Page 17 of His Summer Prince

Wren had spent the day in a haze of lust. After his soul united with Elior’s, his hunger for him doubled. They’d always been close, but the never-ending love that flowed through the bond, telling him how much Elior cared about him, brought him to the brink of madness. He yearned to bathe in that affection, to express his feelings for Elior physically. It couldn’t happen. Elior would never judge him, but neither did he feel the same. There were new emotions in the bond, and Wren had a hard time telling Elior’s from his, but knowing what he did, all that churning lust was his own.

He hadn’t thought it possible, but with the bond humming between them, Elior was even more beautiful. His green eyes sparked with life and love, his smile had grown wider, his moves smoother than ever. He was a meal Wren longed to devour, but Elior wasn’t his, not in that sense. Regardless, Wren couldn’t deny how happy it made him that the bond would keep Elior from seeking intimate relationships with others. If only Elior let him, Wren would meet his every need.

Lying in bed next to him turned into a challenge. Every part of Wren hankered to touch and hug Elior. He wanted to curl around him and whisper confessions in his ear while he touched him in ways he’d never dared. It was a terrible idea, and Wren contented himself with dissolving in Elior, caressing him through their bond.

Elior’s soul was warm and comforting, and soon, Wren’s eyesfell shut. He’d almost drifted off when a sudden surge of lust and a gentle rocking motion startled him awake. The fog of sleepiness cleared, and Wren felt the ghost of a touch on his cock. What the hell? There was nothing touching him, but he sensed the shadow of a grip. It felt so fucking good he almost groaned.

The flaring arousal that shot through his loins delayed his mind’s ability to catch up with what was happening. A barely noticeable sensation surrounded his cock, featherlight but undeniably there, as if someone—no, as ifEliorwas jerking him with a loose fist. But nobody was touching him and certainly not Elior.

Sensations flowed through him, so powerful his toes curled and his cock twitched. If only this would continue forever. The mattress shifted rhythmically—Elior was moving.

Wren froze, processing. A restrained moan, needy and raw, filled the hut, turning his cock to granite. There was but one explanation: Elior was touching himself, stroking his cock, and through the bond, Wren felt the ghost of it. His heart skipped a beat, and his insides clenched in desperate need.

A surge of pleasure crashed into him, his cock pushing against his trousers. He ached to shed them and take himself in hand, but he couldn’t do that with Elior lying next to him. What was he supposed to do? He was dying with need, but touching himself was out of the question. Elior must’ve thought he’d fallen asleep—he almost had—and used the opportunity to relieve pressure. And good for him. Elior had needs, and it was important he took care of them.

But now Wren was wide awake and Elior too lost in pleasure to notice. In all those summers of sharing a bed, they’d never been in this situation. Now, boys had become men. Wren pinched his lips. The best thing was to try and fall asleep, impossible as it seemed. Falling short of that, he’d pretend hewas sleeping, sparing Elior the embarrassment. Wren wished he could give him privacy, but when Elior picked up the pace of stroking his cock—and Wren’s by extension—he knew that drifting off was not in the cards. He was too keyed up to sleep until he found release, and that wasn’t going to happen.

A depraved moan, louder than the last, escaped Elior. Wren throbbed so hard, it dislodged a drop of precum, which drooled onto his stomach. His cock was tenting his trousers, begging for touch. He would’ve given anything to jerk himself, but he couldn’t. If he felt the shadow of Elior stroking himself, then it’d be true the other way around too. If Wren as much as pressed the heel of his hand to his cock to ease the ache, Elior would know. He’d realize that Wren wasn’t asleep, that he’d been listening, that his moans had gotten him hard.

No, Wren had to lie still and wait for Elior to finish and doze off. But then what? He could hardly bring himself to climax—it’d rouse Elior like it had woken him. Sneaking out of the shepherd’s hut to seek relief could work, but what if it didn’t? What if Elior still felt him and woke up, finding Wren missing? He’d go looking for him.

Wren had to stay, hard as it may be. The scent of Elior’s arousal filled the air, heavy and sweet like flowers blooming in the dark. A small gasp caressed Wren’s ears, and he clamped down on the desire swirling in his core. He felt Elior slide up his length, thumb brushing his tip, probably smearing precum across his crown.

The heat erupting in his belly drove him wild. He gripped the sheets, needing something to hold onto lest he clutched his cock and gave himself away. Struggling to keep his breathing even, Wren held on, body stiff with tension. But worrying over the situation wouldn’t get him anywhere. The best thing he could do was enjoy the intimacy.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, he relaxed. Yes,he should lie back and let Elior’s lust wash through him. Elior wouldn’t be angry if he discovered Wren was awake. Elior never got angry, certainly not with him. And if he’d wanted privacy, he could’ve gone outside. There was nothing wrong with Wren savoring this while it lasted. If Elior was the sea, he was the shore, waves rolling onto him. Why not bask in their gentle play?

He lay back and indulged in each stroke and twist. Elior’s moves took him higher, and more so when those quiet pants came faster, desperation edging into the low sounds. Elior was getting close, though it wasn’t pure desire spurring him. A deep, powerful love accompanied his carnal urges, adding light notes to his dark bliss. Jealousy would’ve eaten Wren alive had he felt that this raging emotion was directed at someone in particular, but it didn’t seem to be. No, Elior’s love was contained within their bond, where it fueled their hunger for completion.

Wren’s heart hammered his chest. Tension gathered in his groin, muscles straining. The feathery shadow of Elior’s hand wasn’t going to be enough to take him over the edge, but damn, Wren was craving release. His insides tensed as urgency built, the need for relief almost overpowering him. The veins running up his cock pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and a trickle of precum sluiced out of him. God, he needed to jerk himself, needed his hand on his cock. He couldn’t take this sweet torment any longer, and yet, he loved every second of it.

His arousal mounted beyond what he’d thought possible. He’d never been this desperate and not come. A little more, and he’d climax from the delicious pull on his insides alone. His mind drifted, and he imagined Elior lightly running his fingertips up and down his shaft, teasing pearls of lust from his glans, one after the other spilling onto his abdomen. God, he loved Elior so much. He had loved him for a long time, his affection growing with each passing year, encompassing every new aspect. This was just the latest addition to his feelings, andhe couldn’t keep his swelling love from overflowing into the bond.

Elior’s panting reached its peak, short bursts of breath that told of violent need. Wren’s insides constricted to a single, keen point, Elior’s arousal dousing him. The mattress rocked, the ghost hold on his cock firmed, and pure, hot pleasure slammed into him.

Elior dropped a keening gasp that sounded suspiciously like “Wren,” which was, of course, a figment of his imagination. The next grunt was muffled by a pillow, Elior pressing his face into it to keep quiet, but Wren didn’t miss the orgasmic rapture in that small, impassioned noise. The bed shook, Elior trembling as he came.

Images of Elior’s cum erupting from his cock flashed through Wren’s mind, the milky white fluid hitting the golden plains of his stomach and drenching his fingers, running over his knuckles. Elior’s insides clenched in orgasm, the contraction so violent, that Wren felt it in his body and soul. It was enough to push him over the edge, too. There was no stopping him from coming.

Wren sank his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out as climax seized him. His insides convulsed, his cock jerked wildly, and cum exploded from his tip. He threw his head back, fighting to control his ragged breathing, to keep his twitching muscles from giving him away. Unconditional love and powerful emotions wrapped around his soul. Wren came harder than he ever had, balls shuddering as they emptied. Elior made a gasping, helpless noise. Sweet relief washed through Wren as he rode his orgasm, and he couldn’t have cared less that he’d made a sticky mess of his breeches.

Fuck. He’d never come with such force. Wren had thought climaxing hands-free was a myth, but the power of his bond with Elior had vanquished every obstacle.

As he came down from his high, worry that Elior might’ve noticed crept into his mind, but when he listened to their connection, there was nothing but fatigue, satisfaction and tenderness. Bone-tired and drowned in bliss, Wren drifted off. The last thing he knew before sleep claimed him was Elior rolling over in bed, slinging an arm over Wren’s middle.

“Love you,” Elior mumbled sleepily, and then they were both gone, dropping into a land of love and dreams, their souls melding.

Chapter Six

Elior

Elior watched Wren out of the corner of his eye as they prepared breakfast. Wren hadn’t said anything about the night before and most likely hadn’t noticed how Elior had come to thoughts of him. He’d tried to be quiet, but the occasional moan had slipped. Wren had been asleep, Elior had thought, but could he trust his judgment? Their bond was new, and he had difficulties distinguishing his emotions from Wren’s. Their feelings were muddled as though they were too similar to tell apart.

Elior had always loved Wren, but his feelings had reached a new magnitude when their souls united. Despite the difficulties their connection might bring, Elior was glad to have bonded with Wren. What they had couldn’t be broken or taken away. Wren would forever be his.

As the morning sun traveled over the sky, they took the flock to pastures further south. Bumblebees hopped from flower to flower, collecting pollen, and tall grass swayed in the gentle wind. Willows lined the lake, birds singing in their branches. Wren led the flock, Toby and Elior herding them from behind, ensuring no sheep got lost.

They found a stretch free of trees and reeds and let the sheep graze a hundred yards from the bank. While Toby watched the flock, drawing circles to ensure no animal ventured too far, Elior and Wren went to the lake for a bath.

---