Page 71 of A Mistake of Worth
David nodded, leaning closer, his breath warm, almost needy.
Marc drained his whiskey, glass clinking. He pointed to the long couch. “Sit.”
Henri obeyed, hands flat on his thighs. Marc’s gaze shifted. “Go to him.”
David hesitated, then crossed on unsteady legs.
“In his lap,” Marc said, calm but sharp.
Henri reached for him, taking his hand and guiding him down. David straddled his thighs, Henri’s palms steady at his waist and knee. David’s breath evened out, body softening, and he leaned into Henri.
Marc sprawled opposite, legs spread, arms along the backrest. Ready to watch. Henri didn’t need instruction to know his role. This was obedience on display.
“Start with a kiss.”
David didn’t move, but he didn’t pull away either. Henri brushed his lips to David’s, soft and tentative. David’s lips parted with an eagerness that startled Henri.
Henri pulled back slightly, searching his face. Cheeks flushed, eyes heavy-lidded. Fear threaded through his expression, yes, but tangled with something more dangerous.
He leaned in again, kissing deeper this time, plundering as Marc would expect. His tongue swept in, claiming, but his hands framed David’s face with deliberate care. Michael’s kiss lived in his memory—consuming, warm, impossibly tender—and Henri mirrored that now, giving what comfort he could.
David moaned low, pressing closer, his lips yielding with too much want. Henri’s jaw tightened as he told himself again it wasn’t real. Couldn’t be.
“Touch him,” Marc said, his voice threaded with amusement.
Henri obeyed without pause. One hand slid down David’s spine with deliberate slowness. The other brushed lace at his hip, thumb catching the sharp rise of bone. Not command. Comfort.
David shivered, hips pushing forward seeking contact. Henri stilled, his breath catching. Desire, not fear. He forced the thought down.
He lowered his mouth to the skin beneath David’s ear. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice soft, an echo of Michael’s reassurances. “Perfect.”
David’s breath hitched, a needy moan spilling free. His hands unclenched, gripping Henri’s shoulders instead of pushing him away. Henri kissed his temple, then his jaw, moving with careful slowness. Every touch meant to soothe rather than claim.
Henri’s hand stroked circles at David’s waist, thumb gentle above the lace. The other pressed steady at his thigh. David’s breathing quickened, his body warming under the attention. His hips arched faintly, dread melting into heat.
Henri’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t want. It couldn’t be. Just a body yielding under pressure, the same way his had betrayed him night after night. He kissed David’s shoulder, voice low. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
David’s grip tightened at Henri’s shoulders, another moan slipping free. Soft, almost eager. It caught in Henri’s chest, but he pushed it aside. Comfort. That was all he would give.
Across the cabin, Marc stirred. His posture remained unchanged, but his tone carried rich satisfaction.
“On your knees.”
David flinched, the spark of warmth faltering as nerves flooded back. Henri caught his eyes, steady and calm, and guided him down with a hand at his waist.
David slid from his lap, settling between his thighs with reluctant grace. Henri smoothed his hair back while murmuring quiet reassurance, words meant to anchor rather than command.
“Easy. You’re all right.” His thumb brushed David’s temple gently. “Don’t rush. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
David let out a shaky breath, his shoulders dropping a fraction as the tension eased from his frame. His hands steadied against Henri’s thighs, not quite sure but no longer trembling as hard. The calm was fragile, a thin layer that could shatter with a single word.
Marc gave that word.
“Get on with it,” he drawled, impatience sharpening his voice.
David startled, his fingers fumbling at Henri’s waistband as he began trembling all over again. Henri covered them with his own, slowing the motion and guiding without pressure. Slower than Marc would ever allow. Gentler than the scene demanded.
It was the only defiance left to him—the softness in surrender, the mercy he could offer with his hands.
