Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I will be,” Rohan murmured, a humorless smile twisting his face as he entered his office and locked the door.
He walked to the mini-bar that he kept mostly for his visitors.
Opening the bottle of Shibian vodka, Rohan took a big gulp, letting the drink burn his throat.
Tomorrow, he would be at his best.
Tomorrow, he would be the governor his people needed, ready to do his duty.
But tonight, he was just a man.
Chapter 27
Prince-Consort Mehmer leaned against the doorway, watching his husband kiss his daughter good night.
In all the years of their marriage, he’d never seen Jamil look so… soft. Granted, the child was ridiculously cute, but still. Jamil held the child like she was the most precious thing in the world, inhaling her scent deeply, as if she was something more than a tiny person that could only eat, shit, and sleep.
“She looks like you,” Mehmer said.
Jamil’s back stiffened. Kissing Tmynne on the forehead, he put her into her crib and murmured something to her nurse.
“Yes, everyone says so,” Jamil said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He all but pushed Mehmer out of the child’s room and closed the door.
Mehmer raised his eyebrows. Not for the first time, he got the impression that Jamil didn’t like it when he got close to his daughter—which was pretty damn weird, considering that Mehmer had been magnanimous enough to tell his husband that he would raise the kid as his own. He had told Jamil that he understood that Jamil had needed an heir and had no choice but to use another man’s genetic material. He had expected… not gratitude, exactly, but… something other than this strange possessiveness.
One might think Jamil didn’t want him to be her father.
It wasn’t the only thing strange about Jamil’s behavior.
He seemed oddly distant. Even now, Jamil was striding away toward his bedroom as if he hoped Mehmer wouldn’t be able to keep up with him. It was starting to piss him off, to be honest. Mehmer glared at Jamil’s back. Against his will, his gaze traveled down, to Jamil’s round, perfect ass, and his cock twitched as he remembered digging his fingers into it as Jamil fucked him that last night before his… death.
Dammit, he was so horny. He had the most handsome man on the planet as a husband and he was sexually frustrated as hell, because said husband had shown no interest whatsoever in pounding him into the mattress. Hell, Jamil hadn’t even kissed him for real since his return, treating him as if he had a life-threatening injury. Mehmer had tried to be patient, he really had—he knew how uptight Jamil could be—but a man had limits, okay?
Mehmer followed Jamil into his bedroom, determined to get to the bottom of it—and hopefully finally get fucked.
“Are you avoiding me, Jamil?”
Jamil’s shoulders tensed up. Slowly, he turned around. Mehmer licked his lips, taking in his strikingly handsome features. Jamil somehow managed to be gorgeous without looking feminine, his firm jaw contrasting with his plush, sensual lips and wavy brown locks.
“Of course not,” Jamil said, averting his gaze.
Mehmer scoffed. “Right. I was declared completely healthy three days ago, but you still haven’t come to my bedroom.”
Jamil’s jaw clenched slightly. He tugged his cravat off. “I have been swarmed with work.”
Mehmer rolled his eyes. “You always have been. It never stopped you from fucking me.”
The old Jamil would have laughed and told him to cease using such vulgar language.
This Jamil just pursed his lips, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. He still wouldn’t look at Mehmer.
Mehmer sighed. Jamil had always had a bit of a stick in his ass; it was probably natural that he’d gotten even more uptight without him.
“Is this about our lack of bond?” Mehmer said. “I mean, I get that it’s a little awkward now—we feel a bit like strangers, right? But the awkwardness won’t go away if we don’t make an effort to move past it.” And by ‘move past it’ he obviously meant fucking the awkwardness out of Mehmer’s ass.
“It probably doesn’t help that our bond is gone,” Jamil said, turning away to unbutton his jacket. “A bond makes intimacy easier.”
Mehmer’s eyebrows furrowed. If Jamil thought about sex in terms of easier, there really was something wrong. They’d always had a good sex life. Granted, Jamil had never seemed as enthusiastic about sex as he was, but he’d never denied him a thorough fucking when Mehmer was in the mood.
“What’s wrong, Jamil?” Mehmer said with a frown, his horniness forgotten.
Jamil sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I have something to tell you.” He was silent for a while, his back still to Mehmer. “When you were presumed dead, I had—I had a… liaison with another man.”
Mehmer blinked. He would have been less surprised if Jamil told him he was rejecting his crown prince duties. He felt a little hurt too, though he knew it was irrational. He had been presumed dead. He could hardly expect his widower to be a monk for the rest of his life.