Once Upon a Time (Calluvia's Royalty 3)

So fucking tight and look so pretty taking my cock.

Jamil whimpered, catching Rohan’s thought. He couldn’t help but sink deeper into the merge, allowing himself to see through Rohan’s eyes again. Was that him? That moaning, panting, lustful creature riding Rohan’s long cock as if something possessed it? Lips bitten red, cheeks flushed, his cock leaking and red against his pale stomach? He couldn’t deny that the image aroused him. It didn’t help that his thoughts and desires were mixing with Rohan’s and it felt like he wanted to fuck himself, push Jamil under him and pound into him until they both saw stars. He was made for his cock—

Rohan growled and rolled them so that he was on top again. Gripping his hips, Rohan set a furious rhythm. Harder, faster, so good, the thrusts deep and sure. A roaring filled Jamil’s head as their pleasure built. “Need you, need you, need you.” He wasn’t even sure whose thought it was; it didn’t matter. They came, clutching each other and kissing desperately, Rohan’s hips still grinding into him as the pleasure exploded between them.

They fell asleep like that, their bodies and minds still one.

Chapter 20

Sunlight filtered through the closed curtains in Jamil’s bedroom, bathing everything in warmth. Or maybe it was their bond, pulsing with warmth, affection, and belonging.

Sighing sleepily, Jamil tried to wiggle out of his arms.

Rohan made a protesting sound, his arms tightening. “No, don’t go.”

Jamil laughed, a happy, warm laugh that made Rohan’s chest swell with affection. No, affection was the wrong word. Possessive adoration. Fuck, he wanted to hold Jamil in his arms forever. Nine days of this had been nowhere near enough. He felt like he’d never get enough. It was probably strange how little he cared anymore that Jamil was male. He felt perfect in Rohan’s arms, as if he was created for them. Maybe he was. Such a perfect mental Fit like the one they shared was incredibly rare. It was the stuff of legends and myths—old stories Rohan usually scoffed at, but now couldn’t help but wonder if there was a grain of truth to them.

Soulmates. Two people with one soul and opposing personalities that complemented each other.

Rohan used to laugh at the mere idea of soulmates, but he had to admit the definition strangely fit him and Jamil. Their personalities really couldn’t be more different, but Rohan had never fit with another person so well; it felt like they were two puzzle pieces put together. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how little he minded Jamil’s prim and reserved nature—he had always gravitated toward cheerful, easy-going women in the past—but with Jamil, his prim, proper behavior just made him smile fondly. With Jamil, his every smile, every laugh, and every naughty smirk was just all the more precious.

Fucking hell, he couldn’t believe how besotted his own thoughts sounded. Sirri and Warrehn would never let him live it down if they could hear them.

“Let go, Rohan.”

He didn’t want to.

“Do you really have to get up?” Rohan said, his voice still hoarse from sleep and his eyes closed as he pulled Jamil back against his chest.

He could feel that Jamil was smiling. “Yes. I’m the Crown Prince. I wish I could laze about in my bed until afternoon, but I don’t remember a time it actually happened. I have a meeting with a councilor, and then I’m taking Tmynne out. She loves being outside.”

Rohan didn’t say anything, nuzzling into the back of Jamil’s neck.

“You’ve been here nine days, but you haven’t gone to see her,” Jamil said, his voice very neutral. “Since that first time.”

Rohan opened his eyes. All he could see was the graceful curve of Jamil’s shoulder, but he didn’t need to see Jamil’s face to know that he was frowning.

Rohan pressed his lips against that smooth shoulder and sighed. “I don’t want to get attached, Jamil.”

Silence.

He didn’t need to say anything. They both knew what he meant, of course.

He’d already stayed longer than he should have, far longer than he had expected, but it was unlikely to last. Although the Blind was still blockaded by the High Hronthar’s people, sooner or later, the monks would have to give up. Frankly, Rohan was surprised they hadn’t given up already. That apprentice boy must really be valuable for the Order—or for its Grandmaster—if they still persisted with the blockade. Sirri and Warrehn had been forced to lie low in the safe house, gradually losing their patience as days went by. It also didn’t help that the Grandmaster’s apprentice had turned out to be a handful and had nearly escaped several times already. Selfishly, Rohan was glad he wasn’t stuck in a tiny house with a frustrated Sirri, an inpatient Warrehn, and some stubborn, slippery kid hell-bent on returning to his master.

In any case, the current state of affairs couldn’t continue indefinitely. Rohan would have to leave soon—to save Warrehn and Sirri from doing something rash and go home the moment they could get to the Blind. If worse came to worst, they would activate their TNIT transponders outside the blind spot, but it would be a last resort. The unregistered use of a transgalactic transporter would be immediately detected by the Calluvian authorities, and they couldn’t risk them to be traced back to Tai’Lehr, not at this point. So it was a waiting game.