Chapter 58

“Help me?” Lucien echoed blankly.

He desperately wanted to ask how an innocent, isolated scholar intended to navigate the complexities of physical intimacy, but his desire-fogged mind refused to assemble the question.

Then Kosha offered him a nervous, awkward smile, and the last thread of Lucien’s royal restraint snapped.

Seizing Kosha by the wrist, Lucien hauled him toward the old citadel looming above them in stone and shadow. The heavy wooden door remained stubbornly locked, but the frustrated prince gripped the iron handle, threw his weight backward, and drove a devastating kick into the frame.

The ancient wood splintered with a violent crack. It groaned in defeat before swinging inward.

Dim shadows veiled the chilly interior, although the chamber bore subtle signs of recent maintenance. It possessed the desolate cold of an empty tomb, but mercifully lacked the suffocating dust and decay that usually haunted abandoned ruins.

Before either man could fully take in their surroundings, Lucien shoved Kosha against the nearest wall. Their bodies collided with bone-jarring force.

In his tragic innocence, Kosha had intended to use a soothing arcane spell to calm the prince’s raging hormones. Yet when he recognized the raw, animal hunger blazing in Lucien’s eyes, the mage abandoned his magic.

A need to surrender consumed him down to the bone. He wanted to give the prince anything and everything he desired.

Lucien shoved the heavy outer robe from Kosha’s shoulders, sending the expensive fabric pooling into the dirt. Kosha instinctively bent to retrieve it, but Lucien caught him beneath the chin and forced his gaze upward.

“Leave it. I’ll buy you a dozen more.”

Lucien’s snarl made it clear that the garment’s fate could not have mattered less to him. He lifted Kosha’s arms and dragged the thick tunic over his head before tossing it aside. Reduced to a thin, nearly transparent linen undershirt, Kosha shuddered violently in the cold.

Lucien seized his wrist and pressed Kosha’s hand against the front of his trousers.

The heavy fabric strained over the prince’s rigid arousal, radiating scorching heat into Kosha’s cool palm. His slender fingers trembled against the prominent shape.

That faint, frightened tremor tore a raw, guttural moan from the depths of Lucien’s chest.

“Your Highness.” Kosha gasped, his eyes widening in alarm.

“It’s all right.” Lucien placed his broad palm over the back of Kosha’s trembling hand, preventing him from breaking contact. He rolled his hips forward and pressed his erection firmly into the mage’s palm. “Touch me. Stroke me the way you touch yourself.”

The filthy, whispered instruction left the scholar paralyzed.

Kosha’s sexual experience was, at best, pitiful and, in truth, nonexistent. Throughout a life defined by freezing winters, starvation, and grueling labor, carnal pleasure had never been granted the luxury of crossing his mind.

“Don’t stop touching me,” Lucien commanded.

The hand braced against Kosha’s spine began a slow, predatory descent.

One maddening obsession had plagued the prince since their encounter outside: the agonizing softness of the mage’s inner thigh. That fleeting contact through layers of clothing had lodged beneath Lucien’s skin and steadily eroded what little sanity remained.

He needed to remove every barrier and confirm his frantic suspicion. Could such a gaunt, malnourished body truly conceal skin as smooth as perfectly spun silk?

Lucien’s nimble fingers found the cheap drawstring securing Kosha’s trousers. One ruthless tug destroyed the flimsy knot. Sliding his hand over the curve of the mage’s hip, he shoved the rough fabric downward, taking the thin linen beneath it until both garments bunched around Kosha’s ankles.

Blindsided by the sudden, freezing exposure, Kosha jerked violently against the stone.

Lucien used his superior bulk to pin the panicked mage firmly against the wall.

“You were the one who offered to help me.” Dark amusement saturated Lucien’s voice. “I require your complete cooperation.”

This aggressive and terrifying intimacy bore little resemblance to Kosha’s definition of help, but he could see no avenue of escape.

Lucien heard the dry click of the mage’s frantic swallow and released a low, almost sadistic chuckle. Kosha attempted to summon an angry glare to conceal his crippling embarrassment, but the effort collapsed when Lucien’s hand slipped beneath the hem of his oversized shirt and seized his bare flesh.

“Ah!” Kosha’s spine arched away from the wall.

“Fuck,” Lucien hissed at the same instant, his eyes rolling back.

A filthy stream of profanity spilled from the prince’s lips as his calloused palm explored the softness Kosha had kept hidden beneath his clothes.

The texture of the mage’s skin seemed to defy reason. It was impossibly soft and yielding, like cream worked until it had become smooth as silk, and Lucien feared his roughened palms might leave permanent bruises behind.

Did the arcane arts weaken a mage’s body to accommodate the enormity of his mental power?

Driven by instinct, Lucien mapped the smooth curve of Kosha’s rear. Although the smaller frame barely filled his large hand, the flesh remained unexpectedly plump and supple.

A bewildering question struck him. How could a man with such a gaunt, starved face conceal this obscene softness beneath his waist?

Rather than voice the degrading thought aloud, Lucien buried his face against the curve of Kosha’s neck and ruthlessly devoured the sensitive pulse beneath his skin.

His fingers pressed into the narrow crease between Kosha’s thigh and hip, tracing the excruciatingly sensitive flesh. Kosha’s thin legs offered no meaningful resistance against the prince’s powerful thighs, yet the skin surrounding his groin remained dangerously delicate.

Desperate to discover whether the rest of the mage’s hidden body possessed the same intoxicating softness, Lucien ground his aching erection against Kosha’s hip.

Kosha’s trembling hand remained trapped against the bulge beneath Lucien’s trousers, but the mage continually failed to provide enough friction. His erratic, hopelessly clumsy movements confirmed the prince’s growing suspicion.

The innocent scholar had likely never touched himself for pleasure.

The painfully slow rhythm bordered on torture. With a frustrated snarl, Lucien reluctantly abandoned the softness of Kosha’s thigh and seized him by the upper arm.

“Move.” He dragged the mage forward.

“Ah!”

Kosha stumbled and shuffled blindly after the enraged prince, utterly bewildered.

The modest citadel contained a spartan bedchamber originally designed as a crude shelter for exhausted hunting parties. The desolate room held only the barest, decaying necessities of human habitation.

A narrow, creaking mattress dominated the chamber. It was barely wide enough to accommodate Lucien’s broad shoulders, but the logistical complications of the cramped furniture never entered his mind.

When a man teetered on the blinding edge of carnal madness, the dimensions of a mattress became irrelevant.

Lucien shoved Kosha forward.

The mage stumbled over his bare feet, his knees buckling as he collapsed onto the edge of the mattress. From his seated position, he had no choice but to stare upward. The prince’s towering, imposing figure appeared almost monstrous from below.

Lucien casually tangled one hand in the soft hair at the nape of Kosha’s neck while using the other to dismantle the heavy leather belt securing his trousers.

The metallic clatter finally shattered Kosha’s dazed paralysis.

Desperate to prove his usefulness, the mage lunged forward to assist with the hurried undressing. The unnatural bulge straining against the prince’s clothing looked excruciatingly painful. Kosha possessed a frantic, singular desire to relieve Lucien’s suffering, entirely disregarding his own terrifying ignorance of the physical mechanics involved.

“Are you suddenly in a hurry to finish this?” Lucien taunted, a dark chuckle rumbling through his chest.

He tightened his fist in Kosha’s hair and forced the mage’s soft cheek against his hip as he shoved the restrictive fabric down his thighs.

Lucien’s heavily engorged erection sprang free and struck Kosha’s jaw with a heavy, wet slap.

What in the gods’ names is that?

Kosha blinked in pure, unadulterated horror.

“Oh, gods,” he choked, recoiling violently.

The intimate and terrifying contact instantly dispelled his dizzy haze. Kosha snapped rigid, his eyes widening almost comically as his mind struggled to comprehend the impossible girth before him.

Lucien ignored the mage’s naked panic and seized his wrist.

“Touch it.” His growl permitted no argument.

“Please,” Kosha wheezed, paralyzed by fear.

“Why the sudden hesitation?” A cruel, breathless smile twisted Lucien’s lips. “Are you feeling shy?”

A dark chuckle escaped him as the mage trembled. Lucien guided Kosha’s shaking hand directly onto his heavy, pulsing shaft.

The scorching friction of Kosha’s soft, bare palm closing around him sent a violent coil of tension snapping through the prince’s lower abdomen.