A Royal Rebellion by Revella Hawthorne Page B

tight, hot, wet, with powerful muscles immediately milking his organ. Edward moaned, adjusting Percy’s hips, finding the perfect angle, and withdrawing just enough to push back inside with some force behind his thrust. His mate gave him a tiny sound, full of want and overcome nerves. Fire ran along his body, from where his cock was buried in perfection and up his spine, setting fire to his thoughts.
    Hard, short thrust in, head nudging at the place their child grew, and a slow, ever so slow withdrawal, delighting in the slick, smooth flesh of Percy’s channel. Edward’s eyes closed, and his world narrowed to the flesh welcoming his cock and the vibrating body under his hands. He rotated his hips, adding depth to his thrusts, and Percy sobbed each time he did it.
    Edward became lost in the feel and sounds of Percy, so welcoming, so fucking sexy. He repeated his pattern, eyes closed, totally focused on his mate coming apart under his hands. He let go of worry and stress, anger and fear, and gave himself to Percy’s pleasure, finding satisfaction as Percy quivered and whimpered.
    “So perfect,” Edward told the shaking bundle of desire crying his name as he continued his devastating pattern, each stroke in damn near catching him in an unshakeable grip of powerful muscles. Percy was close, his body tightening on Edward, every stroke bringing them both closer to climax and release.
    “Edward!” Percy shrieked, his whole body bowing as an orgasm slammed into his small mate. Edward thrust home, opening his eyes to watch as Percy’s body sucked him impossibly deeper.
    His body was humming. Every nerve swamped in heat and undulating waves of pleasure. Edward came as Percy’s body clamped down on his cock, and Edward poured everything he had into the heated depths, his seed all but sucked out of him. Balls tight and aching, Edward stopped breathing, whole body incapable of moving, his cock and balls pulsing in time together, his body’s focus locked into the sinful grip of Percy’s.
     
    ***
    Edward
     
    He must have blacked out. Lack of oxygen causing him to fall to the bed, Percy trapped under his greater weight, his little mate still milking his cock in lessening waves. Percy was asleep, and Edward eased from his seed-slicked chute, grabbing his mate around the waist and pulling Percy into his arms.
    Percy slept on, totally relaxed. Edward ran his fingers over the back of his slim neck, the raw flesh from the consort collar worse along the sides where the slight slack in the coils rubbed as Percy moved. Edward sat up with care, and searched on the bed for the silk scarf, finding it down among their feet. Percy was so deeply asleep Edward was able to wrap the consort collar in the fine silk, covering the coils all the way around, running out of fabric near the jewel-encrusted lock.
    Edward used the tassels at each end to secure the silk, and he dropped his hands away with one last brush to Percy’s skin, smooth as the silk that now protected him from further damage.
    The consort necklace was ancient, and Edward had lost count of how many consorts in times past had worn the same collar. One collar, one key, both created at the same time, both equally priceless. And the collar had been designed as both protection for the one collared, and a mark of ownership. Only a Cassian Royal, most commonly the princes of the blood, had the right to collar a consort, and as such each lock had been created unique, by individual masters, and there was no way to remove it without either damaging the relic or damaging the one who wore it.
    Not all consorts in the old days had been willing.
    Many collars in ancient times had come booby-trapped, small vials of acid concealed inside the clasps, rigged to break if the lock was forced. Those were used on royal prisoners of war, or those who were especially recalcitrant in their new roles as slaves. No rescue of a captured foreign royal could be successful if the removal of the consort collar