20. Brett

Ihad never been so cold in my life as after the sun went down, lying on the bed in Esmerelda's cabin.

But then Paris had warmed us up with his superior knowledge of how to deal with the frigid winters of his homeland.

Then he'd given me permission to kiss him.

That wasn't something I was going to ask about twice. I'd been right about him waiting for a letter from a lover, but it seemed that the prince of Urial was a fickle one. I couldn't imagine a world where I could be too busy to send Paris a letter. I wrote regularly to Minerva, Balthazar, and Killian. Most of the other chiefs, I managed to write to a few times a year. I'd received letters from six of them since Paris had arrived in my home.

Surely, they were at least as busy as any prince of Urial, each with thousands of their own people to look after. Some with many thousands, like Killian. But he never failed to do his duty, fight for his people, and communicate with those he cared about promptly.

And Paris had sent enormous stacks of letters every time the carrier came through the village.

I wondered how many went unanswered?—

No, it didn't matter. This prince didn't matter, other than in the sense that he had mattered to Paris. Still did, clearly.

But he'd said I could kiss him anyway.

So kiss him I had. Pulling him tight against me, like I could force him all the way inside myself, his warmth even more intoxicating when the cold outside was threatening to encroach with every second, and we were surrounded by a nest that smelled of both of us, layers upon layers of fluffy warmth.

It was so easy to roll him beneath me, and he was so open and accepting, letting me atop him without hesitation, and when our lips broke apart, he was panting, but didn't suggest I get the hells off him.

No, he smiled and wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me back in for another kiss.

It was intoxicating. He tasted of wine and stew and Paris, and somehow it was perfect. He was perfect.

I'd never met anyone so beautiful in my life, and thinking that this Prince Tybalt had hurt him... what had he said?

Even if I were worthy to stand beside a ruler, there are... duties that I cannot help him with.

The notion that he was unworthy was ridiculous. He'd been the one to point out that coming after Esmerelda had shown me to be a good man, but he didn't even know her, and he'd been the first to insist on the trip.

And what duty of a leader was there that he couldn't help with? He was a strong, capable, intelligent man who kissed like he wanted to devour me. There wasn't a thing I did for my clan that he couldn't help with. Was prince of Urial truly so different a job from chief in Nemeda?

Paris snatched my attention back where it belonged when he slid his hands down my front, skimming over the cotton fabric, and then sliding underneath, cupping my hardening cock in my trousers.

I groaned and let my forehead drop against his shoulder. "Paris. I—want?—"

"Yes, please," he whispered. "Me too."

It was like every door had been thrown open, and I had no excuse left to keep my distance.

Sure, it wasn't a relationship, and soon enough he'd be heading back to Urial, but that was for the best for him. If this Prince Tybalt of his managed to get his head out of his ass, maybe they could work things out one day.

I ignored the stab of anger that bubbled up in me at the thought. Paris wasn't mine. He couldn't be.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, he was giving himself to me, and I was more than happy to take what he offered.

We were already half undressed, and it was almost no work at all to push his trousers down and pull his shirt off. I didn't have any oil handy, though, and I wasn't going to hurt him, so as I pulled my own shirt off, I slid into the middle of the blanket shelter, turning him over beneath me and pulling him up onto his knees as I trailed a line of kisses down his back.

"Brett?" he asked, his voice shaky and confused. "What are you—oh!"

As I reached his gorgeous, tight, rounded ass, I dipped my tongue into the crease of it, laving my way to the tight, puckered skin of his entrance. I stabbed at the core of him with my tongue, opening him up as I ran my fingers along his cock, my touch soft and teasing. I didn't want him getting off too quickly. At least not before I got inside him.

He moaned and writhed beneath me, somehow at the same time holding himself tense to keep from bucking outright—almost like he had no experience, though I knew he'd had a lover. Surely someone had done this to him before?

I'd been wondering how he tasted almost since the night we'd met. I couldn't imagine being in an actual relationship with him and not finding out.

He was perfect, soft and salty and pink and so very responsive to every move I made, muttering my name even as he stuffed his face into the pillow in front of him.

I took my time, luxuriating in the fact that I could do this. There was nothing else for us to do, no tasks waiting that I could get back to instead. Only me and Paris and the feel of him beneath me. The heat of his body and his groans, muffled by the pillow in front of him as I feasted on him.

Before long, though, with his hard, straining cock as proof, his hips abortively thrusting forward to try to get some friction on it, I was worried he was going to come just from the feel of my tongue inside him.

That was... something. And I thought maybe sometime in the future I'd like to see if I could make that happen. If he ever let me into his bed again.

But right then, I needed to be in him. Needed to feel his hot body around me as he found his release.

I slid up his back, positioning myself behind him, and he pulled his head up, twisting around so he could look at me, panting, his cheeks ruddy and lips parted. "Please. Please Brett. I need"—I positioned the head of my cock at his entrance and started pushing in, and he stopped speaking, eyelids fluttering and lips gaping open in ecstasy, before he hissed, "Yesssss."

He melted back into me, almost boneless as I sheathed my cock inside him. I had to wrap my arms around his chest and hold him to me, kissing the back of his neck as he mumbled my name, then sucked in a breath when I pulled back out to fuck him again. And again. He seemed to be completely beyond words by then, whining in the back of his throat and letting me fuck into him, his head lolling forward.

All I could hear was the crackle of the fire and our skin sliding together as I fucked him. The smell of him, sweet and salty and masculine, was almost too much to bear in the small enclosed space of our blankets, making me work to hold back my orgasm.

Him first, I reminded myself. He was trusting me inside him, trusting me to take care of him. Gritting my teeth and trying to hold back, I reached down and wrapped my fingers around his cock. He made a high-pitched sound almost like panic, and I only had a second to worry I'd done something wrong because his cock started jerking in my hand. He was coming, just from that much stimulation. So I fucked into him again and again, harder, and the sound he made was... it was incredible. Like he was a wild animal, mad with lust, jerking his body forward into my hand and then back onto my cock over and over again, like he would die without either.

I obliged, fucking him through it, and then as he collapsed into the bed, I let go of my self-control, holding his perfect body and letting myself fall into the feeling of his hot, tight ass clenching around me, warm and wet and willing, and it only took a moment and a few more strokes for my body to clench, balls drawing up as the world went white and hot, orgasm ripping through me like a lightning strike as I emptied inside him.

It pulsed through me, perfect bliss, and I lowered us together onto our sides, my cock still inside him, as we just lay there together, breathing hard.

He truly was a wonder of a human being. One of the finest I'd ever met. The warm glow of it didn't fade as the orgasm did, and that, with an icy chill, was when I realized my mistake.

I had feelings for Paris.

And I might have just signed his death warrant with my carelessness.