Page 140 of The Mourning Throne
Their clothes came off in pieces. Morgan’s first. Then Lex’s.
No rush. No flurry of need coursing too deep for either to handle.
Lex pushed the blanket aside and shifted onto his knees, straddling Morgan’s thigh. He was still too pale under the lamplight, but there was intent in his movements now.
And Morgan let him.
There was no need to ask what this was. Lex was saying it without words. Offering without asking permission. It wasn’t about sex alone—it was presence. Ownership.I’m here. I want you. I want to be the one to give you this.
Morgan slid his hands along Lex’s sides, thumbs tracing what he hoped were careful paths over fading bruises. He didn’t press. Just held him. Just watched.
Lex kissed him again, and Morgan kissed back like it was the only thing tethering them to the bed.
Lex pulled away only to reach for the lube in the bedside drawer. His motions were clumsy—too quick, too loud, bottle slipping against his palm before he caught it. But not out of desperation. The kind of nervousness that saidI want this right.
Morgan caught his wrist. “Take your time. Breathe.”
Lex nodded. He slicked his fingers with a carefulness that didn’t match the way his hands shook. Then he sat back, shifting until he could reach between his legs, exhaling hard through his nose as he pressed a finger in.
Morgan watched.
Watched the way Lex’s mouth parted, the flutter of his lashes. Lex was stretched out across him, skin flushed, one hand braced on Morgan’s chest, the other buried between his thighs. His cock rested against Morgan’s stomach, leaking already, the grind of his hips building tension without release.
“You’re doing so well,” Morgan said quietly.
Lex’s eyes flicked up. “Yeah?”
Morgan brushed his thumb over Lex’s jaw. Nodded.
Lex’s second finger slid in with another sharp inhale, and Morgan let himself imagine the ache. Just for a second.
When he finally pulled his hand away, he reached for Morgan. The lube made everything slick and unsteady, but Lex wrapped a fist around Morgan’s cock, lining them up with shaky precision.
And then he sank down.
Morgan groaned as Lex sank down onto him, inch by inch, every motion achingly slow. Lex’s breath came in stuttered exhales, his hands braced against Morgan’s chest for balance. Halfway down, he froze—let out a sharp, broken sound, more gasp than groan. Morgan didn’t move. He simply steadied him, hands firm on his hips, anchoring him with quiet pressure.
“You’re okay,” Morgan whispered.
Lex nodded, too fast. Too frantic. “Just—fuck—gimme a second.”
He shifted again, slower this time, until he took all of Morgan’s cock. Until they were flush, bodies fitted together with the kind of closeness that had nothing to do with proximity and everything to do with belonging.
Morgan didn’t rush him.
Mapping Lex’s movements with his eyes, memorizing every expression, was more important. The crease between his brows, the flush rising over his collarbone, the wetness on his lower lip. All the little pieces of Lex that made him… Lex.
“Look at you,” Morgan muttered. “Taking me so well.”
“Love the compliments.”
Morgan choked out a half-laugh. “You’re ruining this.”
He began to rock—gentle, rhythmic, rolling his hips with practiced control. Each movement dragged a quiet moan from Morgan’s throat, and Lex swallowed them all—mouth crashing into Morgan’s, tongue sliding deep, hungry and perfect.
He kissed like he was trying to memorize the shape of Morgan’s mouth. Like this was what his hands weren’t saying. The taste of him was sweat and salt, the barest tang of blood from where his lip had cracked again. But Morgan didn’t care. He chased Lex’s mouth, met every stroke of his tongue with one of his own.
Lex moved harder, faster. His thighs tightened with the effort, muscles flexing under Morgan’s hands. Every roll of his hips sent sparks up Morgan’s spine—tight, focused waves of pleasure that built too fast.
