Page 36 of The Desert Prince's Jewel
Do you want me, Ranbir? Should we try going on a date? Or is this whole fuck buddy thing okay?
But then reality always comes crashing in on me with the rising sun. What future do we have together? When he’s set to return to his exciting life as an Indian prince after we crack thiscase, I’ll be stuck pouring espresso for other stressed college students and travelers to Princedelphia. I have my art history degree to look forward to, if I can get back on track with school, and maybe one day, I will restore my family’s local art museum. But I’m not prince material. I’m barely boyfriend material. And who says he even wants to be my boyfriend in the first place?
“All excuses for running away from the truth,” I think as the hotel looms overhead.
I’m so frustrated that I want to cry. Why oh why did I have to fall in love with–
“Huh?” I jolt as pressure builds at the base of my skull, like it’s being pried open, while my heart thumps.
Love. I’m in love! How didn’t I see it before? Stockholm Syndrome or not, this is love. So why the fuck does it hurt so much?
I rub my aching head and check my buzzing phone. Startled, I see a trail of something white snaking up my wrist. But it withers, like a dying vine, fading gray. I shake my head again, and the illusion is gone. Strange.
I push past the throbbing pain robbing me of my vision and look at my phone screen. There’s a text. From Cy. The name of a club. And it’s like a door unlocks inside my head, with one word being the key.
Tartarus…
***
When I return to the hotel, I race towards the elevator, smiling as Théo, a newish barista, passes me on the way, a dapper, aloof guy who looks like he’d fit in with Janelle Monáe on stage, or Jidenna’s ‘Classic Man’ video back in the day.
I try to focus, but my mind is shot. And that name. Why does the name of that club send chills down my spine? Cy wants me there tonight, just him, me, and his new boyfriend—a perfectexcuse to avoid Ranbir. Yet I want to run straight into his arms. So I do, as fast as I can.
Once I make it to my floor, which is still surreal to think about, I make a beeline for Ranbir’s room. Calling it our room is a step too far for me right now. By the sounds of the soft moaning and thudding to my right, I have one, two, three doors to go from Rohan and Kunal’s room to face my naga.
But as soon as I open the door, he stops me before I can tell him anything.
“Where were you?” Ranbir grits out as he drags me inside, slamming the door closed with his tail. He holds me rather stiffly, grip not crushing yet firm.
“Damn man, are you trying to break my shoulder or what?” I shout as he thrusts the bathroom door open and deposits me, standing, in the tub.
I shrink against the wall as he simmers, rage visibly inflating his chest and frame as Ranbir lifts up on his tail until my eyes have to strain to look up at him, his head brushing the ceiling, pupils impossibly narrow slits.
“Answer me,” he demands, shooting down from the waist up to grab my wrist.
I wait for it to burn, like when Jaideep– Yes! That’s his name, that jade-eyed naga. When Jaideep grabbed me, it burned. But it doesn’t—a coolness soft and sweet flutters over me, leaving behind goosebumps, like snowflakes dancing on my flushed skin.
“Let go,” I whisper, needing him to hear and see me, not whatever misunderstanding has him all worked up.
To my shock and awe, Ranbir does, though he slithers and fumes, my eyes transfixed by his tail. It stretches out across what feels like the entire room, scales glimmering under the fluorescent light. Suddenly, he turns to me and grabs at my clothing. I should pull away, but I allow him to undress me. Iwas planning to have a shower anyway before I talked with him. When he’s finished, Ranbir turns the water on and coils as much of himself as he can inside the tub. He holds me from behind, tenderly, rubbing soap into my skin. He does this all in dead silence, to the point my skin crawls.
“I still want you,” he murmurs, lips too close to my ear, and damn my treacherous dick is stiff and leaps to attention, against my will. “I want you right now. I’m sorry, Mateo. I need you right now.”
He starts to wind around my lower half, and I wriggle, which only causes my ass to glide against his soaked dick slit. Damn it, naga anatomy will never not astonish me.
“Sorry, man, but I don’t feel like being constricted to death while you fuck me here, of all places. A bathroom isn’t my idea of a romantic hook-up,” I grumble, even as my lower half has other plans and entirely agrees with Ranbir’s insanity.
“Hookups aren’t supposed to be romantic, Mateo,” he says sternly. “And we’re not hooking up.”
Well, he does have a point about hookups. But what are we doing if we’re not hooking up?
“It’s giving desperate, Ranbir,” I quip. Quip! I’m even starting to think like him.
“I am desperate. Desperate for you,” he says, reaching around to stroke my shaft.
Oh shit, not these princely lines again, going straight to my dick.
One of Ranbir’s hands glides through my hair in pace with his smooth palm rubbing my cock. And, there they are, his other two clutch my ass. Soon enough, his fingers are inside, stretching me to my limits. When I’m on the verge of cumming, he releases me just long enough to spin me around. He likes to look at me when we fuck, or when I swallow his seed. It seems that the shower is no different.
