Could Corin have…a tree branch in his trousers, or something? Or a broom handle? Except that was too thick to be a broom handle. How the hell had Belinda coped with it? She certainly had more experience than Aster did by a factor of a hundred at least, and that probably accounted for it.
But it didn’t matter, because he doubted Corin wanted to use it on him or with him. An erection was a normal reaction to having someone squirming around against you. At least for most men, probably. And besides, you didn’t need to like someone very much to get off with them, and when you did it usually wasn’t that fabulous anyway.
Thatdidn’t matter either, because he had his arms around Corin’s neck and he was bending over him, his eyes fixed on Aster’s face and his lips right there, and he’d watched and admired the mighty Sir Corin for so long. And now he was right here. Touching him, all big and warm and safe, a haven from the snow outside and all the people who held him in contempt. Everyone, basically.
Except that Corin didn’t want to be his safe haven. He wanted him to go home and get married to someone who hated him so he could watch his husband fuck someone else, who also hated him.
Case in point, Corin said, “Let me go. You need a nap.”
Aster smiled up at him helplessly, because Corin’s voice sent little shivers down his spine. It always had, even when Corin had belonged to Belinda and Aster had been forced to strain his ears to catch a few words here and there, since they were pitched low for his sister’s ears only. He’d always felt like such a creepy voyeur.
Now no one was here but the two of them, and Belinda, more fool her, had thrown Corin away.
And a nap sounded like a wonderful idea, come to think of it. “Only if you lie down next to me. You’re so warm.” He wiggled a little, enjoying the solidity of Corin’s body above him. The liquor had made him so fluffy and floaty. It felt good to be kept stationary. “Or you could lie down on top of me like a blanket.”
Corin’s eyes went wide, deep and dark enough that he could’ve drowned in them. Dragons in their human forms often had hair and skin to match their scales, or at least in a similar shade, toning together. Corin’s greenish-bronze tinted skin and jet-black hair and eyes were striking even for a dragon, and the vertical slits of his pupils held Aster fascinated, like a snake’s prey.
“I’m too heavy to be a comfortable blanket,” Corin said nonsensically. He’d be a perfect blanket. “Now let me go, if you please.”
Corin’s eyes shut, giving Aster a moment to really stare at him. Of course Aster wouldn’t let him go, and he shifted his arms, getting a better grip—not that Corin couldn’t get away if he wanted to, of course.
But…fuck. Maybe hedidn’twant to. Could he really…desire Aster? It seemed so unlikely, a man like that who could have anyone. A man who’d already had the only beautiful Cezanne. Aster couldn’t hold a candle to her.
On the other hand, it’d been more than two years since Corin had fled the capital in the wake of the scandal. If he’d been here by himself that whole time, maybe even a plain, cut-rate, taller and less soft version of the woman he’d desired so passionately would start to look good. Aster hadn’t even known Corin took his pleasure with men. But perhaps that was just another way in which two years of exile had made him more flexible in his tastes.
He tipped his head, considering, chewing on his lip, trying to get a better view of Corin’s flushed face. An aroused flush? Or anger? Both? Aster had never been particularly adept in the art of flirtation.
But if he wanted him, then maybe he’d let Aster stay. For a while, anyway.
And Aster could finally find out how it felt to really, truly have all of Sir Corin’s formidable attention on him and him alone. To be, even if only for an hour, the most important person in the world to him.
That might require him to flirt, though. He had to say something clever, something witty and seductive and charming.
Corin’s eyes opened. God, he was so handsome.
Clever. Charming. But instead, with a vague sense of horror, he felt the words, “I’d like you on top of me, even if you’re heavy,” tumble out of his mouth. Followed by, “I think you should stay. You can do anything you want to me.”
Corin stared down at him, that dark, bronzy flush spreading over his entire face.
And then, between one breath and the next, he went from complete stillness to moving so quickly Aster’s head spun. He wrenched himself out of Aster’s grasp and ripped his arm out from under his shoulders, dropping him to the bed. Corin seized his wrists and shoved them down onto the mattress above his head, pinning them there with his huge, callused hands, and then leaning down and looming over him as only a dragon could.
Oh.
Oh, God.
That was…his pulse raced against Corin’s palms, the thin skin of his wrists feeling like no barrier at all, as if he and Corin had become one at those two points of contact. Corin had twisted further onto the bed to pin him. Aster lay splayed beneath him, helpless.
He’d never lain with anyone who handled him like this. He’d never even known he was allowed to want it. He only knew that the pit of his stomach had clenched tight, the way it often had when he’d been near Corin in the past, and that his cock had gotten hard somehow without his even noticing, and that his nipples ached where they rubbed against the fabric of his shirt.
“Well?” Aster whispered, not sure whether or not he truly wanted the answer to his next question. “Whatareyou going to do to me?”
Corin’s eyes seemed to glow afresh with the light of the flames banked down inside him, wild and hot, the slit pupils flickering orange. Aster knew he wasn’t imagining it now.
“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he growled, in a low, feral tone no human throat could’ve produced. It didn’t make the words sound very convincing. Aster felt his voice the way Corin had to feel his heartbeat, as a part of him, something that thrummed through his body and his blood. “Nothing at all. Because you’re drunk. Because you’re Beli—fuck.” He squeezed Aster’s wrists hard, hard enough that it hurt. In that moment, Corin’s thoughts weren’t for him. That hurt a thousand times more. “Because I’m a fucking gentleman, and a knight, and you’re my guest. Do you fucking understand me?”
He understood. He really, truly did, and the disappointment might kill him, but he’d tell Corin that it was all right, and to please never mention this again or Aster might spontaneously combust from the force of his own humiliation.
Instead he said, “You could fuck me. You should probably fuck me, isn’t that what you want? I’ve been fucked before, but it wasn’t particularly—”
