Chapter 133: The taste of forbidden fruit (Win-Win)

Chapter 133: Chapter 133: The taste of forbidden fruit (Win-Win)

Sebastian’s laugh had barely faded when Nero guided him backward to their bedroom.

The back of Sebastian’s knees met the mattress edge.

Nero’s hand flattened against his sternum and pressed until Sebastian sat, then lay back against the pillows. The towel stayed knotted at his waist, and Nero’s gaze had already mapped every inch of skin it failed to cover.

"You’re staring," Sebastian said.

Nero didn’t answer. He knelt on the bed, one knee then the other, and Sebastian watched the lean weight of him settle over the mattress. Warm brown trousers, ivory sleeves rolled once to the elbow. Hair falling forward in a pale curtain.

His hands found Sebastian’s hips and turned him.

The world rotated, pillow warm against his cheek, and Sebastian understood what happened a half a second before Nero’s palms slid down the backs of his thighs and spread them.

"Nero."

"Yes, my moon?"

"You’re looking at my ass."

"I am."

No shame in it. Sebastian twisted his neck to see the man’s face and found Nero’s violet eyes fixed lower, lids slightly heavy, mouth parted. A flush had climbed the pale column of his throat.

"For how long do you plan to do that?"

"As long as I like."

The towel came loose under Nero’s fingers. A single tug and it slid away, pooling beneath Sebastian’s hip. Then there was only skin, and the low, warm dark of a bedroom gone quiet around them.

Nero let out a small, involuntary sound deep in his chest.

Sebastian’s face heated.

"What?"

"You."

A thumb traced the curve of one cheek.

Nero leaned over him, and the scent of his skin arrived before his mouth did, that particular warmth Sebastian had learned to recognize from three rooms away.

"You are," Nero said against the small of his back, "completely different from how you stand in a room."

"That is the least useful sentence you have ever—"

Teeth grazed the top of his left cheek.

Sebastian stopped talking.

Nero’s hands cupped both halves, thumbs pressing inward, kneading the muscle with a firmness that pushed a breath out of Sebastian’s lungs. He parted them slowly, and Sebastian felt the cool air of the room reach somewhere no other person had ever looked.

"Tell me," Nero murmured, "if this is allowed."

"Roberta said no rough sex." Sebastian’s voice had gone thinner than he wanted. "This isn’t rough."

"Not what I asked."

The bed creaked as Nero repositioned. Sebastian felt his weight shift, felt the mattress dip behind him, felt the heat of the man’s chest through his shirt settle against the backs of his thighs.

"Yes," Sebastian said. "It’s allowed."

Fingertips started tracing a slow ring around the outside of him, featherlight, unhurried. Sebastian’s hips flinched forward on instinct and Nero’s other hand clamped gently over the small of his back, holding him still.

"Stay."

"You’re taking forever."

"You asked me to work for it."

Sebastian dropped his forehead to his forearm.

Nero’s thumb pressed. Just the pad of it, slick from earlier, circling the tight, furled skin until it began to give.

Sebastian’s own breathing had gone audible.

Then Nero lowered his face.

The first pass of his tongue was flat, broad, from the soft skin behind Sebastian’s balls up the length of the crease—one long unhurried stroke that ended where his thumb had been. Wet warmth left a cool trail along nerve endings Sebastian forgot he had.

He jolted.

"Oh."

Nero hummed against him. The vibration ran straight up Sebastian’s spine and came out of his mouth as something embarrassingly close to a moan.

The second stroke was slower. Narrower. The point of Nero’s tongue found the center and pressed, again and again, lapping at the ring of muscle as he had nowhere else in the world to be.

Sebastian’s fingers closed in the sheets. His hips rolled helplessly into the mattress, and Nero pulled him back with a palm flattened to his lower back.

"How does it feel?" Nero asked, mouth still against him, the words muffled.

"You know how it feels."

"I want to hear it."

"It feels—"

The tongue pressed harder, flattened, and Sebastian’s answer dissolved into a noise he would deny later.

Nero made a sound of deep satisfaction.

Time stopped obeying its own rules.

The pale evening light on the wall lengthened into orange, then into the deeper rust of true dusk, and Nero was still there. Still licking. Still circling. Each stroke of his tongue sent every hair on Sebastian’s body upright, and each time he found the tight ring and pressed, it gave a little more.

Nero’s saliva had slicked him thoroughly. Sebastian could feel it cooling at the tops of his thighs, could smell it, something Sebastian would not have expected to enjoy until this exact moment.

"Nero."

"Mm."

"That’s enough."

The tongue changed rhythm. Slower. More insistent. Nero pulled back just far enough to speak against him.

"It is not."

"It is absolutely—"

A finger slid in alongside his tongue. One, oiled, curling gently upward while Nero’s mouth worked the outer rim. Sebastian’s entire body arched off the mattress. Both hands fisted the sheets, and something between a gasp and a curse left him.

Nero’s free hand pressed him down again, patient, unbothered.

"Relax."

"You..."

The finger moved. Slow circles inside, knuckle-deep, while Nero’s tongue kept stroking the stretched skin around it.

"Ready?" Nero asked at last.

Sebastian turned his head. His own hair stuck to his cheek. His chest heaved against the dark sheets.

Nero had sat back on his heels. The ivory shirt was a ruin of wrinkles across his shoulders and his trousers had gone far too tight across the front. He was hard, and the flush had spread down his throat into the open collar.

He looked like someone who had been holding his breath for a very long time.

Sebastian swallowed.

"You first."

"What?"

"You said you wanted to taste me." Sebastian pushed himself up on one elbow, twisting to face him. "You did. Now hold still."

Before Nero could answer, Sebastian reached for his belt.

Nero caught his wrist.

Violet eyes met his. Sharp. Uncertain, for the first time all evening.

"Roberta said—"

"She said nothing about what I do to you. Lie back."

And Nero did.

He lay back against the pillows, hair spreading pale over dark fabric, and let Sebastian unfasten the belt, then the button, and then a very long zipper.

What Sebastian freed came out heavy into his palm.

He had held it before.

Thick enough that his fingers barely met around the shaft and long enough that the head reached well past the top of his fist when he wrapped it. The shaft curved slightly upward. Veins ran along the side in a slow serpentine line, prominent against skin that was flushed a deep rose at the underside. The head was wide, rounded, the color of crushed berries, and already glistening at the tip where it had been waiting.

Nero’s balls had drawn up tight against his body, dark and heavy in the folds of fabric Sebastian had shoved down to mid-thigh.

Sebastian breathed out slowly.

"That’s a lot of cock, Nero."

"Is that a complaint?"

"It’s a fact."

He wrapped both hands around the base and squeezed, thumb pressing the thick vein. Nero’s hips lifted from the mattress. A single unguarded sound left him, and Sebastian felt his own pulse jump hard at what it did to the room.

"Us," Sebastian said, mouth dry. "Now."