Chapter 335: Chapter 335: When did I ever?
The flight passed in a hush of white noise and muted light, a cocoon of leather seats and low conversation. By the time the jet banked over Fitzgeralt’s private fields, the sun had climbed high, throwing long gold bars across the floor. Lucas pressed a palm to the window and watched the estate unfurl beneath them, green rolling up to the cliffs, the slate roofs glinting like coins. The sight pulled something loose in his chest.
An hour later the convoy rolled through the high gates and up the curved drive. The manor waited exactly as they had left it: pale stone, dark shutters, and front steps wide enough for a small army. Inside, cool air carried the faint smell of waxed wood and fresh linen. Staff melted out of the hallways as Trevor passed, nodding once and disappearing again. Windstone murmured a few final instructions to the head of security and fell in behind them.
Lucas’s shoulders dropped as they crossed the threshold of their wing. It was quieter here, the polished floor giving way to soft carpet, light falling through tall windows in pale stripes. He toed off his shoes without thinking, fingers sliding down the buttons of his shirt as they walked.
Their bedroom waited at the end of the corridor, doors already opened. Sunlight slanted across the wide bed, the linen fresh and cool, the faint trace of cedar still clinging to the pillows from the last time Trevor had slept there. Lucas exhaled, a sound that was almost relief, and let himself fall face-first onto the mattress. The sheets gave under him with a soft sigh.
Trevor followed a heartbeat later, his jacket landing across a chair, the familiar weight of him sinking into the mattress beside Lucas. He smelled like air travel and warm cedar, his hand finding the back of Lucas’s head without needing to look.
Windstone paused just inside the doorway, the faintest flicker of a smile crossing his face at the sight of the Grand Duke and his consort sprawled across their own bed at last. He set the travel documents on the nightstand, lowered his voice, and said, "Everything’s secured. Meals when you’re ready."
Trevor nodded once, still stroking his thumb along Lucas’s nape. "Thank you, Windstone."
The older man inclined his head, retreating on silent feet and pulling the doors closed behind him.
For a moment there was nothing but the hush of the manor and the slow cadence of their breathing. Lucas turned his face toward Trevor’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, and finally let go of the last bit of tension that had followed him from the capital.
"Home," Lucas murmured, the word soft against cedar and skin.
Trevor’s arm tightened around him, drawing him a fraction closer. "Now that we’re home," he said, his warm breath tickling the back of Lucas’s neck, "I don’t have to restrain myself anymore."
Lucas gave a faint, sleepy laugh, tilting his head just enough to look over his shoulder. "You sound like a man about to eat his last meal."
Trevor’s mouth curved against his skin. "More like a man who’s been fasting for weeks," he said. "And someone keeps walking around in tailored suits that smell like temptation."
Lucas shifted so they were face-to-face, their noses almost brushing. The faintest tremor went through him as the scent of cedar closed in; his body was already warm from travel, and under that warmth his heat was stirring, still a low pulse but there. Trevor’s eyes flicked down, darkening a shade as he caught it.
"I thought the Grand Duke had iron self-control," Lucas murmured, though his voice had thinned a little at the edges.
Trevor’s fingers slid along his jaw, slow and sure, his thumb brushing the corner of Lucas’s mouth. "He does," he said softly. "Until you."
The air between them thickened. Lucas’s scent, faint but unmistakable, bled into the cedar; Trevor’s breath hitched once, the pulse in his throat jumping as the first brush of rut rose under his skin. He leaned in, forehead to forehead, fighting for one last thread of humor.
"You’re going to ruin me," he said, voice rougher now.
Lucas caught his wrist and guided his hand lower, his own eyes glinting with heat. "That was the idea," he whispered.
The low laugh that escaped Trevor was no longer controlled. He bent, lips brushing Lucas’s, and the teasing dissolved into a slow, hungry kiss, cedar and omega heat curling together as weeks of restraint began to crack.
Lucas’ fingers slid up into the back of his hair, gripping it like a railing before stepping into deep water. The taste of travel, of cool linen and home, mixed with Trevor’s cedar until it blurred into something new. Each brush of mouth against mouth was thoughtful at first, then less so, heat bleeding through self-control like ink through paper.
Trevor drew in a breath against Lucas’s lips, and the sound of it trembled, a low growl threading through. His rut was already rising under his skin, pulled forward by the faint pulse of Lucas’s heat. He pressed his forehead to Lucas’s, eyes closed, fighting for a last shred of gentleness.
"Tell me," he whispered, voice rougher than before, "if you want me to stop."
Lucas’s answer, a soft exhale and that quiet, defiant laugh, slid straight through him. "When did I ever tell you to stop?" he said, voice low and roughened by travel and want.
A low sound escaped Trevor’s throat, something between a laugh and a growl. He shifted, brushing the tip of his nose along Lucas’s cheek, and let his thumb trace a slow line over the hollow of Lucas’s hip, a question and a promise at once. "Never," he murmured, "but I keep asking anyway."
Lucas tilted his head, green eyes half-lidded but bright. "You like hearing me say that I want you," he whispered.
Trevor’s mouth curved against his, a smile that was almost a shiver. "I like it," he murmured back, voice rough and low, "the way you like hearing me tell you how badly I need you."
Lucas’s breath caught; the faint tremor of his heat slid through his words when he answered. "Then say it again."
Trevor brushed his nose along Lucas’s, cedar rolling off his skin, his thumb still stroking slow circles at Lucas’s hip. "I need you," he said, the words coming out like a vow rather than a plea.
Lucas’s fingers curled at the back of Trevor’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touched. "Good," he murmured, a flicker of a smile at the edge of his mouth. "Because I’m not letting you stop."