To Target the Heart Page 18

  With his gaze set on Hamish’s face, the spellster pushed his finger in. The slide was slow but sure, meticulous in execution. There was a familiar whisper, the faintest echo of an ache that vanished as Darshan slid in and out. “You certainly were not jesting about it being years for you.” His free hand stroked Hamish’s length in tandem.

  Hamish mumbled something, the words coming of their own accord rather than through any conscious effort. He could feel himself slipping on the gentle rhythm of those lean fingers sliding up his length whilst that single digit pushed in, only to have Darshan’s hand move down as his other withdrew. They could do no action other than this and he’d be more than content.

  Before long, Darshan shifted the finger inside him, changing the angle. A soft frown tweaked his brow. His gaze lifted from the silent, passive survey of Hamish’s face to the wall, then the ceiling as he bit his lip.

  Hamish lifted his head, trying to see something beyond the man’s shoulders to no avail. “What are you doing?” The words escaped slurred.

  Darshan’s attention returned to him, a faint flush of red tingeing his cheeks. “Trying to, um…” He changed the angle of his finger once more as it slid in. “Trying to find your… uh…” A different expression took his face. One Hamish had grown familiar with as Darshan sought out words to replace those he hadn’t been taught. “…your spot?”

  “Me spot?” he echoed, chuckling. There was only one spot he’d been taught about and he doubted he had one of those. “I’m pretty sure I dinnae have a spo—” The word melted into a groan that sucked the air from his lungs. Flecks of light glittered in front of his eyes. Warmth suffused him.

  The man’s low snicker filled his ears. “Found it, have I?”

  Hamish mumbled words that he was certain were of the affirmative kind. He tipped his head back onto the pillow, his hips rocking ever so slightly against Darshan’s hand. Whatever magic the spellster wrought, it was good.

  The finger moved again, pulling back. He felt stretched. Although pleasurable, each gentle shift of that digit also carried a methodical air about it. Was this what Darshan had meant by preparing him? Not just the oil to ease entry, but allowing him the time and means to relax and be ready for something bigger?

  “Hold a moment.” Darshan held out his hand and the bottle of oil flew into his grasp. Prising the cork free with his teeth, he poured more out.

  Hamish shivered as the cool oil hit his skin, leaving a trail from his balls to where—

  Was that another finger seeking entry? He wriggled, testing the feeling. Definitely extra pressure.

  “I see we are eager for more,” Darshan purred. He moved his finger, sliding it in a half-circle around the one still in Hamish. “Do you think you could handle it?”

  Hamish’s breath shuddered from him. That question, the silken honey tone of the man’s voice. He wasn’t certain if he could actually go over the edge with Darshan’s current actions, but if that tone continued he might be capable of it.

  “ ‘Mish? Are—” A flicker of uncertainty seemed to slap across the man’s face. “Can I call you that?”

  He nodded, his body bouncing as he struggled to contain a laugh. Why would he mind his name being shortened? Of all the daft things to concern himself with at this moment. Maybe it was different in Udynea. He hadn’t taken much interest in politics to bother with the minutiae, but now wasn’t the time. “Dar,” he gasped between breaths. “More.”

  Those hazel eyes, so focused only moments ago, slid closed. Darshan bit his lip and bowed his head. A faint gust of the man’s breath hit Hamish’s stomach. A groan?

  Hamish levered himself up onto his elbows. As pleasant as it had been, they must have gone on long enough with this preparation. He clasped the man’s shoulder, squeezing just enough to ensure Darshan didn’t mistake it for him seeking the removal of the spellster’s presence. “Dar?”

  Darshan’s eyes flicked open, that dark gaze locking with Hamish’s. Lust burned in their depths. Only now did Hamish notice how Darshan’s breath rasped. “Are you certain you will last long enough?” His languid strokes along Hamish’s length grew stronger, rougher.

  It pulled a throaty moan from him. Hamish tipped back his head, trying to find the will to stop Darshan and failing. His hips bucked with each down stroke. The edge wasn’t that close, but if the man kept it up… “Please,” he managed.

  “Please what?” Darshan murmured, lifting Hamish’s hand off his shoulder to tenderly kiss the palm. “Please continue? Please stop? Please slam yourself to the hilt in me and screw me blind?”

  “Aye!” he blurted before Darshan could move on. “That one! Goddess…” The sensation seemed to ebb, the edge slipping from his immediate grasp.

  All at once, the spellster withdrew, taking the glorious feeling with him.

  Hamish sat up, propped not quite in a fully-upright position by his outstretched arms. “What is it?” He eyed the room’s only exit, a gentle bubble of uncertainty boiling away in his stomach. Had the guards been alerted? Nae that. Then… “Are you having second thoughts about this?”

  “Not at all,” Darshan said, patting the side of Hamish’s thigh reassuring. “And there is no cause to look so alarmed.” The bottle of oil was back in the spellster’s hand only, this time, Darshan was applying it to himself. He winced and hissed slightly as he slathered the oil on his very-much-erect length. “I just— I have no desire to end this too quickly. I want it to last as long as we are able and would certainly prefer if you did not go off before the main event as it were.”

  Hamish mumbled his agreement on the final point. Goddess, dinnae let this be like the others. Although he was confident he could still handle a bit of roughness like the old days, he would’ve vastly preferred if the initial entry wasn’t. He rather liked Darshan. At least, what he’d seen of the man so far. It would be a shame to end this at the beginning. “So we are actually going to do this?”

  “Well, yes.” Amusement hitched up one side of the man’s mouth and tweaked his moustache. He slowly crept up Hamish’s body, pausing to kiss every so often and not once losing eye contact. “And you better tell me if it starts hurting.”

  He huffed. “I’m nae some pansy,” he grumbled, the declaration surprisingly gruff even to his ears. “I can handle a bit of pain.”

  “And as I already told you, I am in no hurry to hurt you.” Resting up on his elbows, Darshan removed his glasses and set them on the bedside table. Without the barrier of lenses dulling their hues, the rich multi-coloured irises were laid bare. Although the pupils were blown wide, the separate rings of brown and green were still clear.

  “How well can you see me without those?” Hamish asked, indicating the glasses.

  “This close?” Darshan placed a wet kiss in the centre of Hamish’s chest. “Well enough. And I do not plan to get far enough from you for it to matter. Shall we continue?” The question was thick and heavy with need.

  Hamish nodded. He pressed deeper into the mattress as his legs were gently assisted into position by Darshan’s touch. His hips tilted, putting him in a slightly angled pose. He felt the spellster against him, the man’s warmth sitting just at the entrance.

  His gut quivered, barely constrained excitement shuddered through his lungs. That was new. Usually, it was a war of doubt and lust, where experience told him this would hurt and it would take a mixture of desire and drink to herd him to the point where he didn’t care.

  He tipped his head back, closed his eyes and tried to remain relaxed.

  “No slamming in, I am afraid,” Darshan murmured. He pushed against Hamish, the pressure gentle and steady.

  Hamish fisted the sheets, struggling to keep his breathing even and his mind from thinking on the past. He’d had plenty of men in those times who’d taken him suddenly enough. Never without his consent, but certainly without a care towards his readiness or wellbeing.

  Risking a peek between his lashes showed Darshan’s face to be nothing but care. For me. The rasp of th
e man’s breath was laborious and sweat already dripped from his hook of a nose, but he maintained the slow pace.

  Try as he might, Hamish couldn’t help the faint hissing inhalation as Darshan slid in—to the hilt, just as he had promised—and the building pressure finally gave way to fullness. He could typically remain silent whilst in the act, even through some of the most vicious pain. But this… It—

  Darshan groaned. His eyes slid closed and he halted all movement, save for the slight shift of his heavy breaths. An air of patient waiting surrounded him.

  It doesnae hurt. That was the first fully coherent thought to surface. It usually burned in the beginning and he generally spent much of the night after smarting. This was warmth, a dull ache that couldn’t quite make up its mind whether it should hurt or not, and—

  Darshan tilted his weight, leaning on one bent elbow, whilst he slid his free hand down Hamish’s side. An uncontrollable flush of heat burrowed into Hamish’s body, emanating from the man’s fingertips. Rather than burn, it soothed.

  “Wha—?” Hamish squirmed, trying to see just what the man was doing to him.

  “Hush,” Darshan breathed, the word little more than a hiss of air. “Just a bit of precautionary healing.” As gravelled with desire as his voice was, it also came tempered by concern. “Are you all right so far? I can wait if you need the time to adjust.”

  He shook his head, an unfettered grin stretching his mouth wide. “I’m just grand.” Was that why the man had stopped? For me? A hectic mixture of emotion tightened his chest and filled his eyes, threatening to spill. He blinked the tears back lest Darshan thought the worst of them. No one had ever waited for him to be ready. “Is this what sex is usually like for you?”

  “Honestly?” The corner of Darshan’s mouth lifted. “It is typically a lot faster.”

  He’d had fast before. Strong, hectic thrusts that had almost brought him pleasure. To have this sensation on top of that… “I can handle fast.”

  Darshan chuckled, bouncing the both of them as his mirth vibrated the mattress. “You say that now, but I have yet to actually move. And I have no desire to push your limits tonight.”

  “What if I want me limits pushed?”

  “Not tonight,” he whispered, bending over Hamish to plant a single chaste kiss on his lips. Darshan lifted his hips, withdrawing until he was almost free, before sliding himself back into Hamish with the same steady determination. A little rougher, but still far gentler than others had been.

  A quavering moan left Hamish’s lips. He closed his eyes, his grip on the sheets tightening. His back arched involuntarily, lifting his hips off the bed. Such an act seemed to gift Darshan a better angle that the man was all too happy to take advantage of. The spellster sat back—a world away after their previous closeness—and started thrusting his hips in earnest.

  Grunts and soft groans filled his ears. Not solely his own. Soft and measured like the way Darshan moved inside him. Hamish’s hips rocked in tandem with those thrusts. Or they at least tried to, his movements ungainly and inexperienced. Usually, he was in too much pain to do anything but lay there.

  “You are allowed to touch me, you know.”

  He opened his eyes, searching wildly for Darshan as if he wasn’t right there. With great difficulty, Hamish uncurled his fingers from the heavy linen bedding and reached for the man. “Closer,” he mumbled.

  Darshan’s rhythm faltered, surprise darting across his face. He slunk back on top of Hamish, resting on outstretched arms. Their lips met; clumsy, wet and with a great deal more passion than Hamish had expected.

  Hamish sighed into the man’s mouth. His soul floated. If this was sex—real sex as opposed to what he had experienced in the past—then he had missed so much.

  “Still good?” Darshan asked between soft grunts.

  Nodding, Hamish wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He needed the contact, needed that mouth back on his.

  The spellster chuckled breathlessly. “Is that little moan all I get?” he mumbled into Hamish’s beard. “I cannot recall ever leaving someone at a loss for words during.”

  Hamish bit his lip, a groan bubbling in his chest. Even if he could form more than a single word, he was confident that most of them would escape as animalistic grunts. Pressure was building deep inside him. A fire he had only felt when pleasuring himself. It spread through his veins, numbing all thought. Any moment, any thrust, could be the one to finally push him over the edge.

  There was even a certain look in Darshan’s gaze, a far-off gleam that spoke of the man far down the path towards chasing his own pleasure. The easy rhythm his hips set increased in pace. Not rough or uncaring. Darshan certainly wasn’t ignoring Hamish’s needs in favour of his own, but there was determination.

  Hamish reached back to grip the headboard, clinging to it in search of a way to ground himself. Usually, he would’ve one hand firmly wrapped around himself by the time this sensation was upon him. Would Darshan object if he did so now? Most men in the past preferred he didn’t. “Dar?” he panted. “Can I—?” He let go of the headboard with one hand, slinking between them.

  “Do not be coy.” The answer came gruff and heavy with the efforts of the night. Darshan slowed, each thrust less controlled than the last. His head sagged, obscuring his face with a mess of dark brown curls. The frantic huff of his breath still rasped in Hamish’s ear, the heat of it hitting his chest.

  Hamish grasped his length, pumping hard. His body tightened like a spring. His head tipped back as did his eyes. His mouth dropped open, his breath coming in heaving gasps.

  The bottom fell out of his world, sending his senses freefalling into bliss.

  The heat in his veins consumed him, shuddering through his limbs, lifting his hips as he emptied himself between their bodies.

  There was the gentle brush of Darshan’s lips against his clavicle. Then up further. “I did not take you for a quiet finisher,” he murmured, the heat of the words warming Hamish’s already sweat-soaked skin. The man nuzzled at Hamish’s beard, seeking. “Your neck is in here somewhere.”

  Hamish tilted his head, allowing the man unfettered access. He stared up at the ceiling as Darshan nibbled up his neck, still not certain what he had experienced. He’d had orgasms before, just not with someone. And never during. But that had been far better than anything he ever remembered doing, like he had somehow forged a connection between them in a way he had never known with any other man.

  Was that what sex was meant to be like? Euphoric?

  “Wow,” he finally managed.

  Darshan chuckled, the sound low and smug. “You are most welcome.” There was a tightness to the words and his right arm still moved, his bicep flexing against Hamish’s chest.

  Slowly, he became aware that the man had pulled out? When? Why?

  There was the gentle blast of breath against Hamish’s neck—a whimper—and then Darshan went still.

  “You could’ve finished in me,” Hamish mumbled. It wouldn’t have exactly been a first.

  “Now he tells me.” Darshan surfaced from beneath Hamish’s beard, grinning. His usually fluffy hair had gone flat with sweat. “Well, there is always next time,” he murmured against Hamish’s lips.

  Next time? Still slightly dazed, his mind latched onto that one thought. He hadn’t ever been with the same man twice. Although, he supposed this technically counted as just that if he also included the previous night’s botched attempt.

  Pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Hamish’s nose, Darshan slid off the bed.

  He tracked the man’s passage across the room as Darshan collected a small bowl. Ice formed on the outside as he neared, only to melt like a spring frost.

  Darshan glanced up from his task to frown at Hamish. “Am I being too presumptuous? My apologies.” He set the bowl down on the bedside table, water slopping over the rim, before sitting back on the bed. “But if you would allow me the luxury of being so bold… You seemed to enjoy yourself.”
>
  Hamish grinned, biting on his lip to keep from openly laughing. “Aye, I—” Warm wetness caressed his abdomen. He lifted his head enough to spy Darshan running a cloth over him, cleaning the mess he’d made of himself. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, heat flooding his face like a burst dam. Usually, he would tend to this himself with a quick clean, then a more thorough one once safely back in his room.

  Those hazel eyes flicked up from his task. “Did you really expect me to let you leave like this?”

  He stared back at the man, puzzled. “Did I…?” The words trickled away. What had he expected? Nae a damn thing. It was far easier to anticipate indifference once the deed was done, for he was right more often than he wished to admit.

  Judging by the man’s hesitancy and tender movements, Darshan didn’t do this very often. Hamish couldn’t imagine an imperial prince cleansing himself, let alone others. Still, he appreciated the effort.

  Darshan tossed the cloth over his shoulder, where it hit the floor with a slap. He laid the hand that’d been holding the damp cloth onto Hamish’s stomach. The palm radiated warmth.

  Hamish inched up the bed. “What—?”

  “Hush,” the spellster whispered, gently withdrawing his touch as if Hamish were a spooked colt. “It is merely a little heat. Nothing to worry about, but I will stop if you prefer.”

  Hamish shook his head. He’d already had magic performed on him once tonight, what was a little more? And now the moisture on his skin had been given time to cool, his stomach felt rather exposed, despite having the obvious advantage of a denser patch of hair than other parts.

  Darshan resumed applying gentle heat. “Since, I assume, we agree on compatibility?”

  “Aye,” he murmured, still focused on what the magic was doing. It seemed to be drying his skin far better than cloth could manage. “That we do.”

  “Would you… like to continue?”