Page 123 of The Mourning Throne
“Keep your eyes on me, my sweet,” Morgan said as he unbuckled his belt. “Watch me. Don’t think about anything else.”
Lex nodded, frantic and unsteady. His pupils were blown wide, fingers shaking against the delicate buttons of his pants.
Morgan’s hand covered Lex’s, steadying the clumsy movement. The tremble beneath his palm was electric, as if Lex’s skin couldn’t contain the voltage running beneath it.
“Slow down,” he murmured, voice low and close. “We won’t disappear.”
Lex exhaled like he almost believed him.
With practiced ease, Morgan slid Lex’s pants down, letting them pool at his ankles with those ridiculous cartoon-print boxers. A private joke made public, now bunched uselessly on the floor of a too-bright bathroom that smelled of ammonia.
Then Lex kicked them off. He threw his leg over Morgan’s shoulder, careless and demanding, thigh shaking against Morgan’s collarbone. His hand clutched Morgan’s shirt, tan fingers twisted in the fabric like a drowning man. Pulled him in.
Their mouths crashed together.
Morgan couldn’t stop the moan—it broke from him, unbidden, as Lex’s tongue slid hungry and raw into his mouth. The taste of him—stale tears and burnt honey—made Morgan’s head spin.
One hand gripped Lex’s shoulder, firm and anchoring. The other fumbled with his own fly, movements graceless, fingers slipping. He should have told himself the same thing:Slow down.But restraint had become theory, not practice, the moment Lex touched him.
Time stuttered. Warped. It felt like years passed before he managed to push his pants low enough, the metal of his zipper catching on skin.
“Fuck me,” Lex gasped between kisses. Wet, messy. “Right now.Please, Morgan.”
Morgan slicked himself with the lube in one motion, sound obscene in the quiet. No teasing. No games. He couldn’t handle that.
“If you ever beg like that for someone else,” he murmured against Lex’s lips, “I’ll kill them.”
Lex’s only response was another kiss—rougher this time. Pushed beyond desperation. All teeth and tongue without restraint. His arms wound tight around Morgan’s neck until breathing became secondary. Like Lex meant to fuse them together.
Everything about him was coming undone. Dismantling in real time. That frenzied lack of self-control—no shame, no pretense—was something Morgan fought hard not to answer. It would’ve been too easy to give in. To take and take until Lex was a screaming, sobbing mess in his arms.
Morgan couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.
He slid home slowly, burying himself inch by inch, careful not to tear.
Lex gasped against his mouth, clenching too tight. But his hips rolled up to meet him, grinding in greedy little circles that made Morgan want to shatter.
“I don’t want this to hurt,” Morgan whispered, trying to stop moving. To let Lex adjust.
“It won’t. It won’t—”
“Itwill.”
Lex’s fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head up. “Stop. Fucking. Talking.”
Morgan had tried.
He really had.
But Lex didn’t need to say it twice.
He drove into Lex harder, unforgiving now, fucking him until the only sound was the slap of skin on skin, counter creaking beneath their weight.
And the only thing coming out of Lex’s mouth was that delicious, deep groaning—the kind Morgan felt in his own chest. Lex’s nails dug in harder, raking across Morgan’s scalp. Those eyes looked right at him but saw nothing at all. Glazed over, pupils too big for the blue, like Lex was somewhere far away.
It was that look that Morgan wanted.
Needed.
