Page 98 of King's Warrior

“I hope whoever prepared this chamber thought of everything,” Niam growled.

Rufe reached beside the bed to a table Niam hadn’t taken the time to properly notice before. A small, stoppered vial glittered in the firelight. Rufe rose to his knees, pouring liquid from the vial onto his fingers, and put the bottle aside again. He rubbed his moistened fingers against Niam’s opening, pressing lightly, working in oil while gently stretching the muscles guarding the place Niam most wanted Rufe to be.

Oh, damn. Those fingers, the stretch, the burn. Niam thrashed his head back and forth. Those fingers stroked over the place inside that nearly made him scream. How could anything feel sowonderful?

Rufe slowly fucked Niam with those glorious fingers, preparing him for something far better. Then the fingers disappeared, replaced by something so much larger. Rufe stared down with quiet intensity while Niam held his gaze. Niam nodded once. Rufe pressed down, the broad head of his cock slowly breaching Niam’s tight ring of muscle while Niam dug his fingertips into Rufe’s biceps, fighting to keep his eyes open and enjoy the concentration on his beloved's face.

The feeling of being stretched, of opening to take Rufe inside… The flex of Rufe’s muscles beneath Niam’s fingertips…

All thoughts fled Niam’s mind save for Rufe’s forceful thrusts, and he arched into each. His world narrowed to the two of them, moving as one, their panted breaths, moans, groans, and the creak of bed ropes.

Rufe’s skin grew slick as he plunged in again and again, making promises with his body—making Niam his.

Niam wrapped his ankles over Rufe’s thighs, urging him on, ensuring every stroke of Rufe’s cock hit the right spots inside.

Rufe shifted his weight back off his arms, then captured Niam’s wrists, holding them to the bed. His kiss proved brutal, primal, a lustful, wild joining of two mouths, two bodies, two souls, catching Niam’s whimpers.

They rocked together slowly, increasing speed, then slowed again, taking Niam higher and higher. When they neared the tipping point, Rufe backed off, excellently playing Niam’s body like a finely tuned instrument. The intensity couldn’t last much longer.Niam longed for sweet relief while simultaneously never wanting their coupling to end.

At long last, Rufe growled, “Ready?” and slammed home, gaze fixed to Niam’s face, thrusts frantic, savage… perfect.

Niam’s muscles tensed, pressure building deep within.

Rufe moved his hands from Niam’s wrists to his thighs, hauling him more fully onto Rufe’s cock. Once more, twice more. Rufe threw back his head, eyes closed, every muscle in his magnificent body seizing.

Niam grabbed his cock, frantically stroking.

Rufe stilled and roared, “Aaaarrrh….”

The storm broke, taking Niam away and rolling him under. Sweet torture, yet sweet relief. His body clenched around Rufe, seed spilling onto his chest, his stomach, maybe even his face. He shuddered through aftershocks, one hand on his cock, the other fisted in the sheets.

The gloriousness of Rufe posed like a statue in the throes of ecstasy—ecstasy Niam had given him. Rufe lowered Niam’s hips back to the mattress with painstaking slowness, easing his spent cock from Niam’s aching-in-a-good-way ass.

He collapsed beside Niam, eyes closed, breathing hard. “By all the gods and goddesses ever known,” he gusted out between panted breaths. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.” He opened one dark eye.

Niam’s heart raced, his breathing hard and fast. He’d been totally, wonderfully fucked by a man he’d never tire of wanting. Thismight be the most wonderful arranged marriage of convenience ever. “I love you too, Rufe,” Niam confessed.

Rufe gave a sappy smile, drew close, and rested Niam’s head on his heaving chest. “I had hoped you might one day. Today works just fine.” After a moment, he added, “I might owe Whreyn a debt of gratitude for expediting this. I’ll still kill the bastard, but I’m grateful for you.”

Niam couldn’t agree more.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Rufe sat by the window, staring out at the night. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, sending chills racing along his spine. He sat in thoughtful silence. In short order, he’d gone from bastard to legitimate son, from soldier to heir.

And now king consort. The position meant nothing to him—his new husband did.

He cleaned himself with a pitcher of cool water and a cloth, then dressed in a simple tunic, breeches, and boots. Bonding night, it might be, but war clouds gathered on the horizon. Plans must be made. While Rufe might not understand the nuances of being a king’s consort, he understood war.

Niam lay tangled in the sheets, as thoroughly debauched as Rufe could manage. A gratified smile curved Rufe’s lips. He’d satisfied Niam and would do so again as often as possible.

He relit the lantern, took the hidden passageway to a corridor near Draylon’s room, exited, and knocked on the ornate door carved with Yarif’s family crest. A guard opened the door, eyes widening at seeing Rufe.

“I’d like to see King Draylon.”

The guard silently ushered Rufe into the antechamber and tapped on Draylon’s door.

Draylon threw the door open, storming out with a booming laugh. “Yarif owes me ten silver pieces. He said we wouldn’t see you until morning. I told him you were too much of a soldier to shirk duty, even on your wedding night.” He nodded to the guard. “Wait in the hallway, please. I need to talk to Com… Emiss… Lord… Damnation! I need to talk to Rufe.”

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