Page 36

Lex tugged on Morgan’s lip, and Morgan exhaled into it, more relief than aroused. Lex chased it with another kiss, firmer this time. His tongue slid deeper, stroking along Morgan’s with a kind of reverence that made Morgan’s chest ache.

Lex kissed like he needed to make sure Morgan felt every second of it. Like he didn’t trust him to stay unless he mapped it with his mouth.

Those tan hands wandered beneath the blanket, over bandages, raised stitches, places Morgan knew were there. Bruises he wished—more than anything—he could feel.

If only for right now.

If only to know how much Lex gave.

Lex’s touch never lingered too long, never asked for more than Morgan could give.

“Are you alright?” Lex asked, rough and ragged against Morgan’s mouth. “I want—”

Morgan already knew what he was asking. Knew what he wanted. And when Morgan’s hand closed around his wrist and guided it lower—Lex followed.

Lex’s fingers shook as they brushed against the fly of Morgan’s pants, but he didn’t break the kiss.

Instead, he undid the button and slipped his hand inside.

Morgan arched his hips into Lex’s palm, and that dizzying sensation of his half-hard cock slipping through Lex’s fingers almost proved too much.

Lex stilled for a moment—just a breath—before he began to stroke him through the fabric, gently at first, then firmer as Morgan moaned into his mouth.

Releasing control—for right now, only for right now—wasn’t as complicated as Morgan always thought it would be. Lex knew him. Body and mind. Inside and out. Knew what to do to make him stop to catch his breath, to lean his head back into the pillow.

Their clothes came off in pieces. Morgan’s first. Then Lex’s.

No rush. No flurry of need coursing too deep for either to handle.

Lex pushed the blanket aside and shifted onto his knees, straddling Morgan’s thigh. He was still too pale under the lamplight, but there was intent in his movements now.

And Morgan let him.

There was no need to ask what this was. Lex was saying it without words. Offering without asking permission. It wasn’t about sex alone—it was presence. Ownership. I’m here. I want you. I want to be the one to give you this.

Morgan slid his hands along Lex’s sides, thumbs tracing what he hoped were careful paths over fading bruises. He didn’t press. Just held him. Just watched.

Lex kissed him again, and Morgan kissed back like it was the only thing tethering them to the bed.

Lex pulled away only to reach for the lube in the bedside drawer. His motions were clumsy—too quick, too loud, bottle slipping against his palm before he caught it. But not out of desperation. The kind of nervousness that said I want this right.

Morgan caught his wrist. “Take your time. Breathe. ”

Lex nodded. He slicked his fingers with a carefulness that didn’t match the way his hands shook. Then he sat back, shifting until he could reach between his legs, exhaling hard through his nose as he pressed a finger in.

Morgan watched.

Watched the way Lex’s mouth parted, the flutter of his lashes. Lex was stretched out across him, skin flushed, one hand braced on Morgan’s chest, the other buried between his thighs. His cock rested against Morgan’s stomach, leaking already, the grind of his hips building tension without release.

“You’re doing so well,” Morgan said quietly.

Lex’s eyes flicked up. “Yeah?”

Morgan brushed his thumb over Lex’s jaw. Nodded.

Lex’s second finger slid in with another sharp inhale, and Morgan let himself imagine the ache. Just for a second.

When he finally pulled his hand away, he reached for Morgan. The lube made everything slick and unsteady, but Lex wrapped a fist around Morgan’s cock, lining them up with shaky precision.

And then he sank down.

Morgan groaned as Lex sank down onto him, inch by inch, every motion achingly slow.

Lex’s breath came in stuttered exhales, his hands braced against Morgan’s chest for balance.

Halfway down, he froze—let out a sharp, broken sound, more gasp than groan.

Morgan didn’t move. He simply steadied him, hands firm on his hips, anchoring him with quiet pressure.

“You’re okay,” Morgan whispered.

Lex nodded, too fast. Too frantic. “Just— fuck —gimme a second. ”

He shifted again, slower this time, until he took all of Morgan’s cock. Until they were flush, bodies fitted together with the kind of closeness that had nothing to do with proximity and everything to do with belonging.

Morgan didn’t rush him.

Mapping Lex’s movements with his eyes, memorizing every expression, was more important. The crease between his brows, the flush rising over his collarbone, the wetness on his lower lip. All the little pieces of Lex that made him… Lex.

“Look at you,” Morgan muttered. “Taking me so well.”

“Love the compliments.”

Morgan choked out a half-laugh. “You’re ruining this.”

He began to rock—gentle, rhythmic, rolling his hips with practiced control. Each movement dragged a quiet moan from Morgan’s throat, and Lex swallowed them all—mouth crashing into Morgan’s, tongue sliding deep, hungry and perfect.

He kissed like he was trying to memorize the shape of Morgan’s mouth.

Like this was what his hands weren’t saying.

The taste of him was sweat and salt, the barest tang of blood from where his lip had cracked again.

But Morgan didn’t care. He chased Lex’s mouth, met every stroke of his tongue with one of his own.

Lex moved harder, faster. His thighs tightened with the effort, muscles flexing under Morgan’s hands. Every roll of his hips sent sparks up Morgan’s spine—tight, focused waves of pleasure that built too fast.

Morgan let his head fall back against the pillow, eyes closing.

“Look at me,” Lex mumbled, that need crashing through hot and bright. “Morgan—Morgan, please . ”

He obeyed.

Because this would always be it.

This would always be perfect.

He reached down, wrapped a hand around Lex’s cock—slow strokes in time with his thrusts. Lex shuddered.

“ Fuck —gonna come—”

“Good,” Morgan whispered. “Come for me.”

Lex groaned as he came, spilling between them, his body jerking against Morgan’s, hips stuttering. He clenched hard around Morgan, dragging him over the edge. Morgan came with a sharp exhale, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Lex as the pleasure pulsed through him.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Lex slumped over him, breath against his neck, arms clinging around his shoulders like he didn’t want to let go.

“Why?” Morgan asked, voice cracked around the edges.

“I wanted to.”

Morgan closed his eyes.

You needed to. You thought this would fix something. But there’s nothing to fix.

He reached for the blanket. Pulled it up over Lex’s back. Smoothed his palm over the sweaty ridge of Lex’s spine.

Lex stayed close—cheek to cheek—like he wanted to climb inside Morgan’s skin and stay there.

And Morgan?

He would’ve let him.

Morgan dozed, off and on, glancing back at the clock every few minutes. Just to be sure time hadn’t slipped without him noticing.

He’d assumed Lex was asleep. Had almost let himself drift back into the pleasant black void, when he felt Lex tracing something into his chest.

Patterns?

No.

Not patterns.

Letters.

Morgan realized it halfway through.

L

E

X

Over and over again. His name, carved in touch.

“I’m already yours,” Morgan whispered.

Lex hummed. “Forever.”

He kissed Morgan’s ear, then his jaw, then the side of his mouth. He looked like he might say something else—but Morgan beat him to it.

“Next time,” he said, “ no one leaves alive.”

Lex’s gaze didn’t waver. He only nodded, fingers still writing, blue eyes fixed to Morgan’s like gravity.

Morgan let the silence stretch. Let the truth of it sink in.

For so long, his life had been noise. Performance. Theatrics. He’d mastered the art of the mask—sharp smiles, cold precision, blood disguised as elegance. Every moment calculated. Every person a role. A part. A pawn.

He never minded that. In truth, he enjoyed it. The control. The choreography. The thrill of the hunt. He’d loved the way blood could paint a story. How easily he could bend someone to his will, how natural it felt to end something just because he was asked to.

But Lex had never been part of that script.

Lex hadn’t entered on cue. He’d ripped the curtain down and laughed while doing it. He hadn’t followed the rules, hadn’t waited for his turn to speak. He’d stolen scenes Morgan didn’t even realize were being written.

And now—now that the wreckage was quiet, now that the act was over—Morgan felt… whole.

He didn’t want the performance anymore. Not in the way it used to matter. He didn’t need an audience. He didn’t need applause.

He just needed Lex.

Because Lex had never wanted a show.

He wanted chaos. Control.

A throne built for two.

And Morgan would give it to him.

Not because he had something to prove. Not because it was the next logical move in some grand, bloodstained play.

But because Lex deserved it.

Lex smiled when Morgan ruined people for him. Purred when he was gifted someone else’s pain, neatly packaged with a bow. And Morgan had learned that love didn’t have to be soft. It could be sharp. Cutting. Addictive.

Spoiling Lex—giving him everything, sparing him nothing—that was the only performance Morgan would never tire of.

So he let himself breathe.

Let Lex trace his name into his skin.

And this time, he wasn’t acting.

He wasn’t pretending to be dangerous.

He was.

For Lex.

Only ever for him .