Every thrust was a heavy slide of skin against skin that forced the breath from Elian's lungs. The thick head of the Prince's cock dragged against the tight ring of muscle, coated in the slippery mix of oil and Elian's own desperate wetness. The rough wood of the war table groaned beneath them, a rhythmic, creaking soundtrack to the wet collision of their bodies.
"Cassian," Elian gasped, his fingers digging into the hard, sweat-slicked muscle of the Prince's shoulders. He could feel every thick vein on Cassian's shaft mapping his insides, stretching him so wide he felt utterly consumed.
"Keep your eyes on me," Cassian commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent shockwaves straight down Elian's spine.
He withdrew almost entirely, the head of his cock dragging over Elian's entrance with a loud, wet shhhk that echoed in the quiet tent, before driving his hips forward to bury himself to the hilt in one seamless glide.
