Jamil still wouldn’t look at him.
“Look at me,” Rohan said.
Jamil let out a chuckle. “I’d rather not. I seem to recall it being a bad idea, and I doubt anything has changed.”
He was right.
Of course he was right.
Rohan still wanted. It was selfish, reckless, and irresponsible, but he wanted to feel those beautiful green eyes on him, looking at him as if he were the only thing Jamil could see. It was an asshole thing to want, considering that he couldn’t stay, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Jamil,” Rohan said, his voice involuntarily dropping to an intimate murmur. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
“Don’t,” Jamil said, his tight voice wavering. “Don’t do that. I’m finally fine—I don’t need this—why are you even here?”
“I wanted to see our daughter,” Rohan lied.
He didn’t miss the way Jamil’s breathing hitched at the words our daughter. He could feel through their bond that something about it appealed to Jamil. Something about it appealed to Rohan, too. Fucking hell, he really needed to leave.
“You saw her,” Jamil said, still avoiding his gaze. “Now leave.”
Rohan lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over the dark circles under Jamil’s eyes. His skin was so very soft and smooth. “You look awful, darling.”
Jamil let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks. Sleepless nights with a teething baby would do it to you.”
“You should take care of yourself, too,” Rohan said, cradling Jamil’s cheek gently. Now that he started touching him, he found that he couldn’t stop. It was addictive as hell.
“Don’t,” Jamil said breathlessly, his eyes slipping shut as Rohan’s hand stroked his cheek with his knuckles. His long, dark eyelashes attempted to lift but lowered again as a weak moan slipped out of his mouth. He was trembling, fine tremors running down his frame, his plush lips parted.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Rohan heard himself say. His voice sounded off—rough and intoxicated. He felt intoxicated, his thoughts muddled with that twisted, strange pull he always felt toward Jamil, just more intense. A year apart probably didn’t help.
“I thought I looked awful,” Jamil said with a small laugh.
“You’re lovely even when you look awful, sweetheart,” Rohan brushed his mouth against Jamil’s cheek. Breathed in. Fuck, if he could bottle up his scent, he would. “You do look very pale and sleep-deprived. You should take better care of yourself.” Part of him felt incredulous of the stuff coming out of his mouth. Not that he was lying, but he generally wasn’t one for all this protective, gentle shit. He didn’t behave like this even with his girlfriends. In fact, his last girlfriend accused him of being an insensitive asshole who wouldn’t recognize tenderness if it hit him in the face.
“I’m fine,” Jamil murmured, rubbing his cheek against Rohan’s mouth. “Stop. I can’t think.”
I can’t, either.
Rohan ran his greedy fingers through Jamil’s soft hair, massaging his scalp gently and watching Jamil’s lips part in bliss.
“I could stare at you all day,” Rohan said roughly, dropping another kiss to Jamil’s brow. To his nose. To his left cheek, and then to his right. To the corner of his lips.
A whine left Jamil’s mouth.
Jamil’s hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders, sliding up, to Rohan’s neck, and pulling him closer. Their mouths bumped together, all teeth and no finesse. It didn’t matter. Rohan wanted in. He wanted to fuse them together so that there was no space between them, put himself inside Jamil in every possible way.
As if hearing his thoughts—which was likely, since they were already sharing a shallow merge—Jamil parted his lips and allowed Rohan to slip his tongue inside. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a need, a burning need for closeness neither of them could satisfy. They were moaning into each other’s mouths, tongues moving together, teeth biting, lips sucking. It still wasn’t enough.
Rohan yanked Jamil’s cravat off and stroked his throat greedily, fingers skimming over his telepathic point, making Jamil shudder and suck on his tongue as Jamil’s core pulsated under Rohan’s fingers, hungry for his touch. Moaning, Jamil slipped his hands under Rohan’s shirt, his smooth palms stroking Rohan’s back, spreading warmth and hunger that was impossible to sate. Rohan had never felt better—or so frustrated—in his life. It just wasn’t enough. Angling Jamil’s head, he kissed him harder, deeper—
A chime of his communicator broke through the haze in his head. No one was supposed to contact him. It was reserved for emergencies only. Rohan knew it must be important, but it still took far longer than it should have to stop licking into Jamil’s mouth.
Gathering all his willpower, Rohan tore himself away from Jamil and pulled his communicator out. Glancing at the Caller ID, he cleared his throat and answered. “What is it, Sirri?”
“We got the apprentice, but something went wrong and now the forest is crawling with the monks!”
Rohan swore.
“Go to the Rigten safe house,” he said after a moment, as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s close enough to your location. You’ll have to lie low until the searches are stopped. We can’t let the TNIT teleport us from an unsafe location. There’s no doubt the teleportation traces are closely monitored now.”