Free The Bone Orchard by Abigail Roux Page A

Ambrose. “Now I want you all over me.”
    The sound that came out of Ambrose was nearly a growl as he dragged his teeth along Ezra’s collarbone. Ezra shivered all over. Ambrose sucked hard at the soft patch of skin just at his neck, biting down for good measure. Ezra licked his hand and reached between them to grasp Ambrose’s cock.
    Ambrose’s growls had grown almost continuous, like the sounds he’d made when he’d grumbled to himself as they’d walked through town, only pitched lower. It hit Ezra in the gut. Ambrose moved between his legs, stroking Ezra along the way, until the tip of his thumb pressed into Ezra’s ass.
    Ezra groaned in frustration, raising his hips and tossing his head to the side. “We don’t need much, right?” He reached to stroke himself, and he spread his legs wide, opening up for Ambrose. “Nothing hurts us?” he asked hoarsely.
    Ambrose grunted in disagreement, but Ezra pulled him closer and dragged his fingernails down Ambrose’s back to make his point.
    Ambrose shivered, gasping and biting his lip. Ezra knew Ambrose felt the sting of his scratches, but it was nothing compared to what pain had been in life. It was certainly a benefit of being dead. Nothing hurt any longer. Ezra sure as hell could feel the brush of Ambrose’s touch, though.
    “Bring yourself up here,” Ezra hissed into his ear. “I’ll wet you down so you can get to sparring, Marshal.”
    Ambrose sought out Ezra’s mouth and kissed him hungrily, grunting when he finally had to tear himself away. He crawled up Ezra until he was straddling his chest, and braced one hand on the headboard when Ezra licked at him.
    The sounds Ambrose made when Ezra’s tongue touched his cock made Ezra want to take it all into his mouth, to lick and suck until Ambrose screamed loud enough to scare away every guest in the hotel.
    He’d save that adventure for another time, though. Ambrose’s hand tightened in his hair, and Ezra licked him up and down, sloppy and wet, moaning as he did so. It wasn’t a minute later that Ambrose was between Ezra’s legs again and working his way carefully into him. His hand gripped behind Ezra’s knee to hold him steady as he pulled back and thrust again, deeper, hissing as he worked his way in.
    Ezra writhed and arched his hips, whimpering and groaning, trying desperately to find something to hold on to. Finally, he landed one hand in Ambrose’s hair and the other on his back, fingers digging into his warm skin, trying to draw him in closer and urge him to go faster and harder.
    Ambrose gave Ezra just what he’d asked for; it was hot and hard and desperate as they both reveled in finally being able to touch, to feel . Ambrose’s hands teased and pinched and gripped at whim, until he licked his palm again and took Ezra’s cock in hand to work it in time with his thrusts. Ezra scrabbled for something steadier to grab on to, something that would hold him still through Ambrose’s pounding.
    He stretched out to grip the iron bars of the headboard, making sure the room next door heard each time it slammed against the wall, cried out desperately as the angle of Ambrose’s thrusts changed. The pounding pressure and the hand on his cock and the simple smell of Ambrose, leather and sunshine and sweat—a sense he’d not been able to experience before—the sounds Ambrose made when he was aroused and breathing hard, all worked to overload Ezra’s senses.
    He bucked his hips, every muscle tensing as he bowed his back and shouted Ambrose’s name, pleading, begging, crying out for more.
    “Yeah, a little bit more,” Ambrose ground out as he worked Ezra’s cock and fucked him.
    Ezra twisted as the pleasure overcame him, and Ambrose stroked him through his climax as he cried out his lover’s name. He was still shivering and moaning, gripping Ambrose for dear life—or death, he supposed—when Ambrose doubled down and sped his thrusts, grunting and moaning Ezra’s name in his ear. He called out