass gave him the time he needed, but Cyrus could tell his control was slipping as his fingers fisted tighter and tighter in his hair. He had hardly pulled off him when Cassius was hauling him up and spinning him around to face the wall.

Then it was Cyrus cursing as he felt him press in slowly. Torturously slowly. Cyrus tried to press back, wanting more, but Cass hissed, holding him in place.

“Stop,” he snarled into his ear. “It’s been a while. For both of us.”

“Stop being so selfless,” Cyrus retorted on a gasp, trying to press back again. “You think I don’t know how to prepare myself for this? Take what you want, Cass.”

But still the prick refused, instead peppering small kisses along his shoulder, between his shoulder blades, up the back of his neck. Teasing. Coaxing. There was the soft sound of spitting before one of Cass’s hands slipped around, gripping Cyrus’s length. Then Cyrus was groaning as Cass slid in further while moving along his length at the same time.

“You think you need to fix yourself,” Cassius murmured into his ear. “But you’re perfect, Cyrus. Godsdamn perfect.”

Cyrus couldn’t help the shudder that rolled down his spine at the words, or the carnal groan that came from him when Cassius finally filled him completely. Cass’s face was buried in his neck, sucking along it as he continued to move his fist.

Cassius was wrong, Cyrus realized, getting lost in the sensation of everything. He wasn’t perfect.Thiswas perfect.

It was perfect when they found themselves on the bed, Cassius above him, wings flared out as his hips punched forward in perfect rhythm with his fist wrapped around Cyrus’s length. Each movement was precise and controlled because it was Cass, and he couldn’t lose control even in this.

It was perfect when they both found their pleasure at nearly the same moment.

It was perfect when they were laying together later, legs tangled beneath blankets and facing each other in the dark of the room.

It was perfect when Cyrus realized he didn’t have the slightest desire for a drink or mugweed, because this was enough to keep his thoughts at bay.

It was perfect when, instead of hearing the Sorceress in his head as he drifted off to sleep, he heard Cassius’s words.

What’s best for me is you.

And he believed them.