The hallway was suddenly severe; depression hit the air as the sound of wet tongues and lips sucking desperately on each other echoed across the space.
Their hands tangled all over each other’s clothes, pressing their bodies closer and wishing their attire could just vanish, letting them feel that delicious warmth they had missed from each other’s skin.
Elian slammed against Lucien’s chamber door and groaned, clutching Lucien’s collar tightly.
"Ugh... easy..." he murmured, burying his face in Lucien’s neck.
Lucien suddenly froze, his eyes shooting down to Elian’s chest. "No, no..." he shook his head, his hands lowering around Elian’s waist.
"What?" Elian asked, his voice breaking when he saw Lucien slowly start to withdraw from him.
"I can’t... we can’t. This was a mistake, a bad idea–"
"Please..." Elian whispered, cupping Lucien’s jaw and pressing their foreheads together, "I need to feel you–"
"You’re wounded, Elian," Lucien snapped, his voice trembling, "I’ll hurt you... we need to stop." He spoke softer now, his hand reaching up to caress Elian’s cheek.
Elian blinked up at Lucien, his blue eyes pleading, "Please... I just need you, Lucien... I can’t turn away like this..." He slowly guided his hand down to Lucien’s straining arousal, rubbing it slowly.
Lucien gasped, his jaws clenching as his control slowly slipped through his fingers, "You’re wounded, El... I can’t promise to be gentle... you drive me crazy–"
"My mouth... for tonight," Elian whispered against Lucien’s lips, his breath warm and fast.
Lucien froze, his throat contracting sharply. "What?" He asked, his voice barely over a whisper.
Elian sank his teeth seductively into his bottom lip and gently turned them around so Lucien’s back now rested on the door; then, slowly, he sank to his knees in front of Lucien. "In my mouth, please, Lucien," he begged, leaning in to trace his nose along the lining between Lucien’s legs.
Lucien gulped loudly, his fists balling at his sides as he resisted the urge to bunch Elian’s hair and slam into his throat. "Elian... not right here—shit..."
Elian didn’t wait for permission. His trembling fingers worked open Lucien’s pants with desperate urgency, freeing the Duke’s thick, aching cock. It sprang heavy and flushed against Lucien’s stomach, already leaking at the tip.
Elian leaned in slowly, dragging his tongue in one long, wet stripe from base to head, savoring the salty taste he had missed so badly. Lucien’s hips jerked forward with a choked groan.
"Fuck, Elian..."
Elian looked up through his lashes, eyes dark with lust and defiance, then parted his lips and took Lucien deep in one smooth glide.
The wet heat of his mouth enveloped Lucien completely, his tongue swirling around the underside as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard. Lucien’s head fell back against the door with a dull thud, one gloved hand finally tangling in those soft curls he’d craved for weeks.
Elian bobbed his head with shameless hunger, taking him deeper each time, the obscene sounds of wet sucking and muffled moans filling the hallway. He relaxed his throat and swallowed around the thick length, eyes watering but never breaking eye contact. The power surging through him was intoxicating—Lucien, the untouchable Duke, reduced to trembling and cursing because of his mouth.
Lucien was panting, his hips rocking shallowly into the velvet heat, fighting to stay quiet. "You’re going to kill me... just like that—fuck, yes—"
They were both lost in it, tension coiling tighter, when a voice echoed faintly from the bottom of the stairs behind them.
"Lucien? Are you still awake up there?"
Rowena.
Lucien froze, his eyes snapping wide open, but Elian didn’t stop. If anything, he sucked harder, taking him even deeper, his throat fluttering around the head of Lucien’s cock with wicked determination. A surge of dark pride and power flooded Elian—his fiancé was mere steps away, and yet Lucien couldn’t pull away. Couldn’t stop him.
"Elian—" Lucien hissed through gritted teeth, his voice strained, one hand tightening painfully in Elian’s hair. But he didn’t push him off. His hips gave a helpless little thrust deeper into that sinful mouth instead.
Rowena’s footsteps started up the stairs. "Lucien, darling?"
Lucien’s breath came in ragged pants. He was so close, teetering on the edge, his cock throbbing heavily between Elian’s lips. Elian moaned softly around him, the vibration pushing Lucien over. With a silent, strangled groan, Lucien came hard, flooding Elian’s mouth with thick, hot pulses. Elian swallowed every drop greedily, refusing to waste any, his eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction.
The moment Lucien finished, Elian pulled off with a soft, wet pop and quickly tucked him back into his pants, rising to his feet just as Rowena’s footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
Lucien yanked Elian close for one last bruising kiss, tasting himself on Elian’s tongue, before shoving him a respectable distance away.
Both men were flushed and breathing hard when Rowena rounded the corner.
She smiled brightly at the sight of them. "There you are. I was looking for you."
Lucien cleared his throat, his voice rough. "I was... giving Elian new instructions for tomorrow... you’re out of the chair?" he asked, trying to distract himself more than from the man standing a few feet from him.
"Yes, darling... Soren just cleared me to walk... I decided to show you, happy?" She gently walked into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Lucien’s heart was still thumping, his cock still spasming from the forbidden orgasm he’d just had in Elian’s mouth, but he forced himself to focus on what Rowena was saying, his smile not as smooth as it used to be.
"I’m elated, my princess. I will get to dance with you on our engagement night," he said, gently hugging her back even though he’d rather have his arms around someone else at that moment.
Elian kept his head slightly lowered, his lips still tingling, a secret thrill burning in his chest. He had made the Duke come with his fiancée only stairs away. And Lucien had let him.
He didn’t look at the couple, not wanting to ruin the perfect image in his head. Lucien was his, whether the Duke believed it or not. And, for as long as he could, he would try to make Lucien understand that what they had was the only real and irreplaceable thing and they could never afford to lose this for the world.
The tension between them still simmered, thick and electric, promising that this was far from over.
"If that would be all, Your Grace, I’d like to retire to my chamber–"
"I did not permit you to leave, Young Morel," Lucien stated, pulling away from Rowena.
Rowena’s eyes scanned Elian suspiciously, her face darkening slightly as she locked eyes with him.
"He should leave, my love. It is late," she said softly, "And his wound is not healed yet; he might pass out again."
Elian gritted his teeth, hating the fact that he could not speak back to Rowena in front of Lucien.
"My princess, it is rather incriminating if someone should find you here," Lucien took Rowena’s hand, guiding her back toward the stairs.
"You should rest, my princess; the ball will come with a lot of stress, and you have barely started walking after two weeks. Please, sleep much; I can’t have you falling sick again." He kissed her cheek and then the back of her hand, his smile in place.
Rowena cleared her throat, nodding slowly, "You’re right, my love. But do not forget to rest well, too. I care and love you so much," she whispered, hugging him one last time before gently walking down the stairs.
Lucien stood there, waiting until he heard the echo of the door downstairs before he slowly turned to Elian.
Without speaking, he strode over to Elian and cupped his face, slamming his lips against Elian’s in a bruising kiss.
Elian moaned, clinging to Lucien’s shoulder for support as his knees weakened.
When Lucien finally pulled away, they were both breathless and panting.
"Never..." Lucien breathed, "Never do that again," he muttered against Elian’s lips, his pulse racing.
Elian licked his lips slowly, "I can’t promise that, Lucien–"
"It’s not a request," Lucien suddenly pulled away, closing his eyes, "It’s a command," he stated.
Elian paused, looking at Lucien for a few seconds, "So, this is it? This is how we’re going to do this? You want me now, and you suddenly can’t even look at me anymore–"
"There is no ’we’, Young Morel," Lucien’s voice was quiet, clear, and steady.
Elian chuckled, "You’re a liar," he scoffed.
Lucien narrowed his eyes at Elian, his chest heaving slowly, "Mind your words, Elian," he warned.
"Or what? Kill me? That would be a huge favor compared to the torment you’re subjecting me to–"
"You subjected yourself to this, Elian... I’ve asked you to walk away from me, yet you keep running toward me," Lucien breathed out, staring, angry at himself.
Elian shook his head, taking a step forward, "Stop lying, Lucien. I can feel it, you do feel something for me, something deep and –"
"I don’t feel anything for you! Do you understand?!" Lucien snapped, his hands grabbing Elian’s wrists to pull him closer to glare closely into his eyes.
Elian was frozen, his chest heaving as he stared at Lucien’s darkened face. He did not recognize the look in Lucien’s eyes; it scared him.
"You’re hurting me..." Elian whispered, but Lucien made no move to release him.
Elian groaned, "Lucien... please you’re hurting me, stop..." he begged.
But Lucien seemed to have been sucked into some parallel universe. He looked frozen and shook, his eyes steady but unfocused as his grip on Elian tightened more and more.
Elian choked, thinking of a way to get Lucien’s attention back to himself. His eyes suddenly lowered to Lucien’s lips and without thinking, Elian pressed his lips softly against Lucien’s in a tentative, desperate kiss.
The contact jolted Lucien out of his frozen state like lightning. His grip on Elian’s wrists loosened instantly, but only so he could wrap one arm around Elian’s waist and yank him closer, deepening the kiss with a low, broken growl. It was messy, urgent, and filled with everything Lucien refused to say aloud—anger, fear, need, and a terrifying amount of longing.
When they broke apart, both gasping for air, Lucien rested his forehead against Elian’s, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Damn you," he whispered harshly, his voice trembling. "You never listen. You never stop."
Elian’s breath was ragged, his hands fisting in Lucien’s shirt. "Because walking away from you feels like dying," he admitted, his voice cracking. "Even when you hurt me... even when you push me away... I still want you. I still love you."
Lucien’s jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. He pulled back just enough to look into Elian’s eyes, his own green gaze stormy and conflicted.
"You think this is love?" he asked bitterly, though his thumb brushed gently over Elian’s bottom lip, betraying him. "This is torment. This is destruction. I am destruction, Elian."
Elian shook his head, leaning into the touch. "Then destroy me. But don’t leave me in the dark anymore."
For a moment, it looked like Lucien might give in completely. His hand slid down to Elian’s hip, gripping hard, pulling their bodies flush again. The heat between them flared back to life, thick and undeniable.
But then Lucien exhaled shakily and stepped back, putting painful distance between them once more.
"Go to your room," he ordered, his voice rough but steady. "Now."
Elian’s eyes filled with fresh hurt, but he didn’t argue. He turned slowly, his shoulders slumped, and began walking away.
Lucien watched him go, every step feeling like a knife twisting deeper in his chest. When Elian disappeared down the stairs, Lucien slammed his fist against the wall, the impact echoing through the silent hallway.
"Fuck," he cursed again, sliding down until his back hit the door. He buried his face in his gloved hands, breathing hard.
He had almost lost Elian once. He couldn’t afford to lose him again—but keeping him close might destroy them both.
Downstairs, Elian leaned against the wall for a moment, pressing a hand to his still-throbbing chest. His lips still burned from Lucien’s kiss, and the taste of him lingered on his tongue. The secret thrill from earlier had faded into aching emptiness.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret a single second.
The tension between them hadn’t broken. It had only grown sharper, more dangerous, and far more addictive.
The storm inside both men was far from over.
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