He caressed the raised tissue where shrapnel had carved its signature across my chest. Tracing the scar's length with his thumb, he followed damaged nerve endings that fired in patterns I'd forgotten were possible.
Then, he leaned forward and ran his tongue along the scarred skin. The wet heat of his mouth sent fire through nerve endings I'd thought were dead, his lips and tongue working across the damaged skin like he was claiming every part of me, even the broken pieces.
The rain outside settled into a steady rhythm, drumming against windows and roof.
I pulled Dorian down until we lay facing each other on the blankets, legs tangling together under wool that smelled like cedar and years of mountain air.
When I kissed him, his mouth was warm and eager. He opened for me without hesitation, tongue sliding against mine as his fingers dug into the back of my neck, gripping the corded muscle like he couldn't get enough.
He pressed his hips against mine, the friction electric through our skin. Every brush of his fingertips was a question—will you, can I, is this still allowed—and the answer, every time, was yes, yes, God, yes. He hooked a leg over my thigh and ground into me, breath ragged, heartbeat frantic.
I slid a hand down the flat of his back, over the curve of his ass, pulling him closer, grinding our cocks together. The brush of his body was almost too much. I'd gone so many months without full-body intimate contact.
I braced myself on my forearm, holding Dorian in place to watch his face as I rocked against him, savoring the way his lips parted and the flush crept up his throat.
He shifted, rolling us so he straddled me, bracing with one hand on my chest and pinning my hips with his thighs. He leaned down, breath hot against my ear. "Let me," he said, his voice rough with need.
He slid down my body, kissing a line from my throat to my collarbone, and then tracing the dip between my pecs. He stopped at my abs, staring for a heartbeat, then dipped his head and licked a slow, deliberate path down to where I was already hard and aching for him.
He ran his tongue along the length of my cock shaft, teasing, and then took me into his mouth. The shock of wet heat made my hips jerk, but his hands held me in place.
His tongue flicked and circled in maddening patterns until I balled up the blanket in my fists. He hummed low in his throat, a vibration that shot straight up my spine.
I'd never been with someone who took so much pleasure in the act itself, in the slow dismantling of their partner. Dorian watched me as he worked, eyes dark and intent, as if he wanted to memorize every sound I made. When I gasped, he smiled—a genuine smile—and hollowed his cheeks, intensifying the friction and taking me even deeper.
My hips bucked, and he pressed me down, pinning my thighs to the improvised bed. He cupped my balls, squeezing gently, then ran a hand up the length of my thigh, fingers splayed, possessive.
The need to come rose up fast, too soon, but I bit the inside of my cheek, holding back, wanting this to last, needing a thousand years of Dorian's mouth because it was the only thing that had felt truly right in a long time.
He swallowed, slow and deliberate, and pulled me off with a final, gentle lick that made my nerves crackle. He crawled back up, settling beside me with his breath ragged and lips slick.
I reached for him, dragging him into a rough kiss that tasted of salt and sweet. His cock pressed hot and insistent against my thigh.
My limbs were heavy and every muscle ached, but I wanted to give him the same release he'd just given me. I slid a hand down the tense length of his body and wrapped my fingers around him.
He was already slick, and the head of his cock flushed an impossible color in the firelight. I pumped my hand slowly, thumb circling the tip, and Dorian groaned, teeth sinking into my shoulder.
He buried his face in my neck, with his breath coming in short, desperate bursts. The muscles in his back flexed under my palm, tension building too fast for either of us to pretend this would be slow or measured.
Thrusting into my fist, every motion was on the edge of losing control. I tightened my grip, twisting just enough to make him gasp, and he arched against me, body taut as a drawn bow.
He reached out for my jaw, tilting my face up so he could watch me as he came. The first hot pulse sent cum across my hand as his whole body shook. He yelped and shot the rest of his load onto my skin and the wool beneath us.
Afterward, we lay tangled in blankets and firelight, breathing hard against each other's skin. Dorian rested his head against the hollow of my shoulder, his dark hair soft against my throat.
I watched shadows dance across the cabin walls and listened to the rain continue to pound on the roof. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting gentler light.
Dorian fell asleep curled against my side, one arm draped across my chest, his breathing more deep and even than I'd heard yet. No unconscious tension coiled his muscles.
I pulled the blanket higher around his shoulders, tucking the soft fabric against the curve of his neck. He didn't flinch whenI moved. Didn't reach for a weapon. Didn't even stir. And somehow, that undid me more than anything else.
While I held the most dangerous man I'd ever met, I let myself imagine futures where danger came from ordinary things—job stress, family dinner politics, and whether we remembered to pay the electric bill on time. I thought about tomorrow not as something to survive, but as something to build.
Chapter twelve
Dorian
We'd been at the cabin for two nights amid almost constant rain, pattering against the window glass and tapping on the roof. No engine sounds. No radio chatter. Only Matthew's steady breathing next to me.
