* * *
Every touch from Killian was an embodiment of pleasure and ecstasy.
The long kiss left him breathless and exhausted. His lungs ached for air, shrinking tight as if wrung dry.
Heat surged through his body in a whirlwind, unable even to escape as moans.
It all rushed straight to his cock.
His blood was boiling—was there a firework going off inside him?
He swore he could almost hear the pop!
“Ahng!”
From Killian’s hand, Nael’s cock erupted, spilling clear liquid like a fountain.
His once pink length darkened into an almost flushed red after a single release, trembling with each shallow thrust of his hips.
Killian held his limp, spent body steadily.
A drop splattered onto the canvas.
The painted Nael’s face bore the stain, black graphite smearing where water mixed in, spreading into darkened streaks.
The figure in the portrait gazed straight at him.
Clatter!
The neatly arranged paint bottles on the table tumbled to the floor with a clatter as Killian’s hand swept them away.
The delicate glass shattered on impact, spilling vibrant pigments in all directions, soaking into the floor.
The colors seeped into the carpet, creating yet another work of art.
Nael’s vision blurred as he was laid back onto the table.
Killian’s face was ablaze with feverish desire.
Gripping Nael’s thighs, he pulled them over his shoulders and, without hesitation, thrust himself inside.
There was a wet, squelching sound as Nael was vigorously pounded, his body trembling from the intense friction.
“Ahhng, y-yes! More, scratch me more… hngh.”
“You’ve learned to say such naughty things now. I thought you were just an innocent little thing.”
“I-It’s because of you, Master… ahh! You made me like this—ahng!”
Nael was completely out of his mind.
He kept soaring to the peak of pleasure, only to crash down again and again.
“Yes, Nael. It’s all because of me.”
Killian’s large palm pressed against Nael’s pale, slender neck.
His hand wrapped around it firmly, exuding an eerie atmosphere.
Nael didn’t even have time to react with suspicion.
“I’ll squeeze slowly. Trust me, Nael.”
The grip around his throat tightened little by little.
The sensation of his airway being constricted was terrifyingly vivid.
A primal fear gripped him—like he might die at any moment.
His eyes widened, round like a startled rabbit’s, as he looked up at Killian.
Just moments ago, he had thought Killian was completely satisfied with their lovemaking.
But this was so sudden.
And yet, down below…
It was like a burning rod was thrusting into him, scorching hot.
Killian’s arousal wasn’t just warm—it seared.
The heat intensified, his insides clenching tight, to the point where he could feel the rough, pulsing veins.
“Hngh…!”
Even the act of breathing felt forbidden—his throat tightened.
Nael’s legs, draped over Killian’s shoulders, tensed, his toes curling and splaying outward.
As his lower body stiffened, he clenched down hard around Killian’s cock.
A short, sharp gasp escaped Killian’s lips.
His gaze bore down on Nael, unwavering, without so much as a blink.
That look, staring down at his flushed face, made Nael cease his struggle.
Killian, too, was slightly flushed, a small smile playing on his lips.
Even his breath was controlled, dominated.
Nael gripped the edge of the table with all his strength.
He’s not going to kill me. I chose to believe that.
But even as he reassured himself, the lack of air was unbearable.
A sudden spurt of liquid shot from Nael’s cock, splattering against Killian’s abdomen.
Soon, it turned into a weak trickle.
It was only when Nael’s eyes were on the verge of rolling back that Killian finally loosened his grip, allowing air to rush in.
Cough, cough.
His throat convulsed, unable to handle the sudden intake of air, forcing out ragged coughs.
Even when he tried to stop, he couldn’t calm down easily.
“Hah… w-why… why are you…?”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you. You came even while being choked.”
He pressed a kiss to Nael’s startled eyes.
Brushing back the sweat-dampened strands of golden hair, he tried to push away the lingering fear clouding Nael’s face.
“I was scared. So much… Why do you do things like this?”
“Soon, you’ll be the one begging first.”
The red marks left on that pale skin were quite a sight.
He had merely straightened up to take in the sight of Nael, his gaze savoring every trace left behind, when Nael suddenly spread his arms wide.
“I—I held out well, so… please hold me.”
He admired the body, limp from exhaustion after their intimacy.
Between the loosely spread legs, a slow trickle of semen leaked out.
In the hazy, unfocused green eyes, Killian was reflected.
He gazed down at Nael’s body, sticky with his own release and the cloudy remnants of pleasure.
Killian brought out a fresh canvas and began to paint.
He didn’t want to miss a single detail of that sensual form, still radiating heat.
His hands moved quickly, capturing every trace of the lingering passion.
His fingers smudged with graphite as he sketched without gloves.
Lost in his work, he traced every curve, every detail of Nael’s beauty.
His neck bore faint red marks from being gripped too tightly, and his lips—kissed until swollen—parted slightly with shallow breaths.
The cock that had released over and over again now rested against Nael’s lower stomach, leaving a sticky mess.
Even the small dip of his navel had been filled.
“Don’t get up.”
Shards of glass were scattered beneath the table.
The floor was streaked with dozens of colors from spilled paint, and hidden among them, sharp slivers glinted dangerously.
Stepping on one could lead to a serious injury.
Nael’s soft skin would be far too easy to pierce.
Nael, who had barely attempted to lift himself, relaxed again.
As the heat of their passion faded, the chill crept in, sending a shiver through his body.
Goosebumps rose along his skin.
“…It’s cold, Master.”
Killian’s hands, which had been moving ceaselessly, came to an abrupt stop at Nael’s quiet plea.
The graphite slipped from his fingers, landing soundlessly on the carpet before being crushed under the heel of his shoe, crumbling into fine dust.
Without a word, Killian rose, wrapped Nael in his arms, and carried him out of the room.
“Must you leave?”
The traces of their passionate night had long been washed away in the bath.
Killian, who had been gazing out the window while nursing a drink, turned his head.
“I know you’re busy, Master, but if it’s not too much to ask… Could you stay, just a little longer?”
His body ached, his muscles were sore—he had no more thoughts of intimacy.
And yet… he hated the thought of Killian’s warmth fading away.
Whenever Killian was with him, their nights always ended in passion.
Worried about being misunderstood, Nael bit his lower lip and buried his face into the pillow.
‘What am I even asking?’
The Duke is an incredibly busy man.
Killian didn’t answer.
Instead, he gently stroked the back of Nael’s head, his fingers slipping through the strands of his hair before withdrawing.
The mattress shifted, then sank.
Nael wanted to reach out, to hold him back.
Instead, he gripped the pillow tightly.
He wanted to muster the courage to ask again—to beg him to stay, just until he fell asleep.
But his lips trembled, parting soundlessly before closing again.
Killian felt like a mirage.
* * *
