Byzantine Heartbreak by Tracy Cooper-Posey Page B

breath as Lathe’s fingertips brushed between his buttocks. Then the big hands were on his shoulders, pressing on him. Pressing him over. Bending him.
    Excitement flared in him as he realized what Lathe intended to do to him next. “You will need oil,” he said and his voice was hoarse with the pleasure already building in him.
    “I have it,” Lathe replied. “I found it while I was waiting for you to return. How long have you had it hidden away here in your room, waiting for a moment that might never happen, hmm?”
    Ryan closed his eyes as he balanced himself with his hands on the edge of the low bed. “In truth, I forgot it was there.”
    Lathe pushed Ryan’s feet apart with his own. Even that simple movement brought a thrill to the pit of his stomach as he was exposed to Lathe’s gaze.
    Then the touch of the oil, warmed from Lathe’s hand. Lathe let it drop gently between Ryan’s cheeks, then his finger spread it. The touch of his finger was enough to make Ryan clench and bite back a deep groan. His shaft was hardening once more. His heart was thrumming.
    Lathe spread the oil with leisurely, teasing strokes, from his anus down to his sac and that touch was almost more than Ryan could bear. He gripped the edge of the bed and gritted his teeth, fighting to remain still. “You’re killing me,” Ryan muttered.
    “You can’t be killed,” Lathe pointed out. But he at last gripped Ryan’s hips with his big hands and Ryan felt the touch of the thick end of Lathe’s shaft against him. The pressure increased and then Lathe was inside him—and the pressure transformed into a deep pleasurable building lust.
    Ryan gasped, his grip on the bed tightening. He heard the rip of fabric under his grip but was unable to loosen his grasp. Not now. He was held by the rising tide of need.
    Lathe groaned as he thrust. “Too much. Much too much.”
    “This time,” Ryan breathed.
    “ Gods !” Lathe cried. His thrusting increased. Deepened. Ryan could feel the trembling in the man.
    “Come for me,” Ryan coaxed.
    With a roar, Lathe climaxed, slamming himself into Ryan in good, hard strokes.
    Then Lathe withdrew and fell on the bed, curled up on his side and Ryan could see he was shaking with the lingering effects of his pleasure.
    Ryan eased himself onto the bed beside him and rested his hand on Lathe’s shoulder. He could feel the trembling through his hand. “What is the matter?” he asked.
    Lathe covered his eyes with his hand. For a long minute he lay silently, the shaking growing worse. Then he swallowed. “I’m happy ,” he said, sounding anything but happy. He pulled his hand away from his eyes and Ryan was startled, for his eyes were swimming with tears.
    “Why do you not sound happy, then?” Ryan asked.
    “Because I’m terrified for what the lamplight will bring.”
    * * * * *
     
    The Agency satellite station. 2263 A.D.
    Cáel waited while Ryan signed reading boards, took calls, answered messages and completed a dozen other tasks. Sleep threatened but Cáel forced himself to stay awake even though by his internal clock, dawn was coming and it had been a long, astounding night full of revelations. He wouldn’t take back a moment of this evening, but he did envy Ryan and Nayara their lack of need for sleep, food and rest.
    Ryan stood up and moved around the desk, dousing the light that shone directly over it and strode toward the sofa where Cáel sat waiting. “I mean this in the most respectful way, Cáel, but do you intend to return home at any time in the next few hours?”
    Cáel shook his head. “You said ‘clear your calendar’. I did. I am at your disposal until however long it takes to hear your tales, you and Nayara.”
    Ryan halted, five metres away from the coffee table, surprise etching itself across his face. “When did you do that? I didn’t see you send any messages.”
    “At the ball, not long after you made the conditions of this bargain clear,” Cáel replied. “I intend to live