Page 39 of The Traitor's Curse
But I was a man—of course I’d have used it to open my pants to get my cock sucked.
And also because I was a man, without any more moral fiber than any other despite my title and my pride, my own cock throbbed and tented the front of my silk breeches. I knew if Icould look down I’d see a damp patch on the pale silk.
“I think you know what to do, don’t you?” Benedict asked. But it wasn’t really a question, of course. He’d taken his cock in hand, and the thick, purplish head pointed right at my mouth. The scent of him rose up, salty and sweet. “Everyone in the ballroom knows what you’re doing right now, Lucian. Every single one of them’s picturing you on your knees for me. And every single one of them is jealous.”
All of them. Every aristocrat and footman, the ambassador, Lord Griset and his smirking friends, dancing and drinking and talking about me—and I couldn’t even try to deny it. They would be agog at the way Benedict had dragged me off, reveling in any lewd speculation they could invent. Benedict putting me on my knees would be the very least of it.
It should’ve withered my erection like a delicate vine in the first frost of winter, but instead my cockhead twitched, more moisture seeping out. I quivered like a hound on a leash, and for a moment I wished they truly were there watching. They would be jealous, all of them, because who could honestly claim to have never thought about what it might be like to have Benedict’s attention, his desire? Of course, he had some nerve, saying it out loud.
The instant my mouth opened he leaned in, his cockhead nudging insistently at my lower lip.
“You’re incredibly arro—mmm—gant,” I slurred, as his cock pushed in. “Thinking they’re jealous over your, oh, your coc—mmm.” If I didn’t swallow, I’d have my own saliva dripping down my chin, but I couldn’t swallow except around his cockhead, wrapping my lips tightly, and then he went deeper, and I started to stroke with my tongue, teasing the ridge of the glans with the tip of it.
Benedict thrust lightly, bumping the roof of my mouth. I blinked away the droplets gathering on my eyelashes. His facewent wavery for a moment, reforming with his mouth open and his eyebrows raised.
He shook his head. And laughed. The fuckerlaughed, as if he found the way I’d started to slurp and whimper around his thick cockamusing.
“Jealous of me, not you. Lucian.” He thrust again, this time filling my mouth completely, stretching my lips obscenely wide. “How could you think I meant—fuck—jealous of anything but your mouth? Your perfect fucking mouth, Dromos fucking save me,” and he broke off in a moan as my throat convulsed, milking him hard enough that it probably hurt.
My perfect mouth. He’d called it pretty when he fucked it the first time, and sweet once or twice since when he had me rouse him with it before he took me, but…perfect.
My perfect mouth, with everyone jealous of it, envyingBenedict, not me.
He couldn’t possibly believe that.
But his fist clenched in my hair, his eyes widened, and as I forced myself onto his cock, bruising my own throat to take as many inches as I could, he groaned, shuddered, and spent down my throat in thick, hot pulses, too deep for me to taste.
He’d brought me so close to spending myself, so incredibly fucking close, and before he’d even pulled out of my mouth I was tearing at the front of my breeches, desperate to bring myself off, moaning around his softening cock as it rested on my tongue.
“Yes, fuck,” Benedict said, almost drowned out by the rending tear of my silk breeches. I’d given up on the buttons and didn’t have magic to fall back on. My hand wrapped around my straining cock at last, the relief enough to take me out at the knees if I hadn’t already been on the floor at Benedict’s feet. “Just think if they could see you now, Lucian.”
He released his grip on my hair in time for me to curl inon myself, spending all over the floor, shudders running up and down my body. I tipped forward and leaned my forehead against his hip, moaning into the soft velvet of his doublet, my hand still wrapped around my slippery cock.
“If they could see me, they’d despise me,” I murmured.
Every cell in my body seemed to have grown immensely heavy, sinking down into the earth, even though my mind spun in circles. Had I lost the game I’d played? Or had Benedict even been my opponent in it, the way I’d thought?
“No, they wouldn’t despise you,” Benedict said, and he pulled back, the motion toppling me over. He caught me under the arms and hauled me up, wrapping me in his arms as I found my footing and swayed into his chest. He bent and kissed my ear. “They’d only be twice as jealous of me. Come on. Into bed.”
Bed. No, we hadn’t… “I thought you were going to fuck me and then I’d take a bath,” I complained. Oh, fuck, I was complaining—about not getting fucked. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. And then he chuckled and held me tighter, and yes, he’d noticed. Damn it. “Not that—I want a bath. I hate those receptions. The Surbini ambassador’s trying to screw us on trade negotiations, and Lord Zettine’s clerks passed it through without comment. Which means they must have some reason for—mmph!”
Benedict cut me off with a kiss that crushed my lips and drove every thought of Lord Zettine’s clerks out of my mind. A fresh current of energy trickled through me, reviving parts of my body I’d thought had been exhausted.
No, I couldn’t really believe I’d lost anything at all, not when Benedict bore me back onto my bed, sucking gently on my lower lip, working his way down my throat with flicks of his tongue and soft caresses, with no immediate urgency.
Only desire, and the desire to please—because I couldn’t believe this could all be for him, not really. He might enjoyunlacing my shirt and pressing his lips to my breastbone, undoing each tiny waistcoat button and breathing hotly on my chest through the thin linen that covered it, mouthing over a nipple and glancing up at me with a smile when I squirmed and gripped his shoulders.
Clearly he did enjoy it, because his cock had hardened again, brushing against my inner thigh as he slid down my body.
But he couldn’t enjoy itthatmuch only for its own sake. He had to be taking some pleasure from mine.
He’d been the first to make this a game, taunting and challenging me, telling me how he’d make me enjoy his touch despite my protests. And I’d set out to win, trying to ensure that the tide of public opinion turned in my favor as much as it could, at least, since I hadn’t been able to keep my body from responding to him.
It hadn’t occurred to me until tonight that Benedict might really want us both to win—at least here, when we were alone without the politics and jealousies and ambitions of the court.
Except that we couldn’t ever be entirely without those things, or escape them, could we? Benedict had left for two years, but he’d still returned. And while he hadn’t explained that decision, some of it had to have been the inability to outrun responsibilities we’d both been born and bred to.
“Someone asked me, oh, that feels—” Benedict had eased my breeches down enough to nibble at my hipbone, something he’d already discovered drove me rather mad. Something about the proximity to my cock, and the sensitive skin there, and a nerve ending that transmitted eager need to all the ones lower down and farther in, where I wanted his touch the most. “I can’t think when you’re doing that,” I gasped.
