Ashwood reverently brushed two fingers through their spend, creating a line of pinpricks across his abdomen, then slipped them back inside Bellamy’s hole.
“You are only mine as I am only yours,” Ashwood said, almost to himself, as he repeated the action again and again.
A lump formed in Bellamy’s throat, his chest swelling with a tender ache that wouldn’t soon leave him. Yes, he tried to say, but there was no sound. He couldn’t speak or even think, all his senses narrowed down to the feeling of fullness Ashwood provided him and the hypnotic precision of his fingers as he made his point rather clear.
Ashwood was his. His for the taking. For all eternity.
And despite fighting it, Bellamy would never be anyone else’s.
Apparently satisfied, Ashwood withdrew his fingers from Bellamy’s body, their eyes finally meeting. Ashwood’s gaze was wide, almost stunned, perhaps from his own actions in the aftermath of their intense fucking.
He collapsed atop Bellamy, kept his face buried against his neck, his lips mapping a gentle pattern against his throat. All Bellamy could focus on was the wetness, the stickiness of them mixing together inside him. His eyes stung, and he sighed against Ashwood’s ear.
But Bellamy needed more, needed him even closer. So he curled his legs around Ashwood’s thighs, pinning him in place as his fingers tangled through his hair.
Ashwood smelled like seed and sweat, earth and grass, and Bellamy reveled in having him so near. Eventually, they both relaxed, and sleep pulled them under.
Chapter 22
Once Bellamy roused the following morning, he padded to the basin to splash refreshing water on his face. They’d gone back to the sleeping quarters and, unfortunately, separate beds, well after the other lads had returned from their evenings with the gentlemen. It had been difficult to break their tight embrace, but eventually they’d cleaned the seed from their skin and left the room, all the while pretending it hadn’t been one of the most profound nights of their lives.
Today was the day Ashwood might leave Lunar’s Reach forever, and as Bellamy glanced over his shoulder and saw how soundly he was sleeping, the ache in his chest only intensified.
“I take it your evening went well?” Oscar asked with a smirk as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“I could ask you the same question,” Bellamy countered.
Oscar looked away, but Bellamy could see the blush forming on his cheeks. “Of course, with Mr. Walters’s large cock entertaining me, what could—”
“You don’t need to put on any airs,” he said in a lowered register. “Not with me.”
Oscar arched a brow as he reached for a clean cloth. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I saw you. Through the aperture. How long have you been enamored with him?”
Oscar inhaled sharply. “I…I don’t know what—”
“You told me on my deathbed that you use humor to hide your pain, and I think this is one of those instances.”
Oscar sobered, the look in his eyes as stark as the day he’d begged Bellamy to allow Ashwood to heal him.
“Mr. Walters—Clarence—is betrothed to someone. The match was arranged by their families from an early age.”
He gripped Oscar’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“But sometimes…” Oscar cleared his throat. “Sometimes we pretend he will defy his father and break the agreement so we can somehow be together.”
Bellamy’s stomach tightened. He knew that was impossible.
“He assures me it’s not a love match for either of them,” Oscar said gravely. “They are merely childhood friends, but she would offer him a substantial endowment.”
“Do you believe him?” Bellamy asked, rubbing the cool cloth over his heated skin.
“I do, especially when it’s only the two of us in the room and I look into his eyes. Other times, I doubt myself. But what does it matter? It can never be so,” he said bitterly.
“It matters here,” Bellamy said, pressing his hand against Oscar’s chest.
“I suppose it does.” His gaze widened. “But you cannot tell anyone. If Madam Langley knew he requested me specifically—”
“Your secret is safe with me.” And now Bellamy understood precisely why Oscar’s ridiculous gossip and humor were a shield for his heart. He curled his hand into a fist. “Some days it makes me glad to be considered beneath the vacuous rules of society.”
“What I cannot fathom”—Oscar glanced over his shoulder—“is how you can so easily let Ashwood go.”
“It’s not easy.” He scoffed. “It’s complicated.”
“Perhaps it’s you complicating matters.” He rolled his eyes. “Most of us will never be allowed to live freely with our beloved. But with Ashwood, you could—”
“Enough. You don’t understand.” Bellamy felt guilty for being so terse, but betrayal was not so simply overcome. How could he not see that?
He would always love Ashwood. He’d even absolved Ashwood to free him from his guilt. But that didn’t mean Bellamy wasn’t terrified of losing himself so completely in the man again. They had both changed. Ashwood had less fire and Bellamy less innocence. No, he didn’t want to ever trust anyone as much as he should trust in himself. He couldn’t chance it. Besides, they were on different paths. Ashwood as a wolf, and Bellamy as…what? He didn’t even know himself yet, what he was meant to become.