[WARNING - Spice ahead 🙂]
Chris moved closer, the undone shirt sliding further down his arms as he stepped between Dax's knees. The king's breath deepened in anticipation, that massive frame going taut as a bowstring the second Chris dropped to a slow kneel in front of him.
The sight of Chris sinking to the floor hit Dax with such force that his head went back against the sofa for a moment. If he looked at Chris now, there wouldn't be any restraint left in him.
"Chris…" His voice sounded wrecked.
Chris looked up through his lashes, expression maddeningly composed.
"You're still not allowed to touch," he reminded him, tone soft but edged with control.
Dax's fingers curled into fists against the cushions. The gold rings he wore caught the low light, gleaming sharply as his hands tightened, knuckles paling, metal biting softly into skin as if the jewelry itself was straining with him.
