Alaric’s hand moved with a possessive rhythm, and Julian found himself leaning into the touch, his initial fear dissolving into a desperate, needy sort of longing.

The Duke placed him down on the seat, and watched him from above, his thumb brushing his lower lip. Julian’s eyes were hazy, his lips swollen and red, his hair a mess of dark silk against the seat.

He placed his hand on the Duke’s chest, as if trying to keep him away so he could catch his breath.

Julian’s breath came in short, jagged hitches. He felt Alaric’s heart thudding against his palm, a wild drumming that signaled the Duke was just as affected, just as lost in this storm as he looked at him.

Alaric’s gaze was scorched with a mix of reverence and raw hunger. He reached up, smoothing a stray lock of hair from Julian’s forehead with a trembling hand.

"Right now, Julian, I feel I might scare you away." He said, and Julian parted his lips, feeling a warm tingle in his chest.

"What could you possibly do to scare me away, Lucien?" He asked, reaching up his trembling hand, and then brushed the Duke’s jaw. The Duke held his hand, pinning it to his face as if he would lose Julian the moment his hand slipped.

Alaric didn’t answer immediately. He leaned into Julian’s palm even more, closing his eyes for a fleeting second, looking less like a Grand Duke and more like a man who had finally found his North Star in a storm.

"I could do many things," Alaric whispered, his voice vibrating against Julian’s skin. "I could lock you in the highest tower of the North. I could burn every bridge that leads back to the capital so you’d never have a reason to leave. I could hold you so tightly that you forget your purpose in this world. You shall not think of anyone but me."

He opened his eyes, and the blue depths were no longer glacial; they were a scorching, deep indigo.

"My love is not a gentle thing, Julian. It is a siege."

Julian felt a shiver that wasn’t born of fear, but of a profound, soul-deep recognition. He looked at the man above him—this powerful, terrifying, beautiful man—and realized that there was no escaping the fire burning in this man’s eyes.

"Then let it be a siege," Julian replied, his voice gaining a sudden, newfound strength. He let his other hand wander up to the Duke’s shoulder, pulling him back down until their noses brushed. "I’ve spent my life being very careful, very patient, Lucien. If you want to claim me, then claim me. I’m not as fragile as you think."

Alaric’s breath hitched. He let out a low, rough sound—part laugh, part groan—and captured Julian’s lips again, this time with a tenderness that was almost more overwhelming than the passion.

It was a promise, a seal on both their hearts.

The Duke moved his hand, stroking Julian’s dick more rigorously than before, aiming to drive him to the edge of his cliff and watch him reach his limit. He dripped precum over the duke’s hand, which caused an embarrassing squelching sound to echo in the carriage every time the Duke moved his hand.

"Lu-Lucien, I... I think I’m cumming."

"Then do it." The Duke huffed, capturing Julian’s lips again, and Julian gripped his coat roughly, feeling his body tense up as he reached his limit. "Cum, Julian. Show me how you look when you give in to your manly instincts."

Julian quivered,

"Don’t say embarrassing... Mmph... things like... ahh... that," He could barely make his words out, and the duke smirked.

Julian shut his eyes tight and spilled his thick semen over the Duke’s hand. The Duke watched Julian’s face, loving how his expression twisted in passion, how his body continuously jerked, and how his breathing became heavy.

"Are you fine?" Alaric asked, and Julian nodded, though he could not bring himself to look the Duke in the eye. His lips parted and let out the last of the tension through a swift breath.

What would happen now? Julian wondered. The Duke was probably as tensed and pent up, so he would also—

Clack, clack.

A knock on the carriage door jolted them both out of the moment, and Julian stiffened.

"Your Grace, we have arrived at the Estate."

Ah. Julian could feel the fire burning from the Duke. He must hate that they were interrupted at the moment things were getting heated.

The sudden intrusion of the outside world felt like a bucket of ice water over the sweltering heat inside the carriage. Alaric’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a primal, thwarted frustration as he looked at the door, then back at Julian, who was currently a mess of tangled silk and flushed skin.

"Ignore them," Alaric rasped, his hand still damp, his voice thick with the desire he hadn’t yet satisfied.

"Lucien, we’re at the front door," Julian whispered frantically, fumbling to straighten his trousers and tuck in his shirt with trembling fingers. "The knights...they’re waiting. They... will hear me."

Alaric let out a low growl, but he realized the moment was lost. With a heavy exhale, he used a silk handkerchief to clean his hand, his gaze never leaving Julian’s swollen lips.

"This isn’t over," Alaric promised, his voice a lethal vow. "We are merely moving to a more comfortable room."

Julian gave a nervous laugh. Well, whatever he wanted. At least a room would be more comfortable and less awkward than the carriage.

Without waiting for Julian to recover his footing, Alaric swept him up. Julian immediately buried his face against the Duke’s chest, trying to hide his flushed gaze from the rest of the world.

He felt exposed, felt rather... uncouth. What would happen to his reputable reputation as a tutor if people saw him like this?

As the carriage door opened, the cool night air hit them, but it did nothing to cool Julian’s burning cheeks.

He didn’t even know it had already gotten so late.

Just when the Duke was occupied with the thoughts of messing Julian up the moment they walked in, one of the knights walked up to him from inside, bowing deeply.

"Your Grace," the Knight said, "The high priest from the Sanctum is still here. He insists on speaking with you regarding the ’miraculous’ nature of Master Julian’s recovery before he returns to the capital."

"Tell him to wait," Alaric snapped, not even breaking his stride as he marched toward the grand entrance. "Or tell him to leave. I don’t care which. Just make sure he doesn’t meet our ’guest’."

"But Your Grace—"

"Prid!" Alaric commanded.

The knight, who was giving the report, quickly bowed his head.

"Your Grace?"

"The Priest stays in the hall. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t ’investigate,’ and he doesn’t breathe without my permission," Alaric snapped. "If he tries to come to me, detain him."