“I have a metal tub for a reason. I’m going to fill it with snow, takes less time that way. And yes, I will put it by the fire. But it’ll be steaming hot in a couple of minutes of me breathing on it.” And then he—winked. With both of his eyelids, the human outer and the draconic inner.
Nothing in Aster’s past had prepared him for being fucked up the ass with a dragon’s knotted cock.
But even that paled in comparison to being winked at mischievously by Sir Corin, dragon knight, disheveled and flushed and unshaven, offering to personally fill and then heat Aster’s bath with his flames—after fucking him up the ass with his magnificent knotted cock.
Something squeezed oddly in his chest and stomach, a sensation of twisting and floating and sinking all at once.
If he put a name to it, even inside his own head, he’d be so very, deeply fucked in an entirely different and much less enjoyable way. And if he’d had a chance in hell of believing that strange feeling had been born of the extreme circumstances of his flight from home, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But he’d known Corin for years and years, first as King Theobert’s most illustrious knight and then as his prospective brother-in-law. And he felt no different now than he had then.
A tremor went through him. No, he couldn’t think any more about what that meant.
He smiled up at Corin, praying that none of what he felt would show on his face. Corin would be horrified.
“Thank you,” he said, with an effort to sound just the same as he had a moment ago. “Can you also put what’s left of that bottle of wine into a bowl of snow? While you’re bringing snow inside anyway?”
Corin rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t fade. “Your wish is my command, my lord.” He swooped down to press a swift kiss to Aster’s lips, and then rose up, shuffling back on the bed as he carefully withdrew from Aster’s body.
Ugh,ugh, but after a moment the slick, heavy slide out of him ended, Corin tactfully saying nothing about the sound it made, and then he’d tossed the covers over Aster and turned his back, rummaging for clothing, it looked like.
He waited, perfectly still and heart hammering away, until Corin had tugged on a pair of trousers and loped out of the room and down the stairs, shirtless and whistling.
He continued to wait until the surprisingly off-key whistling had faded—and at least now he knew of one thing the mighty Sir Corin did shockingly badly, which shouldn’t have been so painfully endearing—and he’d heard the distant creak and thump of the courtyard door.
Then, and only then, he put his hands over his eyes, rolled onto his side, and groaned into the pillow.
The worst part was, he didn’t think his feelings for Corin had changed much, if at all, from what they had already been when he ran away from home. Or from what they’d been when he used to end up even more black and blue after a day of training than his skill level would’ve gotten him, since he kept looking for Corin instead of keeping his eyes on his opponent. Or even from what they’d been when Corin used to squire Belinda to balls and parties in the capital. Aster had followed them about, standing on the edges of the groups in which they laughed and conversed, hoping for a moment of Corin’s notice and pretending to be simply accompanying his sister—who probably hadn’t even known he was there.
Now he knew how it felt to have more than a moment of Corin’s notice. He’d had all of him.
All of him except for the only thing he really wanted, of course.
He wouldn’t put a name to it. Corin had fucked him, and he wanted to do it again. Aster could be happy with that for as long as it lasted.
And if he waited a few extra minutes to go downstairs until he was sure his eyes were dry and he could keep his voice from cracking, no one would ever know.
ChapterFourteen
Watching Aster take abath by his own fireside gave Corin a set of disturbing sensations that he couldn’t attribute to simple lust.
Yes, those pale shoulders with their curves and shadows of muscle made him want to lick them. And yes, the way Aster tipped his head back against the side of the tub, showing off the long line of his throat and then below that his nipples, still peaked and pink, made him want to…well, lick all of him.
Corin had never claimed to be a complicated or a subtle man.
But Aster’s little sighs as he settled into the water, the way his hand hung over the side, his faint smile as he tipped his head back…every sign of comfort and satisfaction, of ease and contentment, soothed something in Corin’s soul he hadn’t even known he possessed. Corin had made Aster happy, and that made Corin happy, and that was…fuck.
He’d have sworn up and down that he didn’t give a good goddamn if any Cezanne ever felt happy again.
And yet.
When he helped Aster out of the bath and into what passed for a towel in his mountain hideaway, and God, but he’d never even thought about the quality of his towels before, he had to viciously stuff down the urge to toss him over his shoulder and start all over again with making him filthy.
Not that Aster needed help getting out of the bath. But he’d blushed and smiled when Corin took his hand, and that was reason enough.
Now Corin had him all tucked in upstairs between the clean sheets that he’d put on the bed while Aster dried off by the fire, and he’d resisted a sleepy plea to join him and instead come back down to polish off what Aster had left of the wine.
If he got in that bed he’d also get in Aster. And judging by the way he’d winced when he bent over to adjust a pillow, that really needed to wait a day or two.
But all of that was simple. Easy to deal with.
