Page 177 of The Reckoning of Starlight

He lowered himself to the woven rugs because he wanted to be there, kneeling before the male who endured pain without flinching yet expected care to cost.

Above him, Lykor’s breath caught.

“Jassyn.”

His name broke in Lykor’s mouth, warning already roughening toward plea.

From Jassyn’s knees, Lykor was all sharp planes and shadow, his eyes burning with the same intensity they’d held when he offered to vanish from the world. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled hard into his palms.

His jaw tightened. “You need to rest. You can barely—”

The sentence died when Jassyn settled his hands at Lykor’s hips and pressed his mouth to a scar crossing one of them.

Lykor’s fingers slid into Jassyn’s curls, trembling against his scalp. “You shouldn’t.”

Jassyn recognized the reflex. Lykor had spent too much of his life cutting desire away before anyone could make him pay for having it.

Jassyn raised his face. “I want you.”

Lykor studied him with the same ruthless attention he gave a threat. Jassyn held still while Lykor searched for any trace of reluctance.

“Tell me to stop,” Jassyn said, “and I will.”

Lykor’s fingers tightened in his hair, drawing him closer by a fraction.

Jassyn worked the laces of his trousers loose. The leather parted under his fingers, and Lykor’s abdomen tightened when Jassyn pressed his mouth to the hard curve of his hip.

A growl broke above him, low and bitten short.

Jassyn followed the scar to where it gave way to warm skin. He eased the trousers lower, leather dragging over Lykor’s hips until his length slipped free, already half-hard. Jassyn worked the armor down the rest of his legs.

Lykor stood rigid above him, every line of his body drawn taut. Jassyn anchored one hand at his hip and closed the other around him.

Lykor lurched forward, a breath punching from his lungs as he thickened in Jassyn’s grip.

Heat rushed low in Jassyn, his own arousal straining against the linen as he lowered his mouth. He dragged his tongue along the sensitive underside of the swollen crown before drawing Lykor in.

A groan tore from Lykor before he severed it, teeth snapping together. His claw seized Jassyn’s shoulder hard enough to bruise, then loosened almost immediately.

Jassyn let his fist follow each slow draw of his lips. Lykor’s body betrayed more than his face did. His stomach tightened when Jassyn took him deeper, hips chasing when Jassyn withdrew. A press of tongue beneath the crown pulled a broken sound from his throat.

Jassyn returned there.

Again.

Lykor swayed before his knees locked, frost whitening each breath above him.

Keeping the pace slow, Jassyn learned the sharp catches of breath that came when he changed the pressure, the sounds Lykor swallowed a fraction too late, the slight pitch of his hips before he forced them motionless again.

He eased back only far enough to draw a breath, his lips parted around the crown, jaw aching from how much of Lykor he’d taken. He pressed his tongue upward until Lykor’s hips gave another involuntary twitch.

Then Jassyn took him deeper.

A curse tore from Lykor as he bucked forward, guttural and stripped of words. The thrust died almost before it began. Lykor went still above him, his talons flexing against Jassyn’s shoulder without breaking skin.

That restraint nearly undid Jassyn more than the rest.

He lifted his gaze.