Bee Among the Clover (243 page)

A
RON didn’t wait to be told twice. He tugged Roman with himdidn’t wait to be told twice. He tugged Roman with him toward the thane’s room and hurried to shut the door behind them. He pulled Roman
into his arms and buried his face in the wealth of his hair. It took a moment before the terrible stillness in Roman registered, and he pulled
back, brows furrowing as he looked at his darkling, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Darkling, Marcus, it’s all right, he won’t take you backright, he won’t take you back. He won’t
ever touch you again.” His relief had no words. Never again would he have to watch anyone else touch his beautiful Roman. Only he would. The
knowledge caused a fierce tugging inside on every possessive string he
had. His. By the gods, he could hardly believe it had been that easy. There would be no need to worry and fear now after they’d left, they’d both be
free.
Roman nodded. “I know.” His jaw clenched, and then he looked up
at Aron through his lashes, his expression and voice seductive. “What service do you wish of me, Master?” An age-old smile curved his lips as
he sank to his knees and lifted his hands to hover at the waist of Aron’s
trews, long fingers dipping under the hem of his tunic to brush the flesh just above.
Aron frowned as Roman called him master and dropped to his knees. He was on the verge of pulling him back to his feet, but then those elegant,
beautiful fingers caressed him and that smile curved those lush lips, and
Aron’s cock demanded otherwise. A smile spread across his own face. His darkling was playing with him. Joy lit up in him; Roman was as happy about this turn as he was, and he was more than willing to play along.
Aron threaded his fingers in Roman’s silky hair. He could hear the
sounds of the feast starting up again without them, but he couldn’t imagine being happier than he was right now, alone with his darkling with the firelight flickering over the delicate lines of his face.

“Everything, darkling.” He breathed the words. He knew it would be many hours before Wulfgar returned to his room, and he’d probably be too drunk to stand by that point. Aron wanted to savor every moment of this joining in his mind. This was the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Roman wanted to weep. He wanted to scream. He remembered how Aron had been at the beginning, so determined to chase him even though he’d made it quite clear it wasn’t what he’d wanted. But Aron had continued until he’d gotten what he was after that day in the cave. He hadn’t missed the speculation in Aron’s eyes when Wulfgar would play with his slave, and now Aron had the same. Roman wanted to choke on the bitterness lodged in his throat. Aron loved him. What of it? So did Wulfgar in his own way. But it seemed neither of them loved him enough to set him free.

Roman let his training take over. Aron wanted a bed slave; he’d have one, though inside his heart broke. He leaned forward, closing his eyes and pressed his lips to Aron’s stomach. He locked away his emotions. It hurt too much. It was such a blessed relief to slip into his training. There was sanctuary there. It kept the madness at bay. “I’ll give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Master.” He whispered the words against Aron’s skin, undoing the belt around Aron’s waist.

Aron brushed his fingers across Roman’s cheek and smiled down at him before drawing his own tunic over his head. “I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of in you, darkling.” Aron stepped out of his trews and kicked them aside. His fingers drifted lower to Roman’s bare throat.

Roman hid a flinch at the touch, knowing exactly what Aron was thinking. He wondered what type of collar Aron would choose for him, though it didn’t matter; it would be an iron weight there for the rest of his days. Pushing the pain aside, Roman nuzzled Aron’s thigh, tilting his head and flicking his tongue out to trace over the silky skin of the inner thigh before sliding up to tease his balls. This he could do: give pleasure and his body. Aron had stolen his heart with false promises, and he couldn’t take it back, as much as he wished he could.

It terrified him. He’d always been able to keep his sanity with Wulfgar and the others because it was just his body they took. He never let them have any more than that. But Aron had crept in and told him pretty lies and snatched his heart from him, and the slave no longer had even that to cling to. He’d find a way to cope; it was only three months. And when Aron’s time with Wulfgar was through, Roman would run. He’d run and he’d seek the sanctuary of his homeland, where no one’s claim on him mattered and where with time he’d forget about the claim Aron had staked that had nothing to do with collars or ownership.

He didn’t know how he’d come to this, how or why he’d somehow become something everyone wanted to own but no one cared to truly love. Somewhere along the way he’d become nothing but an object, a pretty one and one many wished to call their own, but an object nonetheless.

Aron groaned as Roman’s tongue teased his senses. His darkling knew just how to touch him, to make it difficult for him to think of anything other than how perfect his lips were and how right it was that soon they wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else owning them. A sharp slice of apprehension jabbed at his joy. He’d forgotten about his promise to Cate. No, they wouldn’t be free, but Roman would be safe, and that was what mattered. He found it hard to believe Cate would demand something he wasn’t capable of giving.

He reached down and drew Roman up, smiling at question in his eyes. “I need to see you naked, darkling.” He wanted the tunic Wulfgar had given him taken off. He didn’t want anything of the thane’s touching him.

Roman nodded and took a graceful step backwards. “Let me,” he whispered.
Slowly, he drew the tunic over his head, his body turned toward the light of the fire, and Aron drank in the luminescence flickering over his sleek, golden skin. Roman glanced at Aron as he opened his trews, a small smile playing on his lips. Aron’s breath caught at the sight of him, how his hair fell in shining tumbled waves down his back and around his shoulders, the perfect flow of lean, liquid muscles that belied how strong he knew that slim body to be.
He shook his head with a smile. “You’re so beautiful, darkling. Come here.” They’d lie before the fire and love each other until they had to stop. Aron’s heart skipped a beat when Roman moved into his arms. He drew his darkling closer and dipped his head to meet his lips. Roman tilted his head, twining his slim arms around Aron’s neck and parting his lips.
Aron let his hands move over Roman’s supple body as his darkling arched against him, shifting his legs apart when Aron’s hand skimmed over his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. He’d give Roman everything he needed. For as long as he was able, his precious darkling would never know what it was like to be alone again.
He pulled away just long enough to drag one of the soft furs from the pallet and spread it near the fire. His heart pounded faster as he drew Roman down with him, and his darkling came to him so sweetly, stretching out beside him, their arms slipping around each other, their mouths meeting in a languid kiss. Aron broke away, pressing his forehead against Roman’s. “By the gods, darkling,” he breathed softly. “All mine, he’s never going to touch you again. No one’s ever going to touch you again, love.”
Roman closed his eyes against the wave of pain and pressed his body closer to Aron’s. He needed to forget that moment of betrayal when Aron asked to own him and remember, if just for a short time, how Aron’s embrace was a balm for his soul. He buried his face against Aron’s neck, kissing the pulse fluttering at his lips. His tongue traced a line from Aron’s smooth jaw, and he drew one earlobe into his mouth, nibbling as Aron squirmed. “Hush, let me please you.”
Aron groaned, and Roman smiled as the other man relaxed into Roman’s caressing hands. There were times when he cursed his body’s response, his training, but this wasn’t one of them. He didn’t want awkward questions, and he had no intention of Aron ever knowing how deeply he’d wounded him. Aron had too much power over him as it was. Even if he had no training, he wasn’t entirely sure it would matter. He was so far gone under Aron’s spell that his body instinctively reacted to its mate.
Roman gave Aron a gentle push and urged him onto his back. He glanced at him with a small, seductive smile before letting his eyes drift shut and moving slowly down Aron’s body. His mouth trailed over his chest, pausing to suck and nip at his nipples before moving on, tongue slipping out to follow the hard, defined muscles of his stomach.
Aron groaned. “Gods, darkling, you do please me.”
Roman didn’t reply, focusing instead on pleasuring him and slipping into his role as a pleasure slave. He needed that role so much, though it was harder this time than ever before. He blamed that on Aron as well. The thrall had demanded so much of him, and like a fool Roman had given it, willingly and wholeheartedly, and now he was paying.
He moved lower, teeth nipping the soft, thin flesh of Aron’s hip, smelling the heavy, musky aroma of his arousal, and his belly clenched in response. Roman moaned and turned his head to rest his cheek against Aron’s thigh, lips nuzzling his shaft and tongue slipping out to taste him there.
Aron’s cock strained against his lips, and Roman shifted over him more, his hands braced on either side of Aron’s hips. He dragged his tongue across the head of Aron’s cock, feeling it throb in response, and sank his mouth over him, drawing him in deeper and moaning as he did so. His hands curled into the fur, holding on tight, refraining from touching Aron further.
Aron tasted the way he always did, musk and salt and heat. The familiarity of it tugged at Roman’s heart. It seemed to him that except for stolen hours here and there, their entire relationship involved him hurting somehow. Love wasn’t supposed to hurt, not like this, not over and over again. It was supposed to build you up, give you strength.
Aron propped himself up on one elbow, staring at Roman in fascination. He buried a hand in Roman’s hair and groaned as he took him deeper into his throat. “Gods, Marcus, you’re beautiful.”
Roman wouldn’t look at him, but he knew it couldn’t last long. Aron had a habit of demanding to see his eyes, whether he spoke the words aloud or not. He had demanded it from the beginning. Roman didn’t think Aron understood what that did to him, how it stripped his defenses and left him raw and vulnerable, open for another blow. Whether intentional or not, there was always another blow. Even now, with his eyes closed, he could picture the intensity of Aron’s eyes, willing him to meet his gaze.
He’d never been in love before Aron, so perhaps the myths and fae tales were just that: stories. Perhaps no one ever had that idyllic love which made all the hurt go away and left behind only joy. He couldn’t truly say whether it existed, but he knew it didn’t for him. Not now, not ever, because after this, he would never open himself this way again. It ached too much, stole every shred of his sense of self he’d tried to build over the years. He had nothing left to give anyone.
But his body he could give, and since it seemed that was what they all wanted the most, he was resigned to it. In an odd way, he didn’t even really resent it. He was used to being an object: decoration when needed, whore when ordered, battle strategist, sacrificial lamb. He’d learned well to fill the roles required of him; they gave him a purpose.
Aron’s hand slipped from Roman’s hair, his fingertips skimming down the smooth, bare arch of Roman’s neck and over his back. He moaned, his hips rocking against Roman’s mouth. He wrapped his hand around Roman’s arm, drawing him up and groaning as his cock slipped out of the slave’s mouth. He wrapped his arms around Roman, rolling him under him, his mouth possessive. He groaned as he drew Roman’s tongue into his mouth, sucking on it. Roman trembled and arched against him with a wordless cry.
“Marcus, darkling, you wreak havoc on my senses,” Aron whispered against Roman’s lips, shuddering as he wrapped his legs around Aron’s waist. Aron drew away, and Roman kept his eyes closed, though the unspoken demand was louder now.
“Darkling, look at me,” Aron said after a pause, his voice husky.
Roman tensed. There it was. He didn’t understand it, why Aron couldn’t be happy with what Roman offered. He was always asking for more, demanding it, settling for nothing less than every scrap of Roman’s soul and dignity.
But he had no right to refuse; Aron owned him as surely as Wulfgar ever had, and Roman knew better than to refuse his owner anything. His eyes met Aron’s, shuttered and showing none of the hurt and anguish inside him. But hiding meant little, because he couldn’t manufacture any other emotion to replace it, and he knew his eyes must seem cool and empty even as his body arched demandingly and whimpers of need fell from his lips.
A frown furrowed Aron’s brow. “Darkling…?”
Roman shook his head, managing a smile and lifting his hips hard, one hand reaching down to guide Aron to his entrance. “Please, Master, take me.” Hoping to distract him, Roman drove his hips up, a soft, ragged cry of pain-tinged pleasure sounding from his lips as Aron’s cock sank partially inside him.
Aron couldn’t refuse his softly spoken demand, nor could he resist the lure of the welcoming heat surrounding him. Slowly, he pushed into Roman, trying not to hurt him although neither of them had the foresight to get the oil. Somehow, though, despite Roman’s restless movements under him, he had the feeling something was very wrong.
“Don’t call me that, Marcus, don’t ever call me that.” The look in Roman’s eyes was so at odds with how he was behaving, how impassioned and needy his body was moving against him, but none of that showed in his implacable eyes. Suddenly, Aron didn’t like this game any longer. He wasn’t his darkling’s master, despite how it looked in the eyes of the others. Osric had made Roman call him that, and he wasn’t Osric. “Just Aron, darkling. I’m your Aron.”
Roman closed his eyes, the firelight making his cheekbones stand out in sharp relief, and his lashes were long against his cheek. Beautiful, mysterious, wrapped in so many layers, many of which he didn’t understand, but one day he would. Once he finished paying Cate what was owed to her, they had all the time in the world.
Now he was desperate to connect with his darkling. Aron kissed him, needy and passionate, his worries fading as Roman whimpered under his breath and kissed him back. Roman molded his body to Aron’s, clenching around his cock and rolling his hips upwards. He cried out against Aron’s lips as he began to move against him.
Aron’s mouth broke away from Roman’s and kissed down his throat, his tongue flickering over his collarbone as Roman turned his head to give him access. His darkling’s hands slid down Aron’s back and over his buttocks, gripping him closer as Aron thrust into him.
Aron raised his eyes and saw Roman staring into the fire, realizing with a stab of worry that something was indeed very wrong, though he couldn’t fathom what it was. The only thing that came to mind was that Roman must be worrying this wouldn’t last, that Wulfgar would somehow take him back. He shook his head and lifted up over him, one hand cupping his cheek and turning his head toward him, thumb brushing his lower lip.
“You’re mine, darkling. No longer his, forever, love, you belong to me.” He frowned, his fears getting stronger when Roman simply gave him that smile that he was beginning to think was hollow and the slave thrust his hips up, clenching around him.
What was going on? He’d reassured Roman and it hadn’t seemed to help. Roman was so distant… and the only other possibility that occurred to him ripped through him with numbing pain. Roman didn’t want to be his; his darkling wasn’t happy about no longer belonging to Wulfgar. At the same time as it shredded Aron’s heart, it also spurred his possessiveness. His hips moved harder, his eyes intent on Roman’s expression.
“You’re mine, Marcus. Never his. Say it, darkling, please, you belong to me.” He didn’t know what to do. His beautiful lover who clung to him and demanded him and had made love to him was gone. This wasn’t him. This was Wulfgar’s Roman, and Aron wanted his Marcus, his darkling back.
Sweet Jesu, no one ever had the power to hurt him like Aron did. The pain of his demand made it hard for Roman to breathe. He was unable to keep himself locked away; despite his best efforts, Aron tore down the walls as he always did, with frightening ease. “I belong to you, Aron,” he finally said, his voice broken. “Only you.”
The worry and sorrow in Aron’s eyes wrenched at him. Gods help him; he loved him. He’d always love Aron. He couldn’t just turn it off or ignore it. Aron was going to break him, and he didn’t have the will to save himself anymore.
Roman lifted his head until he could feel Aron’s breath against his lips. His eyes were locked on Aron’s, love, hate, anguish, and desire warring within him. “You own me, Aron, and I need you,” he whispered in a fierce undertone. And damn him for it.
Aron’s heart stopped at the tumult of emotions in Roman’s eyes, as for a second it seemed he couldn’t shutter them. Shaking his head, he lifted up onto his hands over him, out of reach of the kiss Roman was trying to pull him into.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. His erection flagged quickly, and he withdrew from Roman, shaking his head again and rolling away to his side. He’d sworn months ago he wouldn’t coerce Roman into being with him, not sexually or any other way. This felt beyond coerced. This was horribly wrong.
Aron raked his hand through his hair, the ache inside him so strong it was constricting his chest. He wanted Roman happy, and he wanted him with him. Roman had sworn that was what he wanted as well. Why now was it different? Had Roman only said what he thought Aron wanted to hear, thinking it would never happen so the lie had been harmless in his eyes?
He didn’t know. All he knew was he’d bartered his entire life away for a man who didn’t truly want him, or, even worse, for a man who wanted the familiarity and safety of belonging to Wulfgar more than him.
Now what? Aron didn’t know, and he lifted his head, staring at Roman, hurt and anger in his eyes and voice. “Only for three months, Marcus. Then you may do what you wish.” His voice was bitter. “At least one of us will have that luxury.”
“I don’t understand what you want,” Roman burst out, sounding frustrated. He wrapped his arms around his knees, his expression confused and hurt.
Aron’s hands clenched into fists, and he glared at Roman. How could he not know? “I want what I’ve always wanted when it comes to you, Marcus. I want you to be happy. I want to know you’re safe. I want you to be mine, not his,” he responded, his voice rising to a near shout.
Roman glanced toward the door, but it seemed as if none of the revelers outside had heard Aron’s outburst. He looked back at Aron, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. “I am yours, Aron, completely and irrevocably. I was already yours in every way that mattered.”
His body was still singing and achingly empty from Aron’s abrupt withdrawal. He struggled to understand what Aron meant by his cryptic remark. He wanted to believe, Jesu only knew how much he wanted to believe him, but he’d been burned too often in the past. However, every part of him denied seeing Aron in pain. Everything had seemed so clear before tonight, and now it was all muddled again.
He closed his eyes, struggling for composure. They needed to have this out before it festered beyond repair, if it wasn’t already too late. “When you first pursued me, you cared not for how I felt about it.”
Roman forestalled Aron’s rebuttal by holding up one hand. He needed to finish now or he never would. “I watched you. I know how fascinated you were by Wulfgar’s control over me, and I understand you wanted the same. I don’t know if it was me personally or because you felt you had no control over yourself. This evening you could’ve asked for anything, and Wulfgar would’ve given it to you. You said you wanted us to be free together. Why didn’t you just ask for my freedom? In three months, we both would’ve been free. Instead you asked to own me,” he choked on the words. “All I wanted was to be your equal, and for a short time we were. Now we’re not again.”