Page 24 of Shattered Crown

Thorne hummed in response, sending vibration straight through him. He bobbed his head slow and deliberate, eyes half-lidded and focused like worship. Silas watched, breath stuttering. There was no distance in this. No detachment. Every flick of Thorne’s tongue felt like a vow.

Silas’s knees buckled, and Thorne caught him with an arm looped around the back of his thigh, keeping him upright against the tree. Leaves shivered above them, a soft rustling canopy, and the world seemed to hold its breath around them.

“Thorne—” His voice cracked. “I need?—”

“I know.” Thorne pulled back, lips wet, voice low. He rose in one fluid motion, crowding into Silas’s space again, kissing him hard. Silas tasted himself on Thorne’s tongue, the sharp copper of hunger wrapped in something gentler—something like devotion.

Thorne turned him gently, so Silas faced the tree, his chest pressed to bark that scraped lightly against his tunic. He heard the rustle of Thorne’s trousers being shoved down, felt the heat of him against the back of his thigh, then higher. Thorne’s hands moved with reverence, pushing Silas’s tunic up, exposing the curve of his ass to the cool morning air.

When fingers brushed over his hole, slicked from Thorne’s mouth or spit, Silas’s breath hitched. There was no teasing. No delay. Just the deliberate press of two fingers pushing in, slow and steady, opening him with practiced care.

His hips bucked forward against the tree, caught between rough bark and the relentless slide of Thorne’s fingers.

“You’re real,” Silas whispered. He wasn’t sure if it was for himself or Thorne.

“I am,” Thorne murmured behind him. “And so are you. You’re not lost, Silas. I’ve got you.”

Silas exhaled sharply as the fingers inside him curled, brushing that spot that made him see stars. His forehead pressed against the bark, grounding himself against the sensation. His cock ached, leaking, but Thorne’s focus was on preparing him, working him open with slow, intimate attention.

When Thorne finally slid inside—one long, deliberate push that filled him to the hilt—Silas cried out into the crook of his arm, muffled and raw. The stretch, the pressure, the way Thorne fit so perfectly—it was everything. It was proof.

Thorne’s chest pressed against his back, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Still with me?”

Silas nodded, gasping. “Yes. Gods, yes.”

Thorne’s pace was unhurried at first, rolling his hips into Silas with steady control. Each thrust drove the air from Silas’s lungs, not just from pleasure, but from the weight of emotion behind it. This wasn’t fucking. This wasn’t possession.

This was remembering.

The nightmare had left him feeling hollow, like something precious had been ripped from him in sleep. But this—Thorne’s cock inside him, the grip of his hands on Silas’s hips, the soft grunt each time he thrust forward—filled all the empty places.

“I dreamed I lost you,” Silas admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Never.” Thorne's reply was immediate, spoken against his skin, breath warm at his nape. “You're mine. And I'm yours. No nightmare can change that truth.”

His pace quickened, hips snapping forward harder, making Silas brace himself with both hands against the tree. The angle shifted, and stars burst behind his eyes with every thrust. He clenched around Thorne, greedy for it, grounding himself in the feeling.

Sweat slicked their bodies, the sound of skin on skin rising with each movement, but they stayed quiet, moving in that desperate rhythm only lovers knew. Silas felt every inch of it—the scratch of bark, the air cooling sweat on his spine, the press of Thorne’s chest, the cock sliding in and out of him with a rhythm that made his toes curl.

Thorne’s hand wrapped around his cock again, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation threatened to shatter him.

“Let go,” Thorne whispered. “Let it all go, Silas.”

And he did.

The orgasm ripped through him without warning, spilling over Thorne’s hand and down his own stomach, his knees giving out entirely. Thorne held him up through it, fucking him through every tremor of aftershock, groaning low as he followed with his own release moments later, buried deep inside him.

Silas felt the warmth of it bloom in him, felt Thorne’s whole body shudder behind him before he slumped forward, wrapping both arms around Silas’s middle and kissing the nape of his neck.

For a long time, neither of them moved.

Eventually, Thorne slid out with a soft sigh, and Silas whimpered at the loss but didn’t pull away. He leaned into the embrace, letting Thorne support his weight. His legs trembled, but he felt lighter. Emptied of the nightmare, refilled with something quieter. Steadier.

Thorne cleaned him with his tunic, murmuring apologies for the mess, even as he pressed soft kisses along Silas’s spine.

“Better?” he asked finally.

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