Deven and the Dragon - Eliot Grayson Page 0,58

genuine and returned.

He was certain his own were genuine, and that Deven would be safe from the curse’s effects.

As to the other, he could hope and pray with all his might, but he knew in his heart of hearts that his gamble was likely to fail. Deven had been tight-lipped about his romantic history, but reading between the lines, there wasn’t much of one.

A sexual history, now — that was another matter. Andrei’s lectures on Fiora’s foolishness, over the past fortnight, had focused heavily on Deven’s reputation in Ridley. Andrei had gone to town and chatted up the locals himself, and had also enlisted Fred and several of the housemaids in the same endeavor. All had heard the same story: Deven was notorious, wildly popular with widows, young women with a taste for adventure, young men with a taste for other young men, and anyone else who wanted an uncomplicated night or two of pleasure. He was wildly unpopular with everyone related to anyone who fell into those categories.

All agreed that Deven failed to live up to the cliché of loving them and leaving them, since he skipped the ‘loving them’ part entirely. At least no one could claim Deven had lied to them, which was something, Fiora supposed.

Even if Fiora were much, much more attractive than he was, he could hardly expect to be the very first to touch Deven’s heart, presuming he had one. No, Fiora was sure he did, and a warm one, too. Whether or not it was the sort of heart that could offer Fiora the love he longed for and needed was another matter.

Still, Fiora couldn’t regret what he’d done. It had been an irresistible impulse, an overwhelming torrent of desire, carrying him away before he could even rationally make up his mind. But if he had been able to pause and think, he thought he would have done the same. Perhaps Deven would never love him, and Fiora would die.

He thought he could — and he smiled to himself over his own morbid joke — live with that. He could make his peace with it.

He might feel differently about it once the curse took hold and his death became something more than abstract. How could he know? But he’d rather risk his life and actually live it than go on forever, pining and miserable and lonely and alone.

And Deven might love him. If not now, then before the curse crept up and snuffed Fiora out. He might love him.

Fiora would cling to that hope, and wring every drop of happiness he could from his own recklessness in the meantime.

Chapter Sixteen

Deven dreamed that a chicken was sitting on his head. Feathers up his nose, and something choking him…he coughed, woke and flailed, and inhaled another mouthful of Fiora’s long hair.

Fiora stirred and mumbled, rubbing himself against Deven’s suddenly very interested cock. He brushed most of Fiora’s hair off his face and then slipped his hand in between their bodies so he could fondle Fiora’s ass.

Chicken dreams aside, this was truly the best way to wake up Deven could imagine.

Fiora pulled away with another sleepy mumble, and Deven froze, drawing his hand back slowly. Had he overstepped? When Deven woke the night before, after his post-coital nap, they’d gone for another round, rubbing off on one another in the intimate space created by a shared bed, smiling lips kissing lazily as they went.

And then Fiora had fallen asleep in Deven’s arms. It certainly felt like an open invitation.

“My ass is too thin,” Fiora muttered.

Ah. Self-consciousness the morning after — hardly the first time Deven had run into that. Deven swallowed a laugh, knowing it’d be taken entirely the wrong way. Fiora wouldn’t understand that the very idea of his ass being anything less than deliciously perfect was absurd.

Deven propped himself up so he could nuzzle into Fiora’s cheek. “I love your ass,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t change a thing.”

He curled his hand around Fiora’s hip, adjacent but not quite in the offending spot, hoping Fiora would relax enough for him to sneak up on it again.

Abruptly, Fiora gasped, coughed, and sat up straight, dislodging Deven completely.

“Fi? What’s wrong?” He couldn’t possibly have been dreaming about over-familiar chickens too.

“Nothing,” Fiora choked out, coughing again. And then, “Fi?”

“Sorry, it slipped out. You don’t sound like nothing’s wrong. Can dragons catch colds?” Deven sat up and tried to peer into Fiora’s face; he turned away, covering his mouth with his hand.

“I’m fine,” Fiora said through his fingers. “I’ll be