Page 51 of The Sorcerer's Alpha

Marut’s fingers trailed down the side of Sycamore’s face. His thumb brushed over Sycamore’s mouth. “Do you want me, my Sycamore?”

“More than anything,” Sycamore said, and Marut finally lay down and came into Sycamore’s arms.

The bond began to come to life between them at once, as though it had been lying in wait. Sycamore felt a strange tension in his gut, and a sense of wonder and surprise that originated outside of him. He could feel the softness of his skin beneath his hands, only they were Marut’s hands, and that was Marut’s joy making his stomach swoop, Marut reacting as Sycamore opened to him like he was a storage chest that someone had lifted the lid from to reveal its contents.

“Sycamore,” Marut choked out, and Sycamore tugged at him and parted his thighs and said, “Inside me—please.”

His head swam as Marut pressed his thigh toward his shoulder and sank inside him. All of this was familiar—Marut’s kisses, his fingers digging into Sycamore’s leg, the deep, steady roll of his hips as he fucked Sycamore into the bed. But it was also entirely new. Sycamore could feel how wet he was around Marut’s cock, the tight cling of his body that made Marut’s hips feel heavy and hot, and he could feel how badly Marut wanted to be good at this, to please Sycamore in every way.

“You do,” Sycamore managed, clinging to him, already too close to orgasm to do more than clutch at Marut’s shoulders and hold on. “You please me—every time, Marut—”

“Sun Above,” Marut groaned, and he reared back suddenly to press Sycamore’s shoulders to the bed, pinning him in place. Sycamore was bewildered for a single moment until he felt a growing pressure where Marut’s knot was swelling within him.

It was too big. He couldn’t possibly manage to take that. He thrashed in a panic as Marut held him down, and then his orgasm broke over him and he was too busy shaking and crying out to worry about how big Marut’s knot was. It went on and on as he clenched around the fat knot inside him, pressing just where he needed it, what he had always needed during every heat and never gotten.

Marut’s hips jerked as he shuddered through his own orgasm, his knot shooting another spurt of come with every tremor. Sycamore would drip with it when Marut pulled out, and the thought had him tightening again, his cock twitching weakly against his belly.

Marut sat back on his heels and hauled Sycamore’s hips up into his lap, spreading Sycamore out before him. His careful thumb stroked the rim of Sycamore’s hole where Sycamore was stretched wide around him, and Sycamore cried out, his thighs trembling, weak and useless.

“You can come again before my knot goes down,” Marut said, his hand covering Sycamore’s cock, stroking it with the wet mess of Sycamore’s come.

“I can’t,” Sycamore said, but he was trapped there, speared on Marut’s knot, his legs helplessly splayed open, draped over Marut’s lap, fully exposed and somehow still hard. His body clenched around Marut’s knot in a greedy flutter as Marut worked him with a quick, tight hand. He hardly recognized the sound of his own voice as he reached his peak again, hoarse and ragged as he cried out without words.

Marut gentled him with hands on his face and soft kisses. He rolled them onto their sides, careful of where they were tied together, and held Sycamore cradled against his chest. Sycamore buried his face in Marut’s neck and listened to the thrum of Marut’s blood. He felt hollowed out inside, scraped clean. He was free from all his wondering and worrying. The worst had happened. Or the best.

“I’m sorry I held you down,” Marut said after a long while of peaceful silence. His hands slid down Sycamore’s sweat-damp back, less soothing than arousing. “Purya tried to pull away the first time, which wasn’t ideal.”

“Is that your excuse?” Sycamore asked, drawing back so Marut could see his expression to know he was teasing. “I think you enjoyed it.”

Marut’s mouth compressed as he tried not to smile. His smug pleasure radiated through their bond. He was proud of the work he’d done and already anticipating the next round. “I think you enjoyed it, too.”

Sycamore cupped Marut’s face in his hand. “Oh, heart of mine,” he said, not empty at all but overflowing with emotion. Of course they had bonded. There was nothing inside of him but love for this man.

Marut turned his head to kiss Sycamore’s palm. The bond throbbed between them, ripe with feeling. This was what the ancient epics spoke of, the devotion that burned cities to the ground. Sycamore was in full heat now and hardly knew it, the urgency of his body overcome by the new awareness twining between them, binding them together like a tree trunk and its bark.

Marut’s knot softened at last and slipped out along with a rush of slick and spend. He reached down to feel between Sycamore’s legs, his fingertips stroking over Sycamore’s tender, swollen hole. “I can smell you,” he murmured. “You’re so ready for me.” He eased Sycamore onto his back and pushed back the covers. Sycamore felt wobbly as a new foal as Marut spread his legs apart to look at him. He lifted one shaking hand to touch Marut’s hair, then sucked in a shocked breath as Marut bent and pressed a kiss to his hole, a lush, open-mouthed kiss like he was kissing Sycamore’s mouth.

“Marut,” Sycamore said unsteadily, his hand closing into a fist in Marut’s hair. Marut was an attentive and skilled lover but rarely ventured from the handful of acts he favored, and Sycamore hadn’t thought Marut even knew this was a possibility.

Not that he objected. He was thrilled to let Marut branch out.

“Please let me,” Marut said, as if Sycamore would be doing him a favor. Sycamore sighed and gave himself over to the fire heating his blood and the soft friction of Marut’s tongue.

CHAPTER19

For the first time in his life, Sycamore didn’t want his heat to end. He wasn’t alone or empty. The fever burning in him was banked by Marut’s attentions; he glowed instead of charring. Marut’s fingers in his mouth, Marut’s fingers in his hole, Marut’s knot inside him again and again—Marut gave him everything he’d craved all these years without knowing exactly what it was he needed.

With Marut tending to him, Sycamore surrendered to the urges of heat in a way he’d never dared. Face-down on the bed as he begged for Marut’s knot, he felt that he fully inhabited his body, that his skin contained his entire self. When Marut pushed inside him, he arched his back and keened in triumph, his hole clenching and dripping, his thoughts quiet for once as he acted on instinct and need. He didn’t have to control himself or stifle his desires or wonder what people would say. There was only Marut, groaning as his knot swelled, crushing Sycamore down into the bed and kissing the back of his neck and saying, “Sycamore, Sycamore,” over and over like a war cry, or poetry.

But it ended, as all good things did. The fire gradually drained from Sycamore’s veins no matter how he clung to the sensation. He had to admit it was over at last when Marut spent inside him without knotting and sank down into his arms with a sigh.

“Praise the ancestors,” Marut mumbled into Sycamore’s neck.

Sycamore touched his fingertips to Marut’s sweaty back. “You’re glad it’s done?”

“You’ve worn me out,” Marut said. Then he stilled, and pushed himself up on one elbow to see Sycamore’s face. “I’ve upset you.”

“No. It’s only that it was so—” Sycamore stopped, not sure which word to use. Earth-shaking. Curative.