Page 36 of The Sorcerer's Alpha

“I see.” Marut stayed where he was for another moment, then came into the tent and let the flap close behind him, cutting off all light. “We should both remove our coats, then.”

“Yes,” Sycamore said. “All right.”

They lay down together, bare-chested beneath the furs Sycamore had earned for them with the talents that ran through him like blood. The silence in the tent was profound. Sycamore struggled to think of something light and witty to say that would ease the tension. Nothing came to him. Then Marut said, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It isn’t you. It isn’t anything you’re doing.” Sycamore lay on his back and stared toward the lightless peak of the tent. He had slept beside Marut every night as they traveled to Spruce Ridge, and it was somewhat awkward every time, but he had also been numb and disinterested the way he was after heat, not to mention fully dressed. Now, though, his body was entirely awake, and entirely aware of Marut’s warmth and scent, and his thoughts were alive with the memories of how good he had felt with Marut’s hands on him.

After a few minutes, Marut turned onto his stomach. Sycamore closed his eyes.

He woke in the night, not sure what had woken him. Marut was spooned close behind him, his chest to Sycamore’s back, and his arm was snug around Sycamore’s waist. He felt Marut stirring and held as still as he could, hoping Marut would think he was still asleep. Marut’s arm tightened as he murmured something indistinct, then loosened all at once and drew away.

Without thinking, without deciding to act, Sycamore reached back and caught at Marut’s hand.

Marut said nothing. He said nothing as Sycamore pulled his hand back to where it had been, and nothing as Sycamore laid his own hand on top, holding Marut’s palm to his bare belly. Sycamore tried not to breathe, almost certain that Marut would rebuff him. But then he felt Marut’s lips at the nape of his neck, and let out a shaky exhalation.

He lay motionless as Marut kissed the back of his neck and nuzzled behind his ear, scraping lightly with his teeth so that shivers of pleasure ran down Sycamore’s spine. He was afraid to move or speak and cause Marut to stop, but he couldn’t resist tilting his head to provide better access, and choked down a sigh as Marut took full advantage and began sucking open-mouthed kisses onto his neck.

No one could see them in the darkness. No one knew what they were doing. Layered beneath the furs and crushed against Marut’s bare, furry chest, Sycamore was so warm he was sweating a little. Marut’s hand on his stomach slid upward toward his chest, and Sycamore moved his own hand away to give Marut free rein. His breath came quick and shallow as Marut explored his belly and hips, fingers tracing tingling lines over Sycamore’s skin.

“My lord,” Marut whispered, his tone making the term an endearment, which was horribly unfair. His fingers found the drawstring of Sycamore’s trousers and toyed with the knot Sycamore had fastened, slowly picking it apart. Sycamore held still as Marut loosened the waistband, feeling warmth pool deep in the pit of his stomach. Marut’s fingertips dipped below the waistband and slid lower. Sycamore barely managed not to squirm as Marut’s hand curled around his cock, already achingly hard.

Marut stroked him in molten glides, his hand gentle but assured. The tent was thick with the smell of Marut’s desire, and Sycamore could feel himself growing wet in response, soft and open and ready for Marut to take him. Marut’s hard cock pressed against Sycamore’s ass, and Sycamore couldn’t help grinding back against him, his hips working in involuntary circles, anticipating what would come next. He wanted Marut so badly, as much as he had during heat, when he had chewed his own tongue raw to keep from begging Marut to fuck him.

“I want you inside me,” he said quietly, reaching down to touch Marut’s forearm, and Marut drew in a sharp breath.

Sycamore felt too urgent to waste time undressing. He shoved his trousers down toward his knees, just far enough to provide access. Behind him, he heard Marut doing the same, and then Marut’s cock slid between his legs, tucked alongside his balls.

“Oh,” Sycamore said, arching his back, trying to get Marut right where he wanted. Marut thrust between Sycamore’s thighs, eased by sweat and Sycamore’s slick, and that was good, but not nearly enough. He felt Marut’s hand reach down between them, and then the head of Marut’s cock stroked over Sycamore’s hole, making his toes curl. He was unbearably sensitive there, and as Marut did it again and again, rubbing the blunt crown of his cock in tight circles, Sycamore could feel the last shreds of his self-control crumbling. He had never wanted anyone more.

“Can I,” Marut said, his hand tight on Sycamore’s hip, his cock kissing Sycamore’s hole. Instead of answering, Sycamore pushed backward so that Marut breached him, his mouth falling open in a moan as Marut sank inside.

He was so warm and so full. Marut rocked inside him in tiny, dragging thrusts, lighting up every part of Sycamore’s body. Marut’s hand moved from Sycamore’s cock to play with his nipples, stroking and pinching, and Sycamore writhed on Marut’s cock, feeling trapped and held and loving it, overstimulated and overcome and near his peak already. Marut’s teeth dug into the back of his neck, forcing an urgent whine from his mouth.

“I’m close,” he choked out, faintly panicked by the intensity of his response. He wasn’t alone, at least: he could feel how hard Marut was, thick and rigid inside him, hitting every sensitive spot he had. He reached down to touch himself, but Marut grabbed his hand and held it away, pinned to his hip. Sycamore thrashed, shocked and shockingly aroused by Marut dealing with him as firmly and decisively as he would a recalcitrant horse.

“Wait,” Marut said. He rolled his hips, thrusting more deeply, and Sycamore couldn’t wait at all. He tensed and came with a thin cry, trembling in Marut’s arms.

Marut went still until Sycamore was done, then said, “Should I—”

“Finish in me,” Sycamore said. Marut groaned and rolled him mostly onto his stomach and snapped his hips, a few rough thrusts until he emptied himself into Sycamore’s limp body.

Sycamore lay there with his face pressed into the bedding as his pulse slowed. He didn’t know what to think or say. Marut stirred himself after a minute and drew back, easing his cock out of Sycamore’s hole in a rush of slick and spend. Sycamore would smell like him all the next day.

Marut lay down beside him. Sycamore expected he would say nothing and wasn’t mistaken. Heavy lassitude weighted down his limbs, and he knew sleep would come soon. He felt Marut’s hand settle on his back and rest there.

CHAPTER14

When he woke the next day, Marut was still asleep beside him, face-down and breathing steadily. Sunlight filtered through the seams of the tent, dappling the blankets. Sycamore watched the half of Marut’s face he could see, his dark eyebrow and soft mouth, his dark hair falling over his forehead. A slow ache hollowed out Sycamore’s insides. He was going to lose himself to this man.

He moved away and tried to sit up without waking Marut. As he pushed the blankets aside, Marut stirred and his visible eye opened. He blinked a few times before focusing on Sycamore.

They regarded each other. Marut was a coward, Sycamore thought with unwelcome fondness, who would wait for Sycamore to speak first; but Sycamore had nothing to say.

“Good morning,” Marut said at last.

Sycamore turned his head aside to pick up his coat. He felt sticky and tender between his legs. “Good morning.”

The morning was bright and very cold. Frost rimed the horses’ nostrils as they stood to be saddled, but they were lively and eager to ride, heads and tails high as the sun climbed. The Sarnoy had had no boots for him and Marut, so Sycamore continued to warm their feet, but otherwise Sycamore was gloriously comfortable in his new coat.