Page 37 of Oath
Aerion rose, robes falling open, pale skin marked with bruises Clyde had left there. He crossed the floor, touched Clyde’s shoulder, fingers pressing into steel. “After last night—after this—you’d still walk away?”
Clyde finally turned. Grey eyes locked onto Aerion’s, heavy and unreadable. His jaw tightened as if he were swallowing every word that wanted to escape.
“This,” he said, voice low, “is why I leave. Because I’d stay.”
Aerion’s breath caught. The words cut sharper than any blade.
But Clyde didn’t move for the door. Not yet.
Instead, his eyes dropped, down Aerion’s bare chest, down the line of his stomach, to where the robe hung loose over his hips. His gauntleted hand flexed once at his side before he stripped the steel away and let it fall to the floor.
Slowly, deliberately, he sank to his knees before Aerion.
Aerion’s breath stuttered. “Clyde—”
Clyde’s hands, rough and calloused, pushed the robe apart, baring him fully to the morning light. Aerion’s cock, half-hard from sleep and memory, twitched under that dark gaze. Heat flared up his spine at the sight ofClydekneeling—his knight, his shield, his impossible, unyielding man—kneeling before him.
Clyde’s voice was rough when he spoke, low enough it trembled against Aerion’s skin.
“My lord.”
Aerion nearly collapsed at the sound of it. His knees trembled as Clyde’s mouth brushed the tip of his cock, warm breath ghosting over sensitive flesh before his lips closed around him.
Aerion gasped, fingers tangling in Clyde’s hair as the knight took him deeper, slow, steady, the wet heat of his mouth searing. His tongue pressed along the underside, deliberate, reverent, until Aerion’s hips jerked forward helplessly.
“Gods—Clyde—” he moaned, head falling back, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes,please—”
Clyde’s hands anchored him, one braced on his hip, the other curling tight around his thigh. He set a rhythm, deep strokes, tongue swirling at the head each time he pulled back, lips sucking hard enough to make Aerion’s breath falter into curses.
Aerion looked down, vision swimming: Clyde’s broad shoulders bowed between his thighs, lips stretched around him, eyes locked upward, unflinching. The sight undid him.
“Clyde,” Aerion gasped, voice breaking, thrusting shallowly into that hot mouth. “You’re—fuck—”
Clyde answered with a groan that vibrated through him, sending sparks up Aerion’s spine. His control shattered. He fucked Clyde’s mouth in short, desperate thrusts, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet chamber, his cries spilling unguarded into the air.
The heat coiled fast, sharp, unbearable.
“I—Clyde, I’m—” Aerion’s warning dissolved into a cry as he spilled down his knight’s throat, body shaking, thighs clamping around Clyde’s head.
Clyde swallowed everything, not a drop wasted, not a word spoken, only his eyes steady on Aerion’s as he pulled back, lips glistening.
Aerion sagged against the wall, chest heaving, hair wild, one trembling hand still buried in Clyde’s hair.
Clyde rose slowly, his hand cupping Aerion’s face.
“I will return, my lord,” he whispered, placing his lips against Aerion’s.
The horns sounded in the courtyard, long, mournful notes summoning him to war.
He adjusted his sword. Turned once at the door, grey eyes unreadable.
Then he left.
Aerion stood barefoot in the silence, robe fallen open, tasting his own release on Clyde’s lips still burning against him.
And he knew, with a certainty sharper than steel, that the war had already stolen him.
Chapter eight
