Page 52 of Sword & Sacrifice

Once Silas finished, he sat on the bed and held his own foot out to Archer, raising his eyebrow in a silent command.

Archer obeyed and knelt on one knee. He rested Silas’ foot on his thigh, untied the laces, and discarded both boots and socks with quick efficiency. Slow and sensual had its place, but Archer was ready to feel Silas on a deeper level. Still kneeling, he undid the buttons on Silas’ trousers, then motioned for Silas to lift himself up.

Silas raised his hips, allowing Archer to remove the last pieces of clothing from him. Then he lay back on the bed, arms spread above his head, expression open and expectant.

Every muscle in Archer’s body strained with the urge to take Silas now. Fast, slow, hard, however he could have him. But as much as Archer wanted it—as much as he could see the same desire in Silas’ eager cock—Archer knew to take his time, to make sure Silas also enjoyed himself.

In the nightstand by the bed was a bottle of oil. Archer poured a generous dose into his hands until the room smelled like cloves. He positioned himself between Silas’ legs and slowly slipped one slick finger inside, testing the tightness.

Silas groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, shifting his hips to give Archer better access. As Archer explored and stretched, Silas bit down on his lip, suppressing a long groan.

When they’d been in the Royal Quarters at the palace, they’d had more privacy, more freedom to express their passions vocally. In the cramped, overcrowded inn, they had to keep a lower profile.

A flash of irritation crossed Archer’s thoughts. The need for secrecy interrupted even their moments of passion. He only wanted to focus on Silas, not on outsiders’ judgements. His fingers still inside Silas, Archer bent his head to take Silas’s cock into his mouth.

“Archer,” Silas’ voice moaning his name was as sultry as the taste of him.

Archer had once asked Penn for advice on how to please another man, and one of the key things he’d emphasized was the proper use of tongues. Archer put his to use now, tasting and teasing Silas from base to tip. The more Silas struggled to muffle his throaty moans, the more Archer sank into his task. He didn’t stop until the hand in his hair changed from holding him in place to pulling him back.

He withdrew, licking the taste of Silas off his lips.

Silas flushed redder at the sight, his eyes dark with desire. “I want to come with you inside me.”

A request Archer was more than happy to fulfill. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and stood before Silas completely nude, cock slick with anticipation.

Silas propped himself on his elbows, admiring Archer’s full length. His tongue peeked out from between his lips, as if he could already taste it. If Archer wasn’t nearing his limit, he would have let him, but he wanted to be connected with Silas in a more meaningful way.

Archer lined himself up to Silas’ opening, entering him slowly. He would have kept the pace slow, made sure Silas was comfortable and safe, if a hand hadn’t firmly grabbed his ass and pulled him forward. Both men gasped as Archer slid completely inside.

“There you are,” Silas whispered with a triumphant grin. He released his hold, allowing Archer to slide out. Then laughed in joy when Archer immediately plunged back in.

The first climax came quickly, after only a few thrusts. It wasn’t nearly enough for either of them. The scent of passion filled the room as they continued kissing, touching, making love long into the night.

Tomorrow they would need to say their public goodbyes. Tonight was just for them.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The client scanned Valerian from head to toe, taking in his skinny frame and youthful face. “No.”

“Do you want the job done or not?” Valerian asked. He stared boldly at the man, refusing to acknowledge the way his voice cracked on the last word.

The client sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Look, this job ain’t for kids—”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

The other man’s jaw hung open for ten full seconds before he declared, “Bullshit you are! Get out of here.” He shoved Valerian out the door, then stood in the frame to block his reentry. “I won’t be the reason some dumbass kid dies.”

“You don’t understand. I’m a”—the door slammed in Valerian’s face—“mage.” He sighed. There was no use arguing with the wall. If he wanted to earn a living, he’d have to prove himself first.

Three days later, covered in blood, mud, and sweat, Valerian found his reluctant client in a tavern, sharing a few drinks with his friends. He pulled a large bundle out of his sack and dropped it onto the middle of their table with a squelchy thump. A nearby fly left off annoying a patron to investigate the bundle, enamored with the stains and the sickly-sweet pungent odor.

“Payment,” Valerian panted, too tired for any grand speeches or explanations.

The client gave him a few dazed, drunken blinks, then slowly turned his attention to the bundle. He grabbed one corner and tugged. The cloth stuck to the object inside so he needed to use more strength to rip it away to reveal the decapitated head underneath. Even with one missing eye and its expression frozen in a permanent death grimace, it still resembled the portrait the client had provided

After examining the head, the client picked up his ale and leaned back in his seat. “I told you I wouldn’t give you the job, kid. You killed him on your own. I’m not paying a murderer—”

The dagger slammed into the chair an inch away from the man’s thigh. The wood sizzled and smoked, threatening to catch fire any second. Valerian’s hand still gripped the hilt. He leaned in and said through gritted teeth, “You can pay me for this head, or I’ll find someone to pay me for yours.”