Free Hallowed Bond (Chronicles of Ylandre Book 2) by Eresse Page A

in sympathetic response to the unhurried yet unrelenting draw on his shaft. Saints above, Dylen could be such a tease! How long was he going to keep him in this maddening state of pleasurable tension?
    He had been serviced thusly before in the alleyways of Sidona’s capital of Nivare and the rented rooms of the city’s prostitutes; and once in the elegant bedchamber of a friend of his father’s when said friend’s son importuned him after a dinner party. He’d fled that bedchamber when his would-be seducer made it clear he wanted more than just a taste of him.
    In every case, he’d been well sated. But none came close to the near cataclysmic bliss he daily experienced at Dylen’s hands.
    It was not only skill that made it so, though there was no denying that Dylen was very skillful. For the first time, he was in love, and it was the Deir he loved who now pleasured him and this lent every encounter with Dylen an intense intimacy Riodan had not previously known.
    His belly tightened, and his toes curled as he was repeatedly enveloped in wet warmth, moist lips wrapped snugly around his tumescent flesh. Again and again, Dylen took him in nigh to the base of his member, maintaining a steady pace that kept Riodan just teetering on the edge of the precipice, occasionally releasing him when he seemed about to burst to run his tongue along the length of his shaft.
    “Dy…”
    “Hmm?”
    “Please!”
    Dylen chuckled around his mouthful of hot flesh. The sound and sensation alone nearly overwhelmed Riodan. His hips lifted in reflexive need.
    Without warning, Dylen obliged him and quickened his pace. The heretofore gradually loosening coil of pleasure within Riodan abruptly came undone, and he cried out as delicate ribbons of milky seed spewed from his shaft. He shivered deliciously as Dylen all but drank him down. Afterward, he could only weakly settle into the circle of Dylen’s arms.
    Such profound changes in so short a time , he thought. Take his daily routine for instance.
    Each night, he was roused from light sleep when the mattress dipped as Dylen slipped into bed after his evening at the Seralye. He then slid back into slumber snuggled against his lover. Each morning, he awakened to the sight of Dylen’s beauteous face and
    form at his side. He would quietly rise, draw on a robe and slip out of the room for a mug of milk tea. If he had morning classes, he ate breakfast alone and headed for the University, always briefly rousing Dylen with a morning kiss before he left the house.
    When he got back after classes, he spent what remained of the afternoon with Dylen until it was time for the hethar to leave for work.
    On weekends, he could wait for Dylen to wake up an hour or so later. After breakfast, they spent the day together—going to the market to replenish the larder, helping Hirlen tend his tiny garden in the back of the house, discreetly sampling the city’s various offerings or just curling up on the parlor couch to read a good book or mend clothing. Then it was supper and time for Dylen to ready himself for the evening. Riodan would doze in bed until Dylen returned, and the cycle would start all over again.
    Riodan savored the routine for the sense of belonging it gave him. He truly felt like one half of a couple. Indeed, he found he did not even give much thought to whether Dylen had provided more than simple company for any of the Seralye’s patrons. Perhaps he had become so used to that aspect of Dylen’s profession during his lengthy residency with the Terises that it no longer had the power to affect him deeply save for the occasional worry for Dylen’s safety and well-being.
    He lifted his head from its cozy berth on Dylen’s shoulder to gaze at his lover with a lazy smile. Dylen smiled back.
    “I trust you have no cause for complaint,” he quipped.
    Riodan snorted. “Only an ingrate would. I do hope that I shall one day be even half as skillful as you if only to equal the pleasure you give