"Only when you make me wait," Dean replied, spreading his legs invitingly.
Arion shed his clothes with the slowness of a man aware of the hungry gaze of his mate. His dark shirt was opened first, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the defined muscles of his abdomen. Each button was a slow unveiling of the body Dean knew so well but still craved with an intensity that bordered on violence.
"Are you trying to kill me?" Dean’s voice was rough, his knuckles white where he gripped the sheets.
Arion’s mouth curved into that faint, infuriating smile. "Death is rarely this satisfying, Dean."
Dean was strongly considering tackling the alpha and straddling him, wiping that controlled expression off his face with a hard kiss and a demanding roll of his hips. The thought was a vivid image in his mind: pinning Arion to the mattress, the collar a cool weight against his own throat as he took his pleasure.
Then Arion’s trousers followed, pooling at his feet with a soft whisper of fabric. He stood there, his arousal thick and heavy against his thigh. His gold eyes never left Dean’s as he moved toward the bed.
Dean’s heart hammered against his ribs. He tilted his head back, lips parting in anticipation. His sweet mate was coming to kiss him, to finally end this delicious torture. He closed his eyes, ready for the press of Arion’s mouth against his.
The kiss never came.
Instead, he felt the shift of the mattress as Arion leaned over him. Dean’s eyes fluttered open in confusion. Arion wasn’t looking at his face; his gaze was fixed on the nightstand beside the bed. Arion reached past him and pulled open the top drawer with ease.
Dean followed his gaze. Inside, nestled in a velvet lining, were two small bottles of pills. The faint, almost imperceptible scent of suppressed cycles that had clung to them both for months suddenly made sense.
Dean blinked.
Then looked up at Arion. "You stopped in the middle of seducing me for medicine."
Arion’s mouth curved faintly. "I stopped in the middle of seducing you so I could continue seducing you responsibly."
Dean stared at him.
"That is the worst sentence I have ever found attractive."
"I am pleased."
Dean ignored him and pushed himself up on his elbows, the collar warm against his throat, the robe still slipping from one shoulder in a way Arion’s gaze noticed with almost painful restraint.
Arion lifted one bottle, then the other. "The physician sent them after we reported how long we had both suppressed."
Dean made a face. "That sounds like a lecture waiting to happen."
"It was."
"You already received it?"
"Yes."
"And did you listen?"
"I am holding the pills."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "That is not the same as emotional growth."
"It is medically adjacent."
Dean laughed despite himself, then reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. Arion handed him the first pill and watched him take it with a seriousness that made Dean feel absurdly treasured and mildly supervised.
Arion took his own pill without argument, which Dean found deeply attractive for reasons he refused to examine too closely. There was something unfair about a man that powerful obeying care so simply when it involved both of them.
The bottles clicked softly when Arion set them back in the drawer.
Dean looked at them, then at Arion. "How long?"
"Minutes." He moved his head and inhaled again. "What were we talking about you being in control today?"
Dean’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing. "I believe the topic was you being unbearably slow and me losing what little patience I have left."
Arion’s smile widened, a predator’s satisfaction. "I recall you looking like you wanted to tackle me. Am I wrong?"
"Don’t tempt me," Dean warned, though his body language was pure invitation. He shifted on the bed, the silk robe parting further to reveal the hard line of his cock. "Unless you want to find out how serious I am."
Arion moved closer, the mattress dipping with his weight. "I never doubt your seriousness, Dean. Only your follow-through."
Dean growled, a low sound of frustration that was quickly swallowed by a gasp as Arion’s fingers traced the edge of the collar. "You’re enjoying this far too much."
"Is that not the point?" Arion leaned in, his breath warm against Dean’s ear. "To enjoy each other?"
Dean’s response was lost as the first wave of heat washed over him. It started in his belly, a slow burn that quickly spread through his veins like wildfire. He could feel Arion’s own rut beginning, the air thickening with the intensity of their combined scents.
"Arion," Dean breathed, his hands reaching to grip his husband’s shoulders. "Now."
Arion’s control finally snapped. He captured Dean’s mouth in a bruising kiss, all the pent-up desire of the past months unleashed in a single moment of possession. Dean met him with equal fervor, his nails digging into Arion’s back as he arched toward him.
The kiss broke, both of them panting. Dean’s eyes were wild with need, his body trembling with the force of his heat. "I meant what I said," he managed, his voice rough with desire. "About being in control today."
Arion’s gold eyes darkened with understanding and anticipation. "Then take it, my love. Show me what you want."
Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He rolled them over with surprising strength, straddling Arion’s hips and pinning his wrists to the mattress. The collar shifted against his throat, a constant reminder of his submission even as he took control.
"Like this?" Dean asked, his voice a challenge as he sank onto Arion’s length.
Arion’s response was a guttural groan, his hips bucking up to meet Dean’s. "Exactly like that."
Dean set a rhythm that struck the right angle, his body moving with an instinctual grace that was both beautiful and devastating. Each descending stroke was a claim, each upward rise a tease that left Arion gasping for more.
"Dean," Arion managed, his hands flexing against Dean’s grip. "Gods, Dean."