Page 115 of Burning Ice
Kylix saw it. The sight almost made him come.
“I’m so close,” Mirel breathed.
“You will be,” Kylix growled. “I’m going to milk your pretty cock until you’re shaking apart.”
The bond thrummed, wild and alive, as Kylix kept stroking with possessive force.
His fire flared, veins lighting under his skin, heat meeting cold in rippling waves across the glass. He thrust again, hips snapping with brutal rhythm that made Mirel gasp. Mirelarched, spine bowing off the floor, nails scoring Kylix’s back, moaning freely now.
“Such a sweet little hole,” Kylix rasped. “Tight and slick and swallowing me like you were made for this.”
Mirel choked on another sound, thighs shaking, flush climbing down his neck. His lips were wet, parted, a thin string of spit between gasps. “So good,” barely audible. “So deep…”
Kylix drove harder, deeper, pounding until Mirel’s hips jolted with each thrust. The sound of skin on skin filled the Waltr, obscene and wet and furious. He wanted him wrecked and used and begging for more. Wanted to feel him clench and break.
Mirel’s eyes flickered. One stayed gold, the other deepened into frost-blue. Mismatched. Wild. So beautiful it made Kylix ache.
Another helpless arch.
Kylix snapped his hips faster, the angle punishing now. Mirel’s breath hitched like he couldn’t take another second.
“Gonna make you come so hard you forget your name.”
He squeezed Mirel’s cock, base to tip, thumb dragging over the slit.
Mirel bucked. His wrists flexed. The bond screamed.
He came, back arched high, spilling across his stomach, clenching tight around Kylix as Kylix’s fist worked him through it. Kylix followed instantly, buried deep, jaw clenched, groan cracking from his chest like a curse.
Bodies locked, fire and frost climbing the walls, the bond singing high.
Then…silence.
They lay breathless, spent, frost etched against the glass and fire still pulsing through their veins.
Aftershocks.
Mirel sagged to the floor.
Kylix cradled him there, both of them shaking.
Mirel’s breath evened quickly. His eyes drifted shut.
Kylix didn’t move at first. He lay beside his darae, breath slowing, feeling the bond hum steady beneath their skin.
After a while, he rose quietly, careful not to wake him. He picked up a soft cloth and gently wiped Mirel clean. Then he pulled the blankets over him, tucking them to his chin like the nurses he’d watched as a boy. Mirel didn’t stir.
Kylix watched him for a long moment. The rise and fall of his chest. The small twitch of fingers against the blanket. Hair stuck to his cheek. Mouth parted from pleasure, red and open. Bruised. Beautiful.
Eventually he stood, slow, the weight of the moment heavy in his limbs. He crossed the room with his fingers trailing the glass, as if to slow himself down.
He slid down beside the curve of the Waltr and lit a red-cinder cigarette. Smoke curled slow from his mouth as he looked up. The stars were clearer now, cold and distant, untouched by everything that had happened.
But the frost was changing.
He didn’t need prophecy or softness, but he would give it to Mirel anyway, only tonight.
He needed blood.
