Page 76 of The Rogue's Curse

“Very good,” Misha said, pushing against him. Closing his eyes, Paris pushed back, startled at how readily his body accepted Misha’s cock. It felt so fucking good that he wanted to weep and laugh at the same time. The other man’s hands gripped his wrists firmly, pinning them down. His voice was a low growl at Paris’s ear. “Until we are done here, you are not in charge. I am in charge. Understood?”

“Yes,” Paris said. The thought of not being in charge of anything for just a few minutes was thrilling.

“My job is to fuck you into oblivion, if you’ll recall,” Misha said, slowly withdrawing before driving deeper. Paris groaned, arching into him. “And your job is to enjoy yourself. Understood?”

“Understood,” Paris breathed, pushing back as Misha eased into him, slowly at first. To his surprise, Misha kneaded strong hands into his shoulders, down his back as he thrust rhythmically, stirring a swirling warmth that danced down his spine and pooled in his groin. “Fuck, yes,” he said before realizing he’d spoken aloud.

“Feeling good?”

“Yes,” Paris groaned. The other man’s hand clamped firmly on his shoulder as he drove deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. Muscular thighs rested against Paris’s ass, that warm skin like velvet against his.

With a low chuckle, Misha rubbed his neck, thumbs digging into the tense muscle there. “Are you already speechless?” he teased.

“Clearly not,” Paris said. “Although that feels incredible.”

Misha let out a low, rumbling laugh. “I did make you a promise, didn’t I?”

Then he slid his arms beneath Paris, caging him beneath his broad body. He drove into Paris harder now, startling him with a bolt of sensation up his spine. The other man’s careful warmup had left him ready, but this teetered just on the edge of pain.

He liked it. The intensity left him no room to question or think.

It had been a long time since he’d let someone fuck him, and God, was it lovely. Misha was a bit bigger than he was, with the same supernatural strength that let him hold Paris right where he wanted. No human lover could ever make him feel quite this way, as if he had truly surrendered to them.

“You feel so fucking good,” Misha murmured in his ear.

“I need more,” Paris bit out.More of you. All of you.

Instead of complying, Misha pulled out of him, and Paris couldn’t stop himself from blurting, “What the fuck?” Then strong hands were yanking him up again, positioning his ass in the air, head shoved into the pillow. Misha teased at him again, then drove his cock so deep Paris let out an undignified squawk of surprise.

“Too much?” Misha asked.

“God, no,” Paris groaned. “That’s it.”

The bed rattled against the wall as Misha pounded into him.The sensation of it was overwhelming. He was stretched to his limit, full of that warm length, and overcome with the sheer visceral satisfaction of it. His eyes stung, and he tamped down his emotions, tamped down that feeling of wishing and wanting and yearning.

“Paris,” Misha said, his low voice almost taunting.

He tried to form words. All he managed was a hint of yes when a hard thrust knocked the sense out of him.

“Nothing to say?” Misha teased. It satisfied Paris to hear that the other man’s voice was strained, as if he was barely holding himself together.

Bracing himself, he let out a low groan and gave up on language entirely.

Misha simply laughed, shifting slightly to stroke Paris to the finish. With his whole body aflame it took so little to bring Paris to the edge, and he let out a cry of delight as he came. He closed his eyes to sink into that sweet bliss for a beautiful moment, then opened his eyes, suddenly aware that he could drift away into his dreams. He fixed his gaze on his clenched fingers, drew in the scent of their bodies, listened for the way Misha’s skin smacked against his. With a growl that resonated through Paris’s body, Misha grabbed his shoulders hard enough to bruise. Two more thrusts, two more unspoken reminders of who was in charge, and then the faint spill of warmth inside him.

Paris lay in stunned silence, not knowing what to make of the feeling of relief and satisfaction washing over him. A finger traced the back of his shoulder, then there was the delightful scratch of Misha’s nails down his back. “How do you feel?” Misha asked.

“Amazing,” Paris murmured. “Not sure I’m going to walk properly tomorrow.”

“I’ll brew you another potion,” Misha said, patting his ass before he withdrew.

Paris groaned at the sensation of aching emptiness, a strangely pleasant soreness that reminded him of that beautiful surrender. Misha nudged him onto his back, straddling his hips before bending to kiss him gently. He broke away and stared down at Paris’s sweat-sheened chest. There was a glowing fire in his crimson eyes, a hunger that made Paris feel whole.

With a grin, he eased off and traced the deep scar inside Paris’s thigh. “You promised to tell me what happened.”

“Pour me a drink, and I’ll tell you whatever you want,” Paris said.

16

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