Page 74 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Holy fuck. For the second time that week, Léon was about to get Henry killed. But this time, it was his own damn fault. “Please, Henri. Please.”
“Tell me what you need, Ange.”
Some vague echo of reality, obscured by layers of pleasure, pushed its way in, and Léon forced himself to whisper frantically, “Unchain me. Quickly. We have to go.”
Henry’s eyes kindled, and something akin to an animal snarl forced its way out of him. “Wrong answer.”
That hot mouth took Léon’s dick deep, and he sucked hard and unrelenting, and that cold stone wall flush against his back was such bold and delicious contrast to the shock of pleasure shooting through his body. He was gone, and there was no pyre or burning flame or rabid crowd of pursuers that could have made him stop Henry then. Years, so many years of thwarted and denied desire, all taking blinding coalescence in the heat and the flesh of Henry.
He had become Léon’s sole desire. He was all the freedom and the hope. And just as Henry’s fingers clenched into Léon’s thighs, as he sank him deep into his beautiful mouth, it seemed Léon had made all the right choices. All the terrible and bloody choices, but the right ones, because this, when he closed his eyes and saw nothing of the prison and the grime and the horror, this was where he was supposed to be. With Henry.
Léon let out a groan that shot into Henry’s heart. Henry had wanted to sleep with Léon the second he’d laid eyes on him. Henry and all of Reims wanted to sleep with Léon, but Henryreallywanted to sleep with Léon. He was beautiful, but he was so much more than that. And since that first arrow he’d shot across the square, since that first day he’d ripped Léon’s heartout of his chest, all he’d wanted to do was ease the pain he’d caused. Stitch him up and make him better. Wrap his heart and his body, safe and warm, and be every comfort to him. This was just the start. This moment was the beginning of all the ways Henry was going to take and save Léon. He was going to make him lose control until he crumpled into Henry’s arms, his, to be rebuilt from scratch.
Henry moved a warm hand to Léon’s balls, cupped them gently with his palm, his long fingers caressing his ass, sliding in between his cheeks.
“You have to stop,” Léon heard himself say, but his body thrust forward, begging for more of Henry. He didn’t want him to stop. He wanted him to turn him around and completely obliterate him. It was a madness of ecstasy, and how good it felt, finally, to slip into insanity.
Henry’s fingers found his tight hole, pushing a circle around, and, “Henri, no, I’m going to come. Stop or I’ll…”
Henry wrenched him forward with a hungry grunt.
“Henri, please…” Léon’s hands ripped at the chains, the only thing holding him up now, and Henry’s movements intensified, desperate to taste Léon, desperate to be his palace of pleasure. And those fingers massaging his rim, and the heat, and the dark, and the lust, and Henry, oh Henry, so passionate, so sexual, so real and animal, and Léon’s head flung back, and he let go.
A cry broke from him, echoing through the Witches’ Tower, and a low and ravenous hum came from Henry as he drank him down, loving Léon, loving the taste of him, the proof that he was Henry’s now, for just as long as Henry could keep him.
Henry sprung to his feet, Léon’s wet dick sliding against his clothes as he pushed himself against him, kissed him and kissed him, strung out and hung out wide, and Léon was a mess. He was reeling from the orgasm, from the surprise of it all, from the fact that Henry just did…that.
Click and click again and off came the shackles, and Léon remained where he was, confusedly pulling his breeches closed over his still-hard cock, lacing himself up tight as Henry kissed him again. Then, cupping his face with two hands, Henry whispered, “I adore you, Ange. Thank you for coming.”
Was that a joke? Either way, he looked perfectly pleased with himself as he tilted his handsome face to drop one last tingling kiss right in front of Léon’s left ear.
Léon’s whole body lurched forward as if bereft when Henry ran for the door. He watched him click the lock open, then turn and look back at Léon.
How changed he was. Beautiful, dashing, full of energy. The sweetness Léon had seen beneath the stormy exterior, that he had fallen for, was on full display. His true self, Léon hoped…
Henry held out his hand, and the moonlight caught in his beautiful eyes. “Will you come with me?”
Léon’s smile was the most genuine he’d smiled in years. “I would love to.”
Henry beamed back at him, their two hands clasped tight, and together they escaped from the Witches’ Tower and into the frigid night.
36
ESCAPE
Léon and Henry sprinted through the streets, hand in hand, and all the cold of the night was bracing and nothing more—nothing they couldn’t overcome.
Destroyer snorted on sight of them, and Henry pulled great arms around the head of the beast. “I knew you were a good one.” Destroyer raised his head to nudge Henry. “You have the saddle, Léon.”
But Léon was lost for words, watching Henry with the weird horse, taken aback at his ease after everything that had happened, especially what he’d just done in the tower.
“What?” asked Henry. He picked Léon’s hand up right there in the street, and he kissed it.
And Léon felt like… He didn’t know what. It wasn’t something he’d ever considered, a public display of affection like that. He made no sound, and his surprise only doubled when Henry ran a hand around his waist, pulling him close. Tripled when Henry planted another kiss on his lips. “I can’t be the first man to have done that.”
A hot blush and too-pink lips, and Léon whispered, “You are.”
“Huh…” His smile turned sly, and he pushed Léon backwards, step by step, into the wall, kissing his neck as Léon’s head tipped back. “Lucky me,” he murmured, and Léon feltbeautiful. That was the word for it. For the first time, he felt adored. Desired and wanted. Not from a distance by strangers who didn’t know him, who wanted only the sick thrill of his killer hands. Henry wantedhim. He kissed him again, heatedly.
