“Yes.” Rohan slid in deeper, reaching to Jamil’s pulsing, golden core that seemed to be aching for him. Closer, it whispered. Need you closer.
“Later,” Jamil murmured, his thoughts turning erratic the closer Rohan got to his core. The vile remnants of his torn bond were still wrapped around it, though much looser than before. It wouldn’t take much to tear them away—if he wanted to. And fuck, did he want to. He wanted to rip that thing out and take its place. It didn’t belong.
“Didn’t we talk about your inappropriate possessiveness?”
“We did. And we established that it isn’t my fault.”
Jamil laughed. It was a beautiful sound—a beautiful feeling.
Rohan stroked his core with his mental fingers and Jamil moaned, jerking as though electrocuted. “More.”
He stroked Jamil’s core again, which pulsed in pleasure, reaching out for him hungrily, inviting him in. Rohan groaned. He’d never done such a deep merge—never wanted to—but this was beyond addictive, pleasure spreading from his mind down his body, to his cock.
“Fuck, I don’t think I can pull out,” he said aloud, opening his eyes and focusing them on Jamil’s slack-jawed, flushed face. The sight was… oddly satisfying. He liked watching this very proper prince come absolutely undone just from his mental touch. It was ridiculously heady.
“Then don’t pull out,” Jamil whispered, his pupils blown wide. “Stay in me.”
Rohan’s cock twitched, his body too high on endorphins to see the difference between mental and physical intimacy. His cock was so hard he could feel it leaking, throbbing with need.
Swearing through his teeth, Rohan slipped his hand between them and jerked his fly open. He hissed as his fingers closed around his aching cock. Finally.
Jamil’s glassy eyes widened. He shook his head, looking down at Rohan’s cock, a fierce blush on his face. “Stop that. What are you doing?”
“Drop the act. You’re dying to do it, too.” Honestly, Rohan was out of fucks to give at this point.
“We—we can’t. I’m a married man.”
Suppressing the urge to snap that he wasn’t—he knew Jamil wasn’t yet ready to let go of his husband—Rohan gritted out, “And I’m not into men. This means nothing. Just tension relief, endorphins, nothing to do with you.” He pressed his mouth against Jamil’s neck and sucked the skin above his pulsing telepathic core, all the while stroking his own cock.
“Stop that,” Jamil breathed out. “This is—improper.”
“Fuck propriety, my balls have been blue for days.” Rohan bit on the soft skin, making Jamil shudder. “You can jerk off, too, come on.”
“You must be joking.” Although Jamil sounded scandalized, Rohan could feel his arousal, how badly he wanted relief, too.
“Come on, Princess,” Rohan murmured, nuzzling his neck. “As long as we aren’t touching each other below the waist, surely it doesn’t count?”
He could feel Jamil’s inner struggle, but they both knew it was a lost battle. The connection between them was a never-ending feedback loop of need and frustration, Rohan’s arousal feeding Jamil’s and vice versa. Jamil didn’t stand a chance.
“It means nothing,” Jamil repeated breathlessly, slipping a shaking hand into his pants.
Rohan could feel the moment he touched himself—his pleasure seemed to multiply—and he groaned, stroking his own cock faster and harder. Jamil buried his face against Rohan’s throat, making low, grunting noises, their hands bumping against each other as they stroked themselves. It was fast, hard and dirty, their minds wide open to each other, their mental pleasure centers as stimulated and oversensitive as their cocks. Before long, Jamil was making desperate moans into his neck, kissing and biting it as they thrust into their own hands.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Rohan said, pulling at Jamil’s hair with his free hand. “Let it go. You deserve to feel good. You’re so good, so beautiful, I could spend years inside you. You feel perfect, you’re perfect—so pretty—”
Jamil groaned and came, shaking, his orgasm triggering Rohan’s, pleasure exploding through Rohan’s body, his balls emptying with long spurts, his mind wrapped tightly around Jamil’s.
Gods, I’ve never felt closer to another person.
The messed up part was, Rohan wasn’t even sure whose thought it was.
Fucking hell, they had a problem.
Rohan opened his eyes with some difficulty, breathing hard as he tried to come down from their high.
Jamil was quiet, his face still pressed against Rohan’s throat. Rohan didn’t need to see it to know that the prince was already starting to feel guilty and ashamed.
“Hey, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” Rohan murmured, threading his fingers through the wavy mop of soft brown hair. “I feel better now. Don’t you?”
Jamil didn’t respond.
“Come on,” Rohan said, dropping a chaste kiss to his temple. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about. It doesn’t mean that you’re… unfaithful. I’m sure your husband wouldn’t have minded your feeling good. He’s gone, has been gone for months. You didn’t betray him.”
Jamil said nothing.
“Come on, love,” Rohan said, dropping another kiss to his hair. A part of him, the part that could still think rationally, felt incredulous by his own behavior. Endearments weren’t really his thing. He’d rarely used them on women he’d dated over the years, much less on men he’d known for such a short time. And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop using them now. They felt right. This felt right. “Jamil, it was the Fit. We couldn’t help it. Stop beating yourself up over it.” He gave an amused snort. “If it could make me, a straight man, so damn horny, you stood no chance.”