Jamil tried to look away. He really did.
He still found his hand creeping down his body to press against his own aching erection, his eyes fixated on Rohan’s cock. The mental connection between them pulsed with raw, frustrating need and pleasure, and Jamil’s head was spinning. His inhibitions gone, he shoved his hand into his pants and pulled himself out. He was so wet, his cock practically slippery in his hand. He whimpered, pressing his flushed face against Rohan’s upper arm, and started stroking himself furiously. There was no finesse about it, just raw, pulsing need, their pleasure mixing, feeding off of each other. Jamil was only vaguely aware of the strangled, broken sounds he was making, all but burying his face in Rohan’s bicep as he fisted his cock.
He came with a muffled groan, humping the air as he milked himself dry. He barely managed to recover from his orgasm when another wave of pleasure hit him as Rohan tensed against him and came, too. Pleasure spread through his body, warm, thick, and delicious, all the tension in his muscles replaced by that wonderful feeling.
Jamil’s eyelids grew heavy as he floated in the waves of pleasure, orange, red and yellow behind his closed eyes.
“This is ridiculous,” Rohan said. “It took us, what, ten strokes? I had better endurance as a teenager.”
Jamil’s lips twitched. He opened his eyes, and when he saw the half-offended, half-embarrassed expression on Rohan’s face, he couldn’t help it: he burst out laughing.
Rohan glared at him, but then his lips twitched too, and before long, they both were laughing.
When their laughter died, a strange kind of silence fell between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. It was loaded with a certain weight, some emotion he couldn’t quite place.
They held each other’s gaze, the intimacy of the moment almost too much. Something thrummed between them, like a living being, and it took Jamil a moment to recognize what it was.
Affection.
Warm, sickeningly sweet affection filled the air between them, spreading through his body. It was the scariest thing he’d ever felt.
“It’s the bond, isn’t it?” Jamil said, hating the edge of desperation in his voice. “It’ll pass once it’s broken.”
Rohan’s black brows drew together.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
“It should,” he said at last, but he didn’t sound very certain. “It will,” he said, firmer, and then he ruined it by kissing Jamil’s nose. “It’s going to be fine, darling.”
Jamil could only laugh incredulously.
Did Rohan even hear himself?
Chapter 12
Rohan walked a step behind Jamil, trying to look as subservient as possible.
The Fifth Royal Palace was obnoxiously luxurious. Everything about it seemed to scream look how rich and powerful we are. Rohan found he much preferred Jamil’s home—the Third Royal Palace was far more tastefully decorated. He idly wondered if the decor reflected the regent’s taste or the deceased Queen’s.
They stopped in front of the tall door, and the droid butler announced Jamil.
If Rohan were a real manservant, he would have stayed outside, waiting for his master to emerge. But he wasn’t confident in his ability to access the regent’s mind without eye contact, so he followed Jamil in.
“Your Highness,” Dalatteya said, bowing gracefully. Her sharp gaze assessed Jamil before flicking to Rohan. “I would appreciate it if you have your servant wait outside.”
“Do as the lady says,” Jamil said without even glancing at him.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Rohan murmured, bowing deeply and catching Dalatteya’s eyes. It lasted a fraction of a moment, but it was enough for him to get under her shields. He backed out of the room and let the doors close behind him.
Turning his back to the security camera, he closed his eyes, concentrating. As was typical for Calluvians, Dalatteya’s telepathy was limited by the remnants of her bond to her late husband. In her bonded state, she was a Class 1 telepath, her shields not particularly good. Rohan was exponentially stronger than her. Still, navigating her mind without her noticing was harder than he had expected—mostly because he kept getting distracted by the shiny, brilliant warmth of Jamil’s mind. It was frustrating as hell. It was like trying to focus on a candle and ignore the sun.
Quit getting fixated and do what you’re here for.
Dalatteya had a strange mind. It took him a while to understand why her mind didn’t make much sense, why her motivations seemed off. When he did, he stiffened.
Her memories had been tampered with.
It wasn’t obvious, but there was a faint trace of wrongness about some of her memories that Rohan recognized only because he’d studied the mind arts extensively for years. But it wasn’t what made him alarmed. When he tried to undo the tampered memories, he couldn’t do it—that was the alarming part. He was a well-trained, high-level telepath. This shouldn’t have been possible. To make matters worse, he could feel a gut-wrenching fear every time he tried to undo her tampered memories. Her fear.