Page 81 of Green Ravens

He clenched his teeth, holding on by a fragile thread.

The sight of Zorion’s wrecked body trembling on his cock had him stumbling and losing his grip.

“Come inside me, Val.”

His entire body locked as he threw his head back and let out a breathless groan. Pleasure tore through him as he convulsed and spilled all he had inside Zorion, marking and claiming him.

He was his. His hawk belonged only to him.

Valor thrusted inside one last time as Zorion’s walls clenched, pulsed, and milked him as wave after wave crashed into him.

Valor stayed inside Zorion as long as he could, until he was too soft.

He held Zorion in his arms and moved backward until his ass hit a smooth stone carved into a bench. He slid Zorion onto his lap.

Zorion settled onto him as if he was tailor-made for him.

“You smell so good,” he moaned.

He buried his nose in the crease of Zorion’s throat and stayed there. Even though he was literally sitting on top of him, he needed Zorion closer.

“I hope they drain this tub before we use it again.” Zorion chuckled, tilting his head farther for Valor’s nestling.

He smiled, licking and savoring Zorion’s contentment.

“Cherished,” he whispered in Zorion’s ear.

“Yes,” he answered. “Forever.”

Chief Styles Sawyer

Zorion

Zorion ran his hand over the smooth fabric of the hunter green martial arts jacket.

The air in their bedroom still held the heat from their bath. His muscles felt loose and languid after their first chance of true intimacy and connection outside captivity.

Valor was adjusting the folds of his hood for him, affection radiating in his bright eyes.

“There,” Valor murmured. “Perfect.”

A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. It was the same attendant from earlier, still dressed in his elegant attire.

He bowed slightly. “My masters await you in the dining hall.”

With Valor close beside him, they followed the attendant through the grand doors of the Order’s fortress.

The interior was a stunning fusion of ancient and modern beauty.

Torches were lit along the stone walls, casting shadows against the engraved pillars. The scent of burning incense mixed with the cool salt air drifting in from the open archways.

But for him, with his heightened hearing, the entire structure was alive with sound.

Zorion could hear the faint crackling of fire from within the walls, the hushed whisper of wind flowing through the hallways, and the steady beat of Valor’s heart.

The attendant stopped before a set of doors at least fifteen feet tall, and with a reverent bow, pushed the doors open.

The great dining hall was aglow with lanterns. The walls were decorated with intricate carvings depicting ancient battles, warriors with flowing robes steering bronze chariots led by large stallions. They wielded weapons of old not automatic firearms—longbows, daggers, hammers, and swords.

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