The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

Chapter 223: Chapter 223: Ignore the instructions

The car stopped, and reality returned like an insult.

A knock sounded on the privacy glass.

Mezos’s voice came through the speaker, perfectly neutral. "Your Highness. My lord. We have arrived."

Liam froze for one furious second, forehead dropping against Arik’s shoulder. "I will kill him."

"No," Arik said, voice low and wrecked enough to make Liam’s fingers tighten. "You will not."

"Then you kill him."

"I need him tomorrow."

"For what?"

"Many things."

"I hate your administrative priorities."

Outside, Noah’s voice drifted closer. "Are they still alive?"

Mezos replied, "Unfortunately, yes."

Arik’s arms locked around Liam.

The door opened.

Cold night air slid into the car, and Mezos stood outside with a face so neutral it had become a written threat. Noah was behind him, grinning until Arik looked at him.

The grin died a prudent death.

Arik stepped out of the car with Liam in his arms.

Liam had one brief moment to remember he was still in public, technically, in front of staff, guards, Mezos, Noah, and probably three generations of judgmental household ghosts.

Then Arik’s hand shifted under his thigh, holding him more securely, and Liam decided dignity could be recovered at a later date by lying.

Mezos’s eyes flicked once over Liam’s loosened coat, Arik’s disordered hair, and the ring still gleaming on Liam’s finger.

"Marin left instructions," Mezos said.

"No," Liam said immediately.

"He was very specific."

"Still no."

Arik did not stop walking. "Send them to my comm."

"He also said—"

"No," Liam and Arik said together.

Mezos stepped aside.

Noah looked delighted. "Congratulations?"

Arik paused just long enough to glance at him. "Choose silence."

Noah chose silence.

Wisely.

The residence doors opened ahead of them, warm light spilling over the steps. Staff lined the entrance but had clearly been warned by someone intelligent not to comment, react, blink too much, or acknowledge that the newly engaged Lord Liam was being carried inside with one hand fisted in the Crown Prince’s shirt.

Liam buried his face against Arik’s throat anyway.

"You are enjoying this," he muttered.

"Yes."

"At least lie."

"No."

Arik carried him through the entrance hall, past the formal staircase, past the sitting room where Kamal had probably arranged tea and then abandoned all hope of them drinking it, and straight toward their bedroom.

Their bedroom.

The thought landed low in Liam’s stomach.

Arik felt him go still.

His voice dropped. "Still yes?"

Liam lifted his head.

"Yes," he said. "But if you ask again in that tone, I will accuse you of being decent."

Arik’s eyes darkened. "I am not feeling decent."

"Good."

The bedroom door sealed with a soft, resonant hum, privacy wards blooming across the walls like invisible flowers, sealing them away from the world. Arik lowered Liam onto the bed with torturous slowness.

Liam caught the front of Arik’s shirt, silk and warmth and the tremor of Arik’s heartbeat beneath, and did not let go. "Do not start being careful now."

Arik leaned over him, one knee pressing into the mattress between Liam’s thighs. "I am always careful with you."

"I know." Liam’s voice softened despite himself, despite the heat coiling low and urgent in his belly. "That is why I am asking."

Arik’s restraint broke by degrees after that.

The first was a deep and claiming kiss, the kind that took away breath and thought, leaving only sensation. Then his hands pushed Liam’s coat off his shoulders with rough impatience, dragging the white shirt free from his waistband. Buttons opened under Arik’s fingers, some by hand, some by ether when patience failed him entirely. Liam should have complained about the waste of fabric, the casual destruction.

Instead, he arched up into the warmth of Arik’s palms as they slid beneath the open shirt, mapping the planes of his chest, thumbs brushing over hard nipples, making Liam’s breath catch.

Arik kissed him lower, along the line of his throat, over the pulse beating too fast beneath his skin. He would stop and a mark would be showing above the collar, hesitating, asking without words.

Liam felt the hesitation and tilted his head back, exposing the column of his throat.

Arik’s breath hitched, hot against sensitive skin. "Liam."

"Yes."

The word had barely left his mouth before Arik’s teeth grazed his skin, not breaking, not yet, only claiming the right to make Liam shiver and gasp. Liam’s fingers dug into Arik’s shoulders, pulling him closer, demanding more.

Arik bit harder, sucking a bruise into the juncture of shoulder and throat, and Liam moaned, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. The suit was ruined now. Completely. Arik’s hands slid lower, over Liam’s ribs, his waist, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his trousers with a question in the touch.

"Yes," Liam breathed. "Yes, Arik..."

Arik’s mouth found his again, swallowing the words, the name, and the desperate sounds Liam couldn’t contain. He touched Liam like he had memorized every place not to hurt, every boundary, every tremor that meant yes, and every stillness that meant wait, and then he touched him like he was done waiting.

Liam pulled at Arik’s shirt, clumsy with impatience, and Arik helped him only after letting him struggle long enough to swear. He smiled against Liam’s jaw.

"You are laughing," Liam accused, breathless.

"I am trying not to."

"Poorly."

The dark red silk finally opened and Liam pushed it off Arik’s shoulders with more violence than grace, revealing the breadth of him, the lean muscle and the evidence of how little control he truly had left. Arik’s skin was still hot from the rut beneath the suppressants, his body tense with the effort of holding back, and Liam wanted to break that restraint completely.

He pressed his palm to Arik’s chest, over the thundering heart, and dragged his hand lower, over the hard plane of his stomach, not stopping until he found the waistband of Arik’s trousers and the straining evidence of his arousal beneath.

Arik stilled instantly.

Liam looked up at him, breath uneven, pupils blown wide. "I am not fragile."

Arik’s expression shifted, something dark and possessive sliding behind his eyes, the mask of the prince falling away entirely.

"No," he said, his voice rough as gravel. "You are mine to be careful with. And mine to ruin."