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He still didn’t know why he had.
Liar. You know exactly why you’re here.
Rohan ignored the thought, watching the sleeping child.
He should go. He had been incredibly lucky to get into the palace without getting caught. Security was tighter than it had been last time. Had he not lived in this palace for a while, he wouldn’t have managed to get inside even with his gift for compulsion. He shouldn’t have come. He should have gone with Warrehn and Sirri. Now that he’d seen the child and satisfied his curiosity, he was going to leave.
Right. Who are you trying to fool here?
Rohan clenched his jaw. He looked at the door. He should leave now if he wanted to get to the forest by midnight.
He didn’t move.
At the back of his mind, the bond pulsed hungrily, strengthening by the moment.
Rohan watched the door, his pulse skyrocketing and his heart starting to pound.
He knew who was approaching the room. He knew it as well as his own name. He should get the hell out of here.
He didn’t move.
He waited.
The door slid open.
Jamil strode inside, locked the door, and said, looking at some point to Rohan’s right. “What are you doing here?”
Rohan drank him in.
Jamil looked awful. He wasn’t as thin as he’d been eleven standard months ago, but he looked pale and exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes.
He was still the best thing he’d ever seen.
Jamil cleared his throat a little, not meeting his gaze. “I repeat: what are you doing here? If you came to take Tmynne away—”
“If you really thought that, you would have called security already.” Rohan took a step forward, and then another one.
Jamil licked his lips, getting tenser by the moment. “You still didn’t say why you’re here.”
“I’m on Calluvia with a few of my friends. We have a lead that might—”
“I’m sure you’re on the planet on some very important rebel business,” Jamil said, his lips twisting. “What are you doing here?”
Rohan said nothing.
He had no explanation.
Silence fell over the room, the air thick with electric tension, like the atmosphere before a storm. Rohan felt himself move forward until he stopped in front of Jamil.
Jamil still wouldn’t look at him.
“Look at me,” Rohan said.
Jamil let out a chuckle. “I’d rather not. I seem to recall it being a bad idea, and I doubt anything has changed.”
He was right.
Of course he was right.
Rohan still wanted. It was selfish, reckless, and irresponsible, but he wanted to feel those beautiful green eyes on him, looking at him as if he were the only thing Jamil could see. It was an asshole thing to want, considering that he couldn’t stay, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Jamil,” Rohan said, his voice involuntarily dropping to an intimate murmur. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
“Don’t,” Jamil said, his tight voice wavering. “Don’t do that. I’m finally fine—I don’t need this—why are you even here?”
“I wanted to see our daughter,” Rohan lied.
He didn’t miss the way Jamil’s breathing hitched at the words our daughter. He could feel through their bond that something about it appealed to Jamil. Something about it appealed to Rohan, too. Fucking hell, he really needed to leave.
“You saw her,” Jamil said, still avoiding his gaze. “Now leave.”
Rohan lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over the dark circles under Jamil’s eyes. His skin was so very soft and smooth. “You look awful, darling.”
Jamil let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks. Sleepless nights with a teething baby would do it to you.”
“You should take care of yourself, too,” Rohan said, cradling Jamil’s cheek gently. Now that he started touching him, he found that he couldn’t stop. It was addictive as hell.
“Don’t,” Jamil said breathlessly, his eyes slipping shut as Rohan’s hand stroked his cheek with his knuckles. His long, dark eyelashes attempted to lift but lowered again as a weak moan slipped out of his mouth. He was trembling, fine tremors running down his frame, his plush lips parted.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Rohan heard himself say. His voice sounded off—rough and intoxicated. He felt intoxicated, his thoughts muddled with that twisted, strange pull he always felt toward Jamil, just more intense. A year apart probably didn’t help.
“I thought I looked awful,” Jamil said with a small laugh.
“You’re lovely even when you look awful, sweetheart,” Rohan brushed his mouth against Jamil’s cheek. Breathed in. Fuck, if he could bottle up his scent, he would. “You do look very pale and sleep-deprived. You should take better care of yourself.” Part of him felt incredulous of the stuff coming out of his mouth. Not that he was lying, but he generally wasn’t one for all this protective, gentle shit. He didn’t behave like this even with his girlfriends. In fact, his last girlfriend accused him of being an insensitive asshole who wouldn’t recognize tenderness if it hit him in the face.
“I’m fine,” Jamil murmured, rubbing his cheek against Rohan’s mouth. “Stop. I can’t think.”
I can’t, either.
Rohan ran his greedy fingers through Jamil’s soft hair, massaging his scalp gently and watching Jamil’s lips part in bliss.
“I could stare at you all day,” Rohan said roughly, dropping another kiss to Jamil’s brow. To his nose. To his left cheek, and then to his right. To the corner of his lips.
A whine left Jamil’s mouth.
Jamil’s hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders, sliding up, to Rohan’s neck, and pulling him closer. Their mouths bumped together, all teeth and no finesse. It didn’t matter. Rohan wanted in. He wanted to fuse them together so that there was no space between them, put himself inside Jamil in every possible way.
As if hearing his thoughts—which was likely, since they were already sharing a shallow merge—Jamil parted his lips and allowed Rohan to slip his tongue inside. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a need, a burning need for closeness neither of them could satisfy. They were moaning into each other’s mouths, tongues moving together, teeth biting, lips sucking. It still wasn’t enough.
