Page 32 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

Silas’s usual gentleness was wondrous, but this…sweet mercy…this rough consideration drove the daemon mad with pleasure.

The ankou leaned closer, planting a hand against the table. The nearness drawing Pitch’s knee down until it almost touched his own shoulder. His cock rubbed against Silas’s belly and he let loose an unholy sound of longing. The ankou found his mouth, kissing him, not missing a beat with his thrusts, the table creaking beneath them.

‘My god, you are heaven.’ Silas slid the words between their lips. ‘Every inch of you.’

Pitch’s cry caught in his throat. He used his heel to urge the ankou on, like a rider nudging the flanks of his stallion. The pace quickened, the fuck deepened.

The far legs of the table were shoved off the rug, finding floorboard as the ankou’s pounding treatment moved mountains.

Silas slipped his arm beneath Pitch’s shoulder, as though he feared he’d thrust his lover clear off the tabletop. And well he might.

‘Yes…yes…’ Pitch whimpered into the crux of Silas’s neck where he was pinned. Where he was buried in the scent of this man who girded him like a living fortress.

Silas panted with his efforts, with the beautiful confusion of approaching climax. All the while he whispered endearments: how stunning Pitch looked when he was being fucked, how perfect it felt to be inside him, and other words, far too pretty for the creature they were gifted to.

Pitch was alight with carnal hunger, inflamed enough by desire to offer a gift of his own to the man who filled him. He pressed his lips to Silas’s ear. ‘I need you, Sickle. Please don’t leave me.’

Silas cried out and broke, spilling everything of himself into the daemon. Pitch was close behind, his spine on fire, his thankful balls releasing. White-hot lashings shot from him, slicking the skin between him and the ankou as climax engulfed them.

The room blazed.

The table shifted against the floorboards, the raucous grind of wood on wood mingling with their cries, their moans and whimpers as they spent themselves. Bodies pressed as close together as the flesh could be.

They panted like raced horses and returned to their senses slowly. Pitch prayed his words had been lost in the maelstrom, for he already regretted their foolish release.

Silas eased his weight away and gently lowered Pitch’s leg from where it still draped his shoulder. The ankou’s thick fingers were light as they rubbed his thigh, as though knowing how the daemon’s muscles ached. Silas gazed down at him, his pupils blown wide, sweat at his brow.

‘I shall never leave you, Pitch,’ he said. ‘I love you.’

CHAPTER TEN

ONE MOMENTSilas was buried in his lover, the next he was abandoned, raw and still shuddering with pleasure. Pitch snatched up the coat and wrapped it tight around himself, moving away. Startled as a deer, running for cover.

Bloody hell, Silas should have kept his mouth shut. The daemon had made one mention of needing him and Silas had lost his damned head.

He reached for the second cloth, still neatly folded and untouched. He was desperate to clean up both the messes he’d just made.

‘Would you like this one? It’s unused.’

‘No, no. It’s fine.’ Pitch waved off the man who had just been inside him as though he were a buzzing fly. ‘You see to yourself. I’ve left quite the stain.’

The prince busied himself with gathering up their sodden clothes and arranging them where the fire’s heat could dry them. He dragged the chair over to the hearth, doing so one-handed as he kept the coat clutched tight. He kicked over one of the crates and used his foot to push it near to the hearth.

Silas set down the dry cloth and took up the one he’d used earlier. He wrung it out in the bucket where the water was still pleasantly warm and set about cleaning himself up, scowling at the limp and sated length between his legs. Silas cast all blame on that rod of flesh for making him no master of his senses. Why had Silas muddied things by carrying on about love? He shifted attentions to his belly and chest, where Pitch’s release glistened in the sweep of curled dark hair. Christ almighty, it was intoxicating to lie with the prince. But,I love you? Bloody fucking hell, he was a fool. The daemon was manipulated so badly that he could barely keep ahold on himself, and now it seemed he’d been robbed of the flame he treasured. The flame that was as much a part of him as the scythe was for Silas.

The weight upon Pitch’s shoulders was enormous. He needed an ally, a protector. Not a smitten ankou mouthing off sweet nothings and getting jelly-legged when they touched.

Silas squeezed the cloth like it was his own neck. He deserved a throttling for sure. He set the cloth to his balls. Scrubbing hard.

‘You said you loved me.’ Pitch’s words made him jump. ‘But you seem to be trying to geld yourself to remove all evidence of me.’

While Silas was lost in his remonstrance, the daemon had moved to his side.

‘What? No, no, that’s not…no…’ Silas’s tongue tripped over his teeth. ‘You must pay my words no mind, truly. I was simply caught up in the moment.’

The denial would have continued– had he not looked at the prince just then and caught the brush of uncertainty sweeping his features as Silas took back what he’d said.

His self-directed anger faded. If this was his last ride as a Horseman, he’d not fill it with lies.