Page 30 of His Summer Prince

“And you were busy looking after the rest of the flock. We both know this happens. Sometimes a sheep gets lost and can’t be saved.”

“You’re right.” Wren sighed. “Let’s move north, away from the orcs. We can let the flock graze for a couple of hours in the morning and then continue upstream. We’ll spend another night, and if we move again, we should be close enough to Somerdale for Lord Dalton’s forces to provide protection.”

Elior put a hand on his knee. “That’s a good plan.”

Wren felt Elior’s doubt. “But…?” Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Elior grimaced. “I overheard bits and pieces at the wedding. Lord Dalton’s troops are all deployed in the deep south, trying to keep the front from collapsing. If it’s not too late for that. Since the orcs made it as far as Mendham… From what I understood, Lord Dalton doesn’t have more than a handful of knights left at Somerdale Castle.”

Unease churned in Wren’s stomach. He looked at his half-finished bowl, no longer hungry. He didn’t want to think about what this meant for him and Elior.

“We’ll be all right,” Elior said, sounding more confident than either of them felt.

Wren nodded and made himself finish his food. Elior was right. For now, they were safe.

He washed their bowls in the river while Elior played fetch with Toby, cuddling him when he brought the stick back. When Toby grew tired, Elior let him go, and he settled by the pen, staying by the flock even as he slept.

They sat down side by side in front of the fire, Wren sinking into Elior’s arms. “I’m lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one.” Elior kissed the top of his head and inhaled. “I love your smell.”

“I smell like I’ve worked and sweated all day.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing.”

Then Elior’s mouth was on his, and Wren opened up for him, for this soft, tentative brush of lips. Their connection overflowed with fondness and care. Elior guided him down onto the blanket until Wren was on his back. His legs fell open of their own accord.

Wren knew Elior was doing this to distract him and make him forget the day. And how could Wren resist? Of course it worked.

The kiss deepened, Elior’s tongue licking between his parted lips. Wren met him halfway, quietly moaning as Elior’s honey-sweet taste rolled over his tongue. His stomach fluttered, and Elior took his hand, interlacing their fingers. His skin was softer than silk, a sensation never ceasing to amaze him. His hand tangled in Elior’s long strands. He pushed up against him, trying to bring their bodies together.

Answering, Elior came down, settling his weight on him. Underneath him, Wren unfolded like a flower, his entire being opening up. He clung to Elior, every fiber vibrating with longing. Life couldn’t separate them. He wouldn’t let that happen.

“I want to taste you,” Elior said against his lips.

Taste? He was already—oh.Oh. Feverish heat pooled in his loins and then overflowed into every part of his body.

He kissed Elior hard, his head swimming, unable to process the idea.

“Will you let me?” Elior asked.

Wren pushed affirmation into the bond, a language that spoke louder than words. Yes, he wanted it. The thought had never crossed his mind, but the prospect of Elior goingthereignited a whole new need in him. He swelled inside his breeches, unable to stop the images from flooding his mind, visions of Elior’s golden head between his thighs, those apricot lips stretching around him… Wetness seeped into his breeches, a telltale sign of his lust.

Elior broke the kiss, his hooded gaze finding Wren’s. “I want you on my tongue.”

Wren nearly came right then, his inner muscles clenching as his body worked to prevent his desire from unloading.

“I think,” Elior said, “you’ll enjoy it almost as much as I will.”

He slid down Wren’s body, deft fingers opening the laces of his shirt. It fell open, exposing his chest and stomach. Elior found the buttons of Wren’s breeches, unfastening them one by one. Wren’s breath hitched when the fly opened. Elior’s eyes ate him up, and hunger roared through the bond.

Wren’s fingers curled in the blanket. His heart beat furiously. What it would feel like to have Elior’s lips wrapped around him, his tongue snaking up and down… An aching throb jolted his cock. The tip was wet with arousal, glistening in the light of the campfire.

Elior licked his lips and threw Wren one last look before he lowered between his legs. The ghost of Elior’s breath teased Wren’s heated skin, and he shivered, oversensitive with desire.

A pair of impossibly soft, plush lips brushed his underside. A whine escaped Wren as Elior kissed his cock. The world tilted. Elior’s arms enclosed his thighs, holding him open.

Oh God. Everything in Wren clenched. He was dizzy under the shower of affections, his cock helplessly spilling beads of lust. They rolled off his crown until the seeping wetness hit Elior’s mouth. He glanced at Wren, a smirk curling his lips. Then he was at it again, his tongue joining his efforts, licking up the precum and teasing Wren’s sensitive underside. Wren couldn’t help the whimper that broke free of his throat.

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