Once Upon a Time (Calluvia's Royalty 3)

I have no idea.

“A good manservant doesn’t ask questions,” Jamil said haughtily, his face a little warm.

“Cute.”

“Pardon?” Jamil said, still looking in front of him. He had a feeling he would find Rohan smirking if he looked his way.

“You’re cute when you put on your proper prince act.”

“It’s not an act.” Jamil ran a hand through his hair. “And I’m not cute.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, I would never use that word if it didn’t fit.” Rohan let out a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever used it, actually. Until now.”

Jamil pursed his lips. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“My apologies, Highness.”

Jamil barely refrained from rolling his eyes. That would have been undignified and childish. “You’re doing it on purpose—trying to aggravate me.”

“Is it working?”

Turning his head away to hide his smile, Jamil said, “What I don’t understand is why you’re doing it. It’s counterproductive if you want me to help you.”

Rohan didn’t say anything for a moment.

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” he said at last, sounding a little surprised. “I can’t help myself.”

I like watching you get all prickly and indignant. I like watching you, period.

Jamil’s steps faltered as he inadvertently picked up that thought. The fact that he had picked it up at all was extremely worrying, as they weren’t even looking at each other. Reading a high-level telepath’s errant thoughts should have been impossible without eye contact. It spoke volumes about their mental compatibility.

Not that he needed any other confirmation of their mental compatibility when his telepathic core was literally aching for Rohan’s mental touch.

His gaze darted to Rohan and he found the man already looking at him. Staring at him.

Jamil glared, his face warm and his stomach in knots. “I thought you were heterosexual.”

Rohan’s eyebrows twitched. “I am.”

“Then why are you staring at me?”

Rohan smiled crookedly. “Everyone does, Highness. You’re very nice to look at. I don’t need to be into cock to aesthetically appreciate your pretty face.”

Jamil opened his mouth and closed it firmly, not wanting to give Rohan the satisfaction: the bastard was doing it on purpose, trying to shock him. And since requesting that Rohan stop calling him pretty or cute just encouraged this impossible man to do it more often, Jamil didn’t even bother.

Deciding to change the subject, he looked away and said, “I can’t just turn up at the Fifth Royal Palace without any reason so soon after my previous visit. So I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for the right opportunity.”

“All right,” Rohan said.

They said nothing else, just walked, the air between them charged with strange tension. It made warmth spread through Jamil’s body, his mind getting foggier with every passing moment. It was hard to focus on anything but the man walking beside him.

Their elbows brushed. Jamil shouldn’t have felt anything through the layers of their clothes, but his arm tingled, his fingers twitching. He wanted—he wanted—

Rohan swore through his teeth before glancing around and pushing him into the nearest room. Thankfully, it was empty.

The moment the door closed behind them, Rohan’s hand was on his neck, his thumb on his telepathic point, pressing against the bite mark. A moan, low and shameless, tore from Jamil’s lips as Rohan’s mental presence slammed into him. Yes, yes, please.

Jamil had no idea how long the merge lasted this time.

When he finally regained the ability to feel something other than pure bliss, he found himself sagged against the door, his knees distastefully weak. Rohan’s mouth was latched on his telepathic point, sucking, and their minds were still so entwined he had trouble telling their thoughts apart.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he said, embarrassingly breathless as Rohan gave him another hickey. “This is—madness.”

“I know,” Rohan said, sounding annoyed. His annoyance didn’t seem to stop him from nibbling on Jamil’s neck.

Fuck, it felt…

Jamil stared at the opposite wall without seeing, trying to find the strength to pull away, to untangle his mind from Rohan’s. The frustrating part was, the merge was technically over—Rohan’s fingers were no longer touching his telepathic core, but having Rohan’s mouth there definitely didn’t help, and their minds refused to part, still wrapped tightly around one another.

“Stop marking me,” Jamil managed at last, pulling his hand from under Rohan’s shirt—he wasn’t sure how it had ended up there and didn’t want to know. His palm was still tingling from the smoothness and warmth of Rohan’s back, itching to touch, craving closeness. “I haven’t found a dermal regenerator yet.” Jamil almost groaned as soon as he’d said it. That shouldn’t be the reason why they shouldn’t be doing this. This was all kinds of wrong.

“Your Highness?”

Jamil went rigid before slightly relaxing when he realized it was just the palace AI. “Yes?” he said with as much dignity as he could muster, telling himself that the AI couldn’t feel any emotions and therefore couldn’t judge him.