Elian hesitated before obeying, resting the back of his head against the rim of the bath, shutting his eyes.

​He could not afford to stare into Lucien’s green eyes at that moment; he might be forced to ask for something forbidden.

​Lucien saw Elian’s closed eyes and knitted his brows very slightly. From his view above, Elian looked ethereal: his jaw defined and delicate, lush lashes resting beautifully against his flushed cheek, and those red lips couldn’t look anymore inviting.

​He blinked, dipped a small silver cup into the warm water, and slowly poured it over Elian’s curls. Water slid through the soft brown strands, darkening them instantly.

​His fingers threaded into Elian’s damp hair carefully, working the scented soap through the curls with slow movements.

​Elian nearly sighed at the feeling. Lucien’s large hands moved against his scalp with surprising patience, massaging gently as warm water dripped down the sides of his neck.

​"Your hair is troublesome. I do not like it," Lucien murmured, though his hands never stopped their careful movements.

​He saw Elian part his soft lips to say something but press them firmly together in the end, deciding to be quiet. He was left to wonder just what stubborn words Elian wanted to spew from his lips; after all, those were the only things he ever said when he was with him.

​Elian kept his eyes shut, afraid Lucien might see the way his expression softened beneath his touch, and the way his eyes would beg him to just lean down and close that torturous space between them.

​He suddenly gasped as he felt Lucien’s hand sliding down his chest, his body stiffening.

​"Relax, young Morel... I’m getting the washcloth," Lucien murmured behind him.

​Elian was holding his breath; Lucien’s hand wasn’t just fetching the towel! His fingers were literally dragging slowly over his skin, taking his time to search around his waist.

​"Found it..." Lucien said, feeling the cloth beside Elian’s hip, his knuckles grazing the soft skin as he collected it.

​"I tell you I need you alive, Elian..." Lucien moved to the side of the bath again, his hand palming Elian’s face to turn it to him. "Yet, you’re bent on trying to get yourself killed." He lifted the cloth, wiping Elian’s forehead first.

​Elian’s breath snagged, restraining himself from moving his hand between his thighs. It was too much! The deliberate touching, the low whispering, and now, Lucien was holding his face close to his, wiping his face with that unchartered tenderness.

​"I’ll ask again, Elian," Lucien’s voice was like a low thunder, rumbling deep in his chest, his eyes darkened so much they looked black. "Why are you shivering?" He covered his thumb with the towel and slowly wiped across Elian’s lower lip.

​Elian couldn’t take it anymore; he moved his face away, dragging air forcefully into his lungs. Why was it taking forever for a bath?

​Why was Lucien deliberately keeping him here?

​"I find it disturbing that you hate looking into my eyes, Elian." His hands moved to Elian’s shoulders, washing and massaging.

​Elian remained silent, ignoring the way his heart was thrashing like a bird in a cage.

​What does he mean by that?

​Why would he even care if Elian looked at him or not?

​Elian refused to accept it for what it might be. Lucien would never want him. Never.

​"You didn’t look at me all day..." Lucien’s hands lowered to Elian’s chest, using the cloth to rub very gently over the pink nipple until it hardened against his finger, his eyes watching the way Elian bit down hard on his bottom lip to restrain himself.

​But Lucien was done restraining. Not when he had Elian naked, flushed, and alluring in his bath. Not when he’d sat in his study all day dreaming of this particular scene... not when he could finally have an opportunity to spill his seeds.

​He wasn’t restraining.

​"You didn’t look at me either," Elian managed to speak as Lucien’s hand moved over to his other nipple, this time with his bare fingers.

​"Are you sure?" Lucien asked. "I’m here now... you’re here too. Why not look at me?" Lucien rolled his thumb once over Elian’s nipple, gulping as he saw Elian’s eyes flutter shut in response.

​"I said look at me, Elian. Not close your eyes," he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Elian’s ear.

​"Your Grace," Elian gasped, moving his head away and breathing hard. "Please, stop." His voice cracked as he begged.

​"Allright," Lucien agreed.

​Elian sighed in relief, hoping the bath would be done with quickly.

​However, as he felt Lucien tracing the cloth along his hand, he panicked. He watched Lucien’s hand disappear into the water, and he almost passed away when Lucien’s hand grazed his thigh.

​"Take your hand away," Lucien ordered huskily.

​Elian shook his head. "I-I can’t."

​Lucien smirked, leaning in to place a very light kiss on the side of Elian’s neck, inhaling the scent of Elian’s skin like a starved man.

​"Now, Elian," Lucien whispered, his voice dark and low. "Move your hand. Let me touch you," he commanded.

​That did it for Elian. His fingers trembled under the water, the last thread of restraint dissolving into the water from that husky command, and with a shuddering breath, he finally obeyed, pulling his hand away.

​The moment he did, Lucien’s large palm slid down his thigh. "Good boy," Lucien whispered and wrapped his hand firmly around Elian’s throbbing cock.

​Elian gasped sharply, his hips jerking forward. Lucien’s grip was hot, sure, and possessive as he stroked him slowly from base to leaking tip, savoring the way Elian pulsed hard in his hand.

​"Shh," Lucien breathed against his ear, hot and damp, his nose nuzzling Elian’s wet curls.

​He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Elian’s neck, then another, sucking lightly as his hand continued its torturous rhythm under the water.

​Elian bit down hard on his lip, but a broken moan still slipped out.

​Lucien immediately turned Elian’s face to his. "I said, be quiet." He claimed Elian’s mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, swallowing the sound.

​There was something far more urgent in that kiss than the previous one, something raw and unrestrained.

​Lucien’s tongue pushed inside, tasting him, devouring every whimper while his fist pumped Elian’s cock with slow, deliberate strokes.

​He couldn’t get enough; never had he wanted someone so badly his entire life. All those longings, restraints, and hunger were finally being fed, and if Elian weren’t injured, he would take him right there and then.

​The water sloshed softly around them with every movement. Lucien kissed him harder, wet and filthy, muffling every desperate noise that tried to escape Elian’s throat. His thumb circled the sensitive head, spreading the slick precum, stroking him tighter, faster.

​Elian moaned into Lucien’s mouth, trembling, his good hand clutching desperately at the Duke’s wrist, but Lucien didn’t stop. He kept kissing him through it—deep, consuming kisses that left Elian dizzy—while his hand worked him relentlessly.

​"You’re so hard for me," Lucien growled against his lips, his breath scorching. "Hungry for my touch..."

​"Mmn..." Elian whimpered, his hips bucking up into Lucien’s tight fist. Lucien kissed him again, harder this time, drinking down every sound as Elian’s thighs began to shake.

​"Come on, Elian," he rasped, his lips brushing his. "Let me feel you fall apart."

​With a strangled cry, Elian erupted in Lucien’s hand, his arm hooking around Lucien’s neck as he trembled through his release, his face buried deep in Lucien’s neck.

​"Shh, shh... quietly, Elian, quietly," Lucien whispered hoarsely, his nose brushing the side of Elian’s face as his hand milked the very last drop from Elian’s throbbing cock.

​"I hate you..." Elian sobbed, shame kicking in. "I hate you so much," he cried, his shoulders shaking gently as he sobbed.

​Lucien frowned and immediately tilted Elian’s face up, gazing into those deep blue eyes. "I know that." He smirked, his eyes falling to Elian’s lips.

​"But that’s not our problem now, Elian..." He leaned in, darting his tongue out and licking across Elian’s trembling bottom lip.

​"I made you come," he whispered into Elian’s ear. "You owe me a favor after you’re healed, young Morel. And for as long as I want, you will make me come until I tire of you."

​The quiet that settled over the washroom was heavier than the damp steam clinging to the walls.

​Elian remained frozen against Lucien’s neck, his chest heaving as the last ripples of his release faded into the soapy water. The shame was a physical weight, wrapping around his throat until he could barely breathe. He had given in. He had let the man who killed his father and locked him and his mother away, the man who treated his very existence like a sin, shatter his defenses with a single command.

​Lucien didn’t push him away. Instead, he let Elian lean against him for a few moments longer, his bare chest absorbing the boy’s quiet, shaking breaths. The toxic satisfaction rolling through the Duke’s veins was intoxicating. The frustrating, endless hours he had spent in his study brooding over Rowan had finally evaporated, replaced by a dark, possessive calm. He had reclaimed what was his.

​Slowly, Lucien reached down, his large hands anchoring around Elian’s uninjured armpit and chest. "Up," he murmured, his voice still carrying that low, rough edge.

​Elian didn’t have the strength to fight. He let Lucien lift his dripping, heavy body out of the bath. The cold air of the washroom hit his wet skin, making him shiver violently, but the chill did nothing to wash away the sticky warmth of the shame coating his mind.