Dean's smile was pure, unadulterated sin. He didn't hesitate. He walked across the space between them in a few long, confident strides, his movements fluid and graceful. He was shameless in his nakedness, his body pulsing with a heat that was no longer pre-heat but active, burning desire. He accepted Arion's offered hand, his grip firm.
Arion yanked, and Dean came along, straddling his lap in one fluid motion. He rested his weight on Arion's thighs, the rough fabric of his trousers offering a delightful friction against his sensitive, slick skin. Dean's knees braced Arion's hips, and his hands reached up to rest on the prince's shoulders. He was taller, but here, seated on Arion's lap, Arion was the one who looked up at him and wielded the power. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through Dean's veins.
