The Light Within (Shadow and Light Duology #2)

20. Cinn

twenty

Cinn

C inn’s gaze shot straight back to Julien. Surely his maverick new boyfriend would have some sort of cunning plan up his sleeve for this very scenario. Some sort of elaborate lie. Or a hefty bribe.

“Run!”

Julien snatched Cinn’s arm and yanked him towards the other staircase, swift and decisive. The guard let out a startled yelp, and from the corner of his eye, Cinn saw the walkie-talkie short-circuiting, sparks flying.

Without missing a beat, their feet pounded on the spiral staircase, their footsteps creating a loud rhythmic clatter as they flew down it so fast it felt like flying. Each step blurred into the next as they plunged into the darkness, Cinn’s breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant hum of the city below grew louder. Where the fuck was the bottom?

Julien’s grip tightened on Cinn’s hand, pulling him along with an urgency that matched the drumming of his heart. As they rounded a corner, the faint sound of footsteps and shouts from the guard echoed throughout the spiral of the staircase.

“Quick, quick, quick!” hissed Julien, who, unbelievably, was grinning. It really was unfair that Cinn was the convicted criminal of the pair of them.

The last few steps came into view. Bursting through a side exit, they sprinted back towards the Champ de Mars , the open expanse of grass and the nearby pond a welcome sight. Julien pulled Cinn into the cover of a nearby grove of trees, their chests heaving as they caught their breath.

No sign of the guard.

Cinn exhaled a long, shaky breath. “Well, that was fun. Where should we break into next?”

Julien, panting from the marathon they’d just run, eventually got out, “Anywhere... on... ground... level...” between gulps of air.

Then he burst into laughter, light and infectious. Cinn cracked, joining in. Their combined laughter collided in the cool night air, mingling with the distant hum of the city. Cinn’s heart slowed, the adrenaline rush dissipating like the mist from their breath.

The tower rose up behind Julien, perfectly aligned, the golden glow bathing him in glorious light. The brightest star in the Parisian night sky. Cinn reached out to brush Julien’s dishevelled hair away from his face, then captured his chin.

“Hey,” Cinn said, and for some reason, that one word alone was enough to make Julien smile as wide as the horizon. Cinn pressed gentle lips to each of his dimples in turn, his skin cold, wind-bitten. Cinn tightened the black wool scarf around Julien’s neck before slipping his hand underneath Julien’s coat to pull his suspenders. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

Julien hummed against his cheek. “There’s one more stop on your date. But don’t worry”—Julien slid a hand down Cinn’s thigh—“we’ll be back in our room soon enough.”

Protesting seemed ungrateful, so Cinn bit back his remarks about needing to rip Julien’s clothes off him in the next five minutes or he’d die.

They walked along the riverbank, hand-in-hand. There weren’t many people left out on the street this late to show their unwanted judgement, not that Cinn ever cared about that.

“Where are we off to, then? ”

“A little place on the bank called Café Crescendo.”

Something about the name registered a ping deep in his memories.

“Wait… isn’t that the jazz bar you’re always banging on about?”

“It might be.”

Cinn didn’t hold back his groan.

“I think you’ll like it if you give it a chance! It’s a minute away from our hotel. And they do nice cocktails.”

Cinn had already given jazz lots of chances, mostly recently for hours at a time in his own house, but fine. “Fine.”

The temperature plummeted further, rendering Cinn frozen by the time they arrived at Café Crescendo, where the warm glow of street lamps reflected off the frosted windows, and soft strains of jazz seeped through an old brick facade.

The bar was comparatively boiling hot when they entered, so Cinn’s coat and hoodie went straight into the cloakroom. The attendant gave them an odd look when they aggressively refused his offer to check in the beanie hat and black scarf.

With no vacant tables, they had to stake a claim standing next to a column. On the stage, a tight-knit ensemble played upbeat jazz, the saxophonist, pianist, and bassist appearing lost in the music.

“Well?” said Julien.

“It’s… not bad,” Cinn managed. It was the truth. It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t good.

The crowd was enraptured, eyes fixed on the stage, bodies swaying in time with the music. He may never enjoy the music, but jazz bars seemed to be an appropriate date setting. Couples sat close together, sharing whispered words between melodies, and the soft, amber lighting created an intimate ambiance that seemed to wrap around each pair like a warm embrace .

“Come on. My heart bleeds, but I won’t torture you.” Julien hooked his arm around Cinn’s, guiding him towards the small staircase in the room’s corner.

The top floor of the bar was completely empty, a quiet oasis of calm compared to the bustle of downstairs, though the jazz was still audible. A cosy, semicircular alcove tucked into one corner beckoned them, offering further seclusion.

A single cocktail menu lay on the table.

“This lighting is awful,” Julien murmured, slipping on his reading glasses. The thin goldenwire frames caught the dim glow, creating soft halos around his eyes.

And there went Cinn’s heart, momentarily forgetting how to function.

Not the glasses.

Every time these damn glasses made an appearance, Cinn struggled to keep his eyes off Julien, let alone his hands. Between those, his tousled, windswept hair, and his crisp white shirt showing off a delicious amount of collarbone, it was a lost cause.

Cinn’s faded Red Hot Chilli Peppers band shirt suddenly seemed comically out of place in comparison.

The cocktails had stupid names like ‘Midnight Serenade’ and ‘Parisian Passion,’ so Cinn allowed Julien to choose. When it became apparent nobody was going to serve them up on this floor, Julien went to the bar, returning with two glasses of ‘Moonlit Rendezvous,’ so dark blue they were almost black.

Sliding back into the leather-lined booth, Julien went to remove his glasses. Cinn’s hand wrapped itself around Julien’s wrist before he knew what he was doing.

“No, keep them on. ”

Behind the frames, Julien’s eyes widened, sparkling in the low light. “Do my glasses turn you on or something?” He smiled like the cat who got the fucking cream.

“No.” Cinn folded his arms on the table.

“Come here.” Julien patted the space next to him. For half a second, Cinn considered refusing, lest he feed further the smug princeling he now had before him. Inevitably, he gave in to the subtle commanding edge of Julien’s tone, and slid over.

As soon as their thighs touched, Julien climbed onto his lap, resting his knees on either side of Cinn’s hips.

Cinn’s pulse skyrocketed, the rhythm of his heart matching the increasingly rapid beats of the jazz music below.

Julien untied his scarf with one hand, removed Cinn’s beanie with the other, then scratched his nails in circles across Cinn’s scalp, coaxing ripples of pleasure to shiver through him.

Cinn leaned forward, taking Julien’s bottom lip between his teeth, opening his mouth to send his tongue gliding over his. A tight hand soon squeezed the nape of Cinn’s neck as Julien took control of the kiss, deepening it to devour Cinn as he ground his full weight against Cinn’s groin. The jazz bar around them blurred and vanished, leaving only Julien’s heat on top of him, and the rush of their shared breaths.

Breathlessness finally had them breaking apart.

Cinn panted, pressing his forehead against Julien’s. “I told you we should have gone back to the hotel.” As much as he was enjoying the background music, there were many things he’d enjoy even more.

Julien nuzzled against Cinn’s face, then made an ‘mmm’ noise against his neck before pressing open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat. “Plenty of time for the hotel later.”

“Someone could come up any second,” Cinn hissed. Though he wasn’t a prude, he had some dignity. “They’ll see us.”

“Not if we turn the lights off. ”

Above them, the vintage-style pendant lights flickered, producing a crackling sound.

“Stop!” Cinn pushed a hand against Julien’s chest. “Don’t break them, you dick. Some poor sod will have to change them.”

Against his palm, Julien shook with laughter. “See, this is why we balance each other out.” Julien smoothed out the frown on Cinn’s forehead. “You’re too good for this world. Lucky for me, I get to keep you.”

Just as Cinn was about to tell him that not making more work for people in shitty service jobs was basic human decency and didn’t make Cinn a saint, Julien mouthed a spot on his neck. That spot. The one he could never resist returning to, after he marked it their first night together.

Cinn moaned loudly before stuffing his hand in his mouth. For fuck’s sake. Julien hadn’t even touched his dick yet, and he was already losing control.

Julien’s tongue licked against his collarbone, making Cinn swallow down a gasp. “You know, there’s a hot tub back in our hotel room. With four walls of privacy,” Cinn hissed.

“Oh, we’ll definitely be getting use out of that, don’t worry,” Julien’s voice rasped as he unbuckled Cinn’s belt. “Now pull these down.”

Cinn could have told Julien no, but by now Julien’s hand was tracing the outline of his hardening bulge over his jeans. Every stroke sent fire racing through his veins, and it was all he could do not to grab Julien’s hand and shove it directly onto his dick.

Yes, his fate was sealed.

Sliding his jeans down to below his knees, Cinn lay flat against the plush, tufted-velvet sofa they were very potentially about to ruin. He grabbed Julien’s shoulders and pulled him down with him.

“You’ve changed your tune,” Julien murmured into his ear, before his mouth captured Cinn’s and his hand closed over the length of Cinn’s cock, and moved .

Cinn cried out, his noise silenced by Julien’s mouth as he dove in once again, matching the slides of his tongue with firm strokes of his hand. His rhythm soon grew faster and faster—Cinn had seemingly bypassed Julien’s torturous teasing that he considered foreplay and Cinn considered cruel. It was a good thing too—Cinn already shivered all over with surging need.

When Julien abruptly stopped, pulling away slightly, a small, desperate sound escaped Cinn.

“Do you trust me?”

Julien’s usual question.

“Not in the slightest.”

Cinn’s go-to response.

A chuckle was Julien’s only reply, as he shuffled down his corduroy trousers, then guided Cinn’s body to the edge of the seat.

As if in a trance, Cinn felt himself slide to the floor, where cool tiles awaited. A whimper escaped him as he did so, his rock-hard dick agreeing with him that this was a poor turn of events. Though he knew in the depths of his mind, after plenty of first-hand experiences, that following Julien’s instructions led to greater rewards.

And it had to be said that he never minded having Julien’s rather lovely dick in his mouth, so he happily crawled over to settle between Julien’s knees, his eager fingers tracing the firm length of him. Julien watched his every move with an intensity that only stoked the flames of Cinn’s desire.

Cinn had barely touched Julien, yet the tip of him was already slick in anticipation. He offered Julien his best devilish smirk before lowering his head to trail kisses down his shaft.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Julien gasped, his voice barely audible.

Cinn looked up, meeting Julien’s feverish gaze through those damn glasses, the tension between them palpable, a tangible force that filled the room with an almost electric charge. “Just giving you a taste of your own medicine, love,” he said, before lowering his head once again .

One hand cupped Julien’s balls with a gentle caress, eliciting a small gasp from Julien’s lips. Then, when Cinn’s mouth finally reached the tip of Julien’s cock, the soft moan escaping his own lips mingled with the sounds of the jazz music filtering up from below. Slow licks and the pulsing heat of his breath melded with each note, rising and falling with the saxophone’s melody. He ran his tongue up and down Julien’s cock, feeling it stiffen further beneath his touch, while his hand softly squeezed the base.

Julien’s soft gasps descended into impatient whines as Cinn’s gaze raked over him. His face was a canvas of sheer ecstasy: head tipped back, eyes half-closed. “Cinn…” he pleaded, the single soft word a desperate prayer. Julien’s fingers tangled deep into Cinn’s hair, pressing him closer, urging him to continue. Cinn obliged, his other hand massaging Julien’s inner thighs, feeling the muscles tense and release under his touch.

He took Julien deeper, his lips stretching around his hard length, the velvety skin sliding against his tongue. He relished Julien’s groans, the muttered curses, the grip on his hair tightening with each bob of his head. The jazz music below seemed to pulse in time with his ministrations, each note echoing the rhythm of his mouth. Julien’s body tensed under him, his thighs quivering as Cinn’s tongue traced the veins of his cock. Julien’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, betraying the pleasure he was trying so desperately to contain. But Cinn wasn’t interested in containment. He wanted to unravel Julien, to feel him lose control under his touch. He wanted to hear his name on Julien’s lips again, and again, and again.

Julien’s hand pressed against Cinn’s cheek, the movement causing a surge of heat to race through him. “Cinn.” Julien’s voice was so gravelly it was like he was the one whose throat had just been thoroughly abused. “I’m going to come in your mouth. Do not swallow.”

The command had an edge of threat to it, like Cinn would be sorry if he did. Julien’s gaze brimmed with desire and anticipation. The sight of him, lost in the throes of pleasure Cinn created, was almost enough to send him over the edge himself, his dick throbbing with jealousy.

Then, with a final low growl, Julien came. Cinn’s lips tightened around him, feeling the warm rush of cum fill his mouth. There was so much he had to fight back the urge to swallow. Instead, he savoured the taste of Julien, the feel of him still pulsing in his mouth as he wrung every last drop out of him.

Finally, Julien’s grip on his hair loosened, and he pulled away. Cinn breathed in through his nose, chest heaving, dick aching. Julien looked down at him, his face a mask of pure satisfaction.

“Open,” he instructed, on a breath. Cinn complied, opening his mouth wide, allowing Julien to see his prize.

Julien held out his palm, and Cinn stared at it in a sex-fuelled daze for far too long before he realised Julien wanted him to spit into it. He did so, the viscous fluid pooling in Julien’s hand.

Julien’s gaze darkened, his eyes fixated on Cinn’s mouth. Reaching out, he traced the curve of Cinn’s jaw, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Good,” he murmured, the praise going straight to Cinn’s dick. “So good. On the sofa, now.”

Cinn didn’t need to be told twice. With never-seen-before swiftness, he was up, his jeans falling to his ankles as he climbed onto the plush velvet sofa. Julien slid on top of him, his weight pressing Cinn into the soft cushions. His lips found that spot again, on Cinn’s neck, nipping it to the point of pain before soothing the skin with the flat expanse of his tongue. Cinn groaned, baring his neck to give Julien better access. The wet heat of Julien’s cum-slick fingers traced circles around his entrance. He squirmed, desperate for more, heart lurching at the thought of Julien dragging this out in retaliation of Cinn’s earlier teasing.

Not this time—Julien’s finger slipped straight in, the sudden intrusion eliciting a sharp gasp from Cinn. His body tensed. Julien’s tongue immediately sought Cinn’s mouth, giving him slow, encouraging kisses that pleasantly distracted him from the sharp sting.

As Cinn relaxed, Julien began to slide his finger inside him, bringing it nearly all the way out before gliding it home again. Groaning, Cinn’s body arched off the sofa as Julien found his prostate, the sweet pressure of his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through him.

If the jazz was still playing, Cinn couldn’t hear it, so lost in the blissful sensations Julien was eliciting. Cinn’s moans were now the only music, his body writhing beneath Julien’s as he increased his pace. He could feel his orgasm building, his body trembling on the edge.

When Julien added another, Cinn’s arm flew out, connecting with the glass of one of their cocktails they’d ignored in favour of actual cock. The smash of glass against the floor reminded him painfully of where they were.

“Julien,” Cinn hissed. “What if someone comes up?”

“If someone comes up? Then they’ll see my fingers fucking you while your eyes beg me for more,” Julien replied, voice low, rough. “They’ll see you losing yourself in the pleasure that only I can give you, your body trembling for me and only me. They’ll see every roll of your hips against me. They’ll fucking wish they were me, feeling your tightness and knowing it’s mine. But don’t worry, mon amour, ” he hissed, aggressive, possessive. “They’ll never get to touch you like this.”

Cinn’s breath hitched in his throat as Julien spoke, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel his cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and desire. He couldn’t deny it—the thrill of being caught had become slightly more appealing.

Julien leaned down, his lips brushing against Cinn’s ear. “Would you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against Cinn’s skin. “Would you like them to see you like this, to know that you’re mine?”

Cinn whimpered in response, entirely incapable of speech .

A low, dangerous chuckle. “I thought so.” Julien’s fingers still moved inside Cinn, making it extremely difficult to think about anything else.

“Now, you’re going to come for me so I can take you back to the hotel room and fuck you properly.”

Cinn’s body responded to Julien’s words, wanting desperately to please him, warmth pooling at the base of his spine.

“Touch me,” Cinn finally got out between ragged gasps, his urgent plea hanging in the air.

For a moment, Julien paused, his fingers still buried deep within Cinn, the pressure on his prostate keeping him at the edge of a precipice he longed to fall from.

Cinn braced for Julien’s refusal, for him to insist he come untouched.

Then, fingers still curled inside him, Julien slid down the sofa, his mouth engulfing the entirety of Cinn’s length in one swift movement that caused hot tears of relief. Cinn watched through hooded eyes as Julien took him in, his lips stretching around his dick. The sight, the feel, was too much. His hips bucked upwards, unable to control the desperate urge to thrust. Julien’s hot mouth, the swirl of his tongue, consumed him, and the tightly coiled spring of his orgasm exploded, every single nerve in his body igniting as he came with a roaring cry, Julien popping him out of his mouth, and his cum painting his stomach in hot streaks.

Julien didn’t stop, his finger continuing its relentless assault on his prostate, drawing out his orgasm until he was nothing but a quivering, panting mess beneath him.

A sudden, unexpected sound from near the door.

The music had stopped. When had the music stopped?

Cinn jolted unpleasantly back to reality.

A reality where they were horrifically naked on the sofa of a jazz bar, covered in cum. Would this crime carry a longer prison sentence than breaking into the Eiffel Tower ?

Cinn dragged himself up, peeking his head over the sofa. A figure in a navy blue uniform stood in the doorway, clutching a dishcloth to their chest. “This is not… a room!” she gasped, voice a mixture of flustered horror and confusion. “Get out!” Her eyes took in more of the scene before she sharply pivoted to thunder down the stairs.

They both jumped to their feet, to a floor sticky with spilled cocktail. Julien was visibly shaking with laughter as he pulled up his trousers.

“This isn’t funny,” snapped Cinn. Visions of the bar staff watching them do a very unique walk of shame had him groaning softly. “We’re going to have to walk right by them all now. I told you—”

Julien clamped a hand over Cinn’s mouth, his eyes sparkling with delight. “You worry too much. Come.”

He led Cinn to a window, the cool night air hitting them as they lifted it open. A back alley greeted them, a fair drop down.

“This isn’t a movie!” Cinn cried, visualising his bones shattering as they hit the concrete.

“How much longer do I have to wait until you blindly trust me?” Julien asked. “Because this is getting old.”

Cinn shoved Julien’s chest, finding his hands captured by Julien’s. He dragged Cinn further towards the window. “I’ll break our fall,” he said, kissing Cinn’s temple. “I promise.”

“ What?! ”

“I can hear them coming,” Julien warned, nodding towards the staircase.

The thought of dealing with a mob of angry staff pushed Cinn over the edge. Quite literally, as he and Julien jumped from the window into the night.

Firm fingers clutched his forearm. Cinn prepared for the sudden drop, bringing his legs up into a crouch. However, he didn’t plummet to his death as expected—with a loud roar, the air below them came alive, bursting upwards and slowing their descent. The wind cushioned their fall to the point Cinn was a leaf gliding down to earth on a gentle breeze.

I’m flying. Sort of. The closest he’d ever get, and he had to admit—it was pretty incredible.

Regardless, Cinn’s heart still pounded as his feet hit the ground, fear coursing through his veins as he continued to grip Julien’s forearm.

Julien chuckled to himself in a way that was about to get him punched before sliding his hand into Cinn’s, tugging him into a sprint. Cinn could barely think straight, barely understood where they were going until the hotel came back into view, just around the corner, as Julien had promised.

The journey to their room was a daze, Cinn’s mind scrambled from the several back-to-back adrenaline rushes he’d just endured. Before he knew it, the pair of them were in their room’s extravagant bathroom, Julien had turned on the tap for the tub, and then returned his attention back to Cinn in an instant, to share frantic kisses as intense as their escape had been.

Cinn stumbled back, his legs hitting an upholstered chair, of all things to have in a bathroom.

Julien cupped Cinn’s cheek, one hand sliding around his waist. “If you’re not entirely naked by the time I get back in ten seconds, I’m going to make you beg for hours,” he whispered into his ear. “You know I mean that.”

Then he was gone, disappearing out of the bathroom like the rising steam from the tub.

Cinn wasted a full two seconds staring after him, before shedding every inch of clothing like his life depended on it—which it very much did, because the thought of Julien’s threat…

When Julien returned, he’d somehow managed to unclothe himself en route from his mission to grab the small bottle of lube. Impressive .

Julien stared at Cinn as he crossed the bathroom, eyes dark with desire as they roamed over his body.

The light in the bathroom was too bright, and although Cinn had been naked more times than he could count now, he’d rather not feel quite so exposed. He flicked the light switch off, leaving them with light seeping in from the main room.

“But I like seeing you,” Julien whispered, running his hand over the Fleetwood Mac lyric inked across one rib. “Let me light the candles, at least.”

Reaching into the pocket of Cinn’s crumpled jeans, Julien retrieved his lighter. But instead of using it to light the candles, he used the small flame to do his crazy mote channelling shit, weaving small bursts of fire through the air to light the tea lights. The flames flickered, casting shadows across the bathroom that danced like fleeting moments.

“Show-off.”

“Admit it. You’re a little bit impressed.”

“Never.”

Julien tutted, locking firm fingers around Cinn’s chin. “I’d be careful with that attitude if I were you,” he warned.

“Yeah?” Cinn’s arms slid around Julien’s waist before he pulled him flush against his body. Both their dicks were already semi-erect again. Cinn wrapped a hand around Julien’s length. “Sometimes you forget which one of us is the strongest here.” He dug his fingers into the flesh around Julien’s hip.

Julien’s eyes narrowed, a smile playing at his lips. “You think so, mon amour ? We’ll see who’s the strongest after I take you apart.” His fingers traced the sensitive curve of Cinn’s hip. “Piece by piece.”

Then Julien’s hands were on him, spinning him around and pressing his front against the cold, tiled wall. Julien’s body moulded against his back, a solid, unyielding heat. His hand slid down the length of Cinn’s spine, then the press of Julien against him vanished, Julien falling to the floor, pulling his thighs apart.

Julien bit into the flesh of his ass.

“Ouch!”

His tormentor laughed against his skin, lightly slapping the other cheek. Then Julien trailed his mouth lower, licking a soft path all the way to circle around Cinn’s entrance.

Cinn rolled his forehead against the tiles, groaning softly. Julien spread his cheeks wide before flicking his warm, wet tongue against him, and Cinn’s knees grew weak.

The click of the lube opening, then Julien climbed to his feet, pressing his body against Cinn’s again. He nuzzled into his hair. “Are you okay to go again? If I’m gentle?”

You, gentle? “It’s all good.” Cinn tipped his head back to rest it on Julien’s shoulder. “Go on.”

Cinn gasped as Julien drenched his crack in the cool liquid. He slowly slipped a finger inside, the stretch stinging slightly.

With far more tenderness than in the jazz club, Julien slid his finger all the way in, then out.

In, out.

In, out.

Cinn shut his eyes, leaned his whole weight against Julien. Somehow, these new slow, soft strokes were more intense, his legs soon trembling.

Another finger, stretching him as it twisted and curled, then Julien whispered promises into the crook of his neck. “Hot tub.” On a heavy breath, he removed his fingers to take Cinn’s arm, guiding him over to the bubbling water.

The water enveloped them, warm and inviting. Cinn sighed, any inch of tension melting away as he floated for a moment, enjoying the sensation. Then, he faced the side of the tub, the marble cool against his skin. Julien’s hands mapped Cinn’s body as if he was discovering every inch of it for the first time. Cinn moaned, his head tipping forward to rest on the edge of the hot tub as Julien’s lips found the nape of his neck.

“Turn around,” Julien murmured. “I’m missing your face.”

Cinn pretended to protest, as if it were a great hardship. He spun in the water, his legs floating upwards to find Julien’s thighs, locking around them.

Julien smiled at him. Cinn smiled back.

“Relax for me.” Julien’s finger breached Cinn for a few moments more, before it was replaced by the tip of his cock nudging against him. “Okay?”

Nodding against Julien’s shoulder, Cinn tightened his legs around him. Julien’s length pushed inside, inch by heavenly inch, deep and all-consuming, stretching him in the most exquisite way. Cinn’s back arched, a low moan leaving his lips as Julien’s hands gripped his hips, guiding him downwards.

Julien’s fingertips dug in tightly, and Cinn gasped. The hot water lapped gently at their skin, bubbles popping and fizzing around them.

Cinn’s arms came around Julien’s shoulders, his body entirely supported by him now. His eyes fluttered shut.

Julien pulled out before sliding home again, both of them groaning in unison.

And holy fuck, why had he never had hot-tub sex before? The way their bodies glided together, the slickness, the glorious heat…

Julien’s thrusts were slow, measured, as if he was savouring the feeling. Cinn’s legs tightened around his waist, urging him deeper, as his own dick became harder, aching between their bodies.

It was at once everything, yet not enough.

Cinn rocked himself, using Julien’s shoulders as leverage. “Julien…” Rough with desire, his voice cracked.

“You want more?” Julien asked, his voice a dangerous whisper .

Cinn’s mind a haze of pleasure, he could only nod and whimper in agreement.

Julien’s pace increased, filling Cinn over and over with sure, urgent thrusts. He smashed his tongue violently against Cinn’s lips, forcing them open, then fucked his mouth in time with his cock.

Jolts of pleasure zipped through Cinn’s own dick, the warmth of the hot tub only intensifying the delight, and the familiar pressure coiled in the base of Cinn’s stomach.

Julien pulled away, inhaling a gasp of air. “You’re so tight. So fucking beautiful like this.”

With one hand resting against the edge of the tub, Julien grasped Cinn’s hair with the other, then pulled his head back.

Julien wanted to see Cinn’s eyes. He always wanted to see them as he came.

Cinn almost couldn’t meet Julien’s gaze, the sensations burning through him overwhelming him. He forced himself to stare into Julien’s dark eyes, pupils blown wide, flickers of candle flame reflected in their depths.

That look. The look of wanting in Julien’s eyes.

Like Cinn was the only man in the world.

It made him feel high, more intoxicated than any drug could offer.

Julien reached for his hand, entwining their fingers.

Two more slides against his prostate, two more incredible flashes of pleasure. Beautiful wet friction against his cock.

He came again, the full-body orgasm wrecking him in waves, the immense pleasure threatening to drown him. Julien held him securely as he thrashed around in the water, continuing to thrust inside him as Cinn screamed his name, and dug his fingernails into the flesh of his shoulder blades.

The world blurred, Cinn’s brain short-circuiting. He welcomed the blissful abyss. There was only Cinn, Julien, and the warm water cocooning them in this rapturous bubble. The room darkened, like the candles had been extinguished.

Cinn almost closed his eyes, fighting the instinct at the last second to continue the eye contact that had him in a chokehold.

He was soon rewarded by a rush of warmth filling him as Julien’s dick pulsed deeply inside of him. But he didn’t stop, Julien fucking and kissing him through his orgasm, extending Cinn’s own as his walls seized around Julien.

Julien cried out softly, squeezing Cinn tightly to him as he continued to pound into him, albeit slower, more erratic.

In the end, Cinn had no choice but to beg Julien to stop, his own voice sounding distant, tinny. Julien slid out, continuing to hold him, running wet fingers through Cinn’s tangled hair.

Julien murmured sweet French into his ear, but Cinn was unable to articulate any reply—he trembled head to toe with relentless aftershocks, consumed by the rush of oxytocin.

For a while, they simply floated together, Julien against the side, Cinn’s back pressed into Julien’s chest. Wandering hands continued to explore soft skin under the water.

Exhaustion hit him. Running around Paris all night and two mind-blowing sex sessions would do that to a guy.

Julien pressed a kiss to Cinn’s shoulder blade, where his spiderweb tattoo—his prison tattoo—was inked across his skin. “I think this is my favourite one,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, the ink work is shocking, but... it’s messy but proudly so. Like beautiful chaos. It kind of reminds me of that night we met.”

Still in his blissed-out state, Cinn found himself being guided out of the tub, towel dried and helped to dress in his new pyjamas before being led to the king-sized bed .

They slid back together like puzzle pieces under the sheets. Julien burrowed his back into Cinn, reaching for Cinn’s arm to pull it across him before pressing their threaded fingers against his chest.

Why on earth then, he’d never know, but a sudden thought occurred to Cinn. “Fuck! Our coats are still in the cloakroom!”

Julien burst out laughing. “I’ll go get it all back tomorrow before the church. You can wait outside.”

The staff had probably binned or stolen their stuff in revenge, knowing their luck.

It wasn’t until Julien was snoring in his arms, blissfully warm, blissfully his to hold , that Cinn remembered his earlier mission, the words interrupted by the arrival of the Eiffel Tower security.

“I’m pretty sure that I love you,” he whispered into Julien’s hair, still damp from the water. “Even though you’re a fucking nightmare.”

There. He’d said it.

It felt good to say it aloud, the weight of the words against his chest partially lifted, at least.

Hopefully, it sweetened Julien’s dreams.

For a while, Cinn lay there, on the precipice of sleep, his thoughts drifting like leaves on a slow river, enjoying the warmth of Julien’s body against his, and the rhythm of their combined breaths.

It was pitch black, and Cinn couldn’t breathe.

A hand clamped tightly over his mouth, silencing any attempt to scream. Abruptly, a cloth was stuffed into Cinn’s mouth, its rough texture smothering him as a strange powder filled his nostrils. He had no choice but to inhale, his panic only intensifying as the substance invaded his lungs. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. Fear surged through him as he was yanked from the bed, the sudden loss of Julien’s warmth replaced by cold dread.

His limbs flailed in a desperate struggle, kicking with all his strength in any direction he could.

Then they slowed.

Seized up, locked solid.

The sensation was horrific—paralysed from head to toe, a cold numbness spreading through his body being dragged across the floor. Unable to cry out, as his throat was immobilised.

Though, this wasn’t a wholly new experience.

He’d been through all this before.

In that thicket of woods, after his fight with Julien, when Darcy blew that white powder in his face…

Frostbite .

These moteblessed assholes had drugged him.

The vague dark shape of the sofa in the lounge area receded from view.

A cold draught swept across the room. The glass doors of the balcony were open.

His fate was inevitable.

All he could do was stare at his lifeless legs as they slid across the cold floor, to their doom.