Page 146 of The Rogue's Curse

“Misha,” Paris blurted, hips jerking.

“I love watching you come undone,” Misha said. “I want you to let go. Let yourself enjoy every last second. You’re going to come in my mouth, aren’t you?” As if to explain, he teased his tongue around Paris’s shaft.

His lover let out an undignified moan that made Misha stiffen. “Yes, yes, please,” Paris pleaded.

“And if you’re up for it, I’m going to fuck you soft and sweet,” Misha said. “And then we’re going to sleep. As long as you want. What do you think?”

“Yes,” Paris blurted.

“Are you mine?”

“I’m yours.”

Damn right.

Paris’s body was already clenching tight around his fingers, but Misha intended to keep his word. He licked Paris from root to tip, then took him deep. After all the chaos and fear of losing his grasp on reality, this anchored him to what mattered, to what was more real than anything he’d ever known.

He savored the taste of texture of Paris’s skin, of the way his slick lips stretched around his shaft, the way his throat tightened just at the edge of discomfort. It was a beautiful mess of sensation and wonder. Lavishing his lover with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, Misha pushed Paris over the edge in a chorus of wordless noises, hips driving up into him. Sweet warmth burst from him, spilling over Misha’s tongue.

When he finally withdrew, Paris lay back, his frame glistening with sweat. “Jesus, Misha,” he whispered.

Misha simply chuckled and said, “Get comfortable.”

He ducked into the bathroom to wash his hands, then returned to find Paris sitting up in bed. The other man watched hungrily as Misha coated his cock with lube, then knelt between his legs. Blue eyes were wide and vulnerable, without a trace of the sarcastic façade he’d come to know. “I want to see your face,” Paris said.

His throat tightened. “I would like that,” Misha said roughly. He leaned in for a kiss, letting Paris pull him down, legs opening to allow him closer. With their hands tangling, they guided his cock to Paris’s entrance, and he eased himself in. Paris’s arms tightened around him, and he let out a soft groan as Misha pressed deeper. “Yes?” Misha asked.

“Yes,” Paris murmured.

He drove deep into Paris, savoring the way the man’s entire body reacted, muscle rippling up his belly, legs wrapping around him, fingers twining into his hair. Misha closed his eyes, finding a slow rhythm. With each stroke, he drove deep into that tight heat, withdrawing so slowly it made Paris groan.

This man was his forever. His to protect, his to cherish, his to please. He could hardly believe it, that he could do this again and again. As he made love to his soulmate, his arcane sight flared to life.

For the first time in days, his magic didn’t frighten him. It was hazy, serene gray all around, as he expected, but Paris…he was brilliant. The deep red veins were carved from ruby, while their soulmate bond was a thousand fiery filaments woven together. As he opened himself to that power, he was flooded with pleasure, not just gathered around his cock, but from head to toe, every nerve ending aflame.

His eyes flew open, and he saw Paris staring up at him with fire in his eyes. “You feel that?” Paris nodded silently. “That’s our bond. This is real.”

“It’s real,” Paris murmured.

The sensation of it was overwhelming, like he was being touched all over, as if Paris was somehow everywhere at once, all hungry mouths and searching hands. He sealed his lips to his lover’s, picking up the pace and swallowing those soft little sounds of pleasure.

Be soft with me. Let me take care of you.

The warm pulse in his core turned into a throbbing ache, and then a moment of exquisite tension that burst from him with a triumphant cry. Sweet, searing heat radiated down his spine, pulling through him as if the bond was winding tighter.

He buried his lips in Paris’s neck, savored the lovely bite of salt on his tongue, and that rich, masculine scent beneath it. It felt as if he’d known Paris for all his life, and yet that he was rediscovering him now, without the curse to hide who he was.

He was where he belonged for the first time since he was human. Something good had come from all that pain, all the waiting, all the loneliness.

They lay in the quiet, and he could feel the magic awakening in him, a soft, steady pulse that tugged on their bond. It was a lovely feeling, and instead of being frightened that he might lose control, he felt anchored to Paris, a sensation that was probably aided by the fact that their bodies still lay intimately entwined.

“Misha,” Paris murmured. “I need a shower.”

‘You do,” Misha agreed. “You stink.”

Paris let out an indignant huff. “Rude.”

He laughed and nipped at Paris’s ear, then reluctantly withdrew. “Come on.”

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