Bee Among the Clover by Fae Sutherland, Marguerite Labbe Page B

O.
His thumbs circled the tight peaks, and he watched in rapt pleasure as they tightened even further, and Roman whimpered, his slim torso twisting as he arched into Aron’s touch.
Noticing that Roman’s hands had fallen to his sides, Aron reached to catch them, bringing both to his own chest, his voice low and rough with desire. “Touch me….”
Aron couldn’t look away from Roman’s face as he obeyed, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks, his sensual upper lip drawn into his mouth as he tended to do when he was concentrating. That made Aron smile, to think that Roman was concentrating so hard on the way Aron felt to him.
His head fell back with a groan as Roman’s fingertips trailed down his stomach to slide over his hips, and when he opened his eyes, he caught a glimpse of midnight dark watching him before they closed again. Ah no, Aron wanted to look at him, wanted Roman to do the same, and began to say so when the slave’s hand slid between them to brush Aron’s balls and all thought escaped his mind in a rush.
He bent over Roman, eyes following the path of the slave’s tongue as it wet his lips, and dipped his head to replace that soft, pink tongue with his own, kissing Roman deep and sure, tasting the whimpered moans other man gave him.
Gods, Roman tasted sweet, even sweeter than he remembered. Aron’s tongue delved into his mouth, demanding more surrender, and Roman gave it, melting beneath him. Aron broke the kiss, nipping along the elegant jaw, the faint stubble rough on his lips as his mouth descended toward Roman’s ear, tracing the shell with his tongue and feeling the slave tremble in response. He shifted slightly, one knee urging Roman’s legs apart, and settled between them. His teeth grazed the slave’s lobe, breath fanning his skin. “Ro… darkling.” His voice was pitched low, so only the two of them could hear. He didn’t know where the nickname came from, only that he couldn’t bring himself to call the other man by Wulfgar’s pet name.
“Don’t,” Roman replied in a strangled whisper, his body stiffening and dark eyes flying open to clash with Aron’s. For a brief moment he could see the tangle of raw emotion, vulnerability in that dark gaze before Roman closed his eyes and turned his face away, arching his body harder in demand.
Aron felt a sharp stab of anger as Roman’s eyes fell closed again, wondering if it was Wulfgar the slave was imagining touching him. And then Roman was undulating against him, and Aron’s body ceased to care one way or another, responding to that silent demand and giving Roman what he was asking for.
His mouth slid down the slave’s throat, nipping along the tendon there, his own legs shifting a bit further apart when of one of Roman’s hands slipped between them and those long, elegant fingers cupped his balls, rolling them in his palm and sending a shock of pleasure through him.
A shifting beneath him drew Aron’s attention, and he pushed up onto one hand, his eyes widening as he glanced down and watched as Roman’s slender fingers slid from Aron’s balls to his own body. Roman spread his legs wider, and his slim body jolted with a moan as Roman slid two of his own fingers inside himself. Aron could only stare, stunned and mouth dry.
It felt as though bands were tightening around his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t ever imagined watching Roman please himself. He took the hand that had been clenched in the furs and brought it to the slave’s cock, unable to tear his eyes away as Roman took the silent order and began stroking himself in time with his fingers thrusting deep into him. Vaguely, Aron heard a rough groan from a few feet away, but he chose to ignore it.
It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, and Aron sat back on his heels, drinking in the sight of Roman, watching long fingers disappearing into his body, the slave stroking his own cock, the expressions that flashed across his flushed face. Finally, Aron