Chapter 133: Chapter 133: Marital

[Warning – spice ahead]

A dark satisfaction lit Gregoris’s eyes. He released Rafael’s cock, ignoring the whimper of protest that earned him. He quickly undressed, letting his suit coat and shirt fall to the floor. Rafael watched in the mirror, mouth dry, as Gregoris revealed his body’s hard, muscled planes. He was a weapon, beautiful and deadly, and he was all Rafael’s.

Gregoris kicked his trousers away and pressed his naked body against Rafael’s back. The skin-to-skin contact was a jolt. His cock slid between Rafael’s ass cheeks, hot and heavy. He reached around Rafael again, one hand on his chest, the other stroking his own length, coating it with slick precome.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror,” Gregoris ordered, his voice a low growl. He guided himself to Rafael’s entrance, pushing in with a slow, relentless pressure.

Rafael cried out as he was breached, the stretch intense and perfect. His hands pressed flat against the mirror, his breath fogging the glass. He watched his own face, eyes wide, mouth parted, as Gregoris filled him inch by inch. It felt like it took forever, an eternity of being claimed, until Gregoris was finally seated deep inside him.

They stayed like that for a moment, Gregoris’s arms wrapped tightly around Rafael’s chest, holding him, his forehead resting against Rafael’s back. Rafael could feel the frantic beat of Gregoris’s heart against him.

Then Gregoris began to move.

He started with a slow, deep grind, his hips rolling in a way that made Rafael see stars. Each thrust was a possession, a silent statement. One of Gregoris’ hands slid down to wrap around Rafael’s cock again, stroking him in sync with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming.

“Look at us,” Gregoris rasped, his voice strained with pleasure. “Look how you take me. So perfect.”

Rafael couldn’t look away. He watched Gregoris’s powerful body move behind him, watched the muscles in his arms flex as he held him, and watched the way his own body responded, arching and pushing back for more. The pleasure rose to an unbearable climax, a coil of heat tightening in his groin.

“Gregoris… I’m…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know,” Gregoris said, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. He bit down gently on Rafael’s shoulder, a claiming mark. “Let me see you come, love.”

Rafael’s orgasm crashed over him with force. He cried out, his body convulsing, his release spurting over Gregoris’s hand and the mirror in front of them. The sight of his pleasure, of his come painting the glass, seemed to push Gregoris over the edge. With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside Rafael, his own release flooding him.

They stayed there for a long moment, panting, their bodies slick with sweat. Rafael’s legs felt like they would give out, but Gregoris held him up, his arms a secure anchor. The room was silent except for their ragged breaths.

Slowly, carefully, Gregoris pulled out and turned Rafael in his arms. He cupped Rafael’s face, his thumbs stroking his cheeks. Rafael’s eyes were heavy-lidded, sated, and shining with unshed tears.

“Gregoris,” he whispered, leaning into his touch.

“I have you,” Gregoris murmured, kissing him softly, a gentle press of lips that was more intimate than anything that had just happened.

—

Rafael woke up warm.

Not just physically – though he was that too, pressed into familiar weight and familiar scent – but warm in the irritatingly emotional way he usually refused to admit existed. His body felt sated and loose, like someone had taken all the sharp edges out of him and put them somewhere safe. His mind, for once, wasn’t already spiraling through court optics and family landmines.

He blinked slowly, then let his cheek sink deeper into the pillow, vaguely pleased with himself.

Gregoris was behind him, arm thrown around his waist like a lock that had been meant to keep him trapped only for his own good. His breathing was steady, calm, the kind of sleep that looked unfair on a man who could end people with a phone call.

Rafael shifted, testing the ache in his limbs and the pleasant heaviness in his bones, and decided, very reasonably, that he deserved a second round of being pampered in the form of doing absolutely nothing.

He was halfway into closing his eyes again when the door clicked softly.

Rafael didn’t startle. The suite’s ether wards recognized staff. The manor ran on discipline.

Footsteps entered quietly, measured, and respectfully.

Peter’s voice followed, calm as always. “Your Grace.”

Rafael made a sound that was somewhere between acknowledgment and a complaint. “Peter… it’s morning.”

There was the faintest pause. The kind servants mastered when they had to deliver a fact that would upset a noble.

“With respect,” Peter said, voice still perfectly neutral, “it is not morning. It is nearly lunch.”

Rafael’s eyes opened fully.

He twisted his head enough to glare in the general direction of the voice, offended on principle. “That’s impossible.”

Peter didn’t react to offense. He had survived worse. “It is twelve forty.”

Rafael went very still, then whispered, as if the number might change out of politeness, “Twelve forty.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Behind him, Gregoris’s arm tightened like he’d heard, like he approved, like he found this whole thing amusing even in sleep. Rafael felt the faint brush of breath at the back of his neck, the silent hum of a chuckle that never fully formed.

Rafael’s face heated. “Why did you let me sleep until…”

Peter continued, smoothly, because Peter was committed to his job and would not be distracted by marital crimes. “Also, Lord Layle has arrived.”

Rafael’s stomach did a small, unpleasant flip.

He sat up too quickly, then immediately regretted it, because his body reminded him that last night had been… thorough. He hissed under his breath, then tried to regain dignity by pulling the sheet up like that would fix the situation.

“Layle is here?” he asked, voice sharper than intended.

“Yes,” Peter said. “He has been waiting for twenty minutes in the sitting room. I informed him you were indisposed.”

Rafael stared. “Indisposed.”

Peter’s expression remained serene. “It is a flexible word, Your Grace.”

Rafael’s mouth opened, then closed.

Behind him, Gregoris finally moved.

He sat up with infuriating ease, hair slightly disheveled, expression calm, and eyes half-lidded like a man waking from pleasant sleep rather than anything scandalous. He leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss to Rafael’s shoulder soft, possessive, entirely unbothered by Peter’s presence.

“Good morning,” Gregoris murmured into his skin.

Rafael shot him a look full of accusation. “It’s nearly lunch.”

Gregoris’s eyes warmed with quiet laughter. “So Peter says.”

Peter waited with the patience of someone who had seen emperors throw tantrums and still delivered tea on time. “Would you like me to send Lord Layle refreshments? Or inform him you will receive him shortly?”

Rafael inhaled, slow, forcing his brain to switch gears from warmth and laziness to brother and inheritance and politics.

“Yes, I’ll see him right away.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep