The Wolf Prince Hid His Mate, So the Lords Wanted His Crown novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Hold the Wall

The mark burns at dawn, and Joren puts Hakon against the wardrobe and takes him apart with his hands. Then a knock: the Duke's daughter, with a dinner invitation.

Hakon woke at first light with his cock hard against his stomach and the mark on his hip hot as a coal.

He had not slept more than an hour.

Every time he closed his eyes, the burn had pulsed once, steady and slow.

Joren stood at the window with his back to the room, buttoning the high collar of his black coat.

The fjord was grey behind him, and the iron ring hung on its cord against his chest.

"You're awake," Joren said without turning.

"Obviously," Hakon said.

"It will fade in an hour. It always does when you're not close."

"You're close," Hakon said.

"I can stand at the door if you want."

Hakon pushed the blanket off and sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees.

He tried to think about the Dean's lecture at nine, and then about breakfast.

His mark pulsed again, and he swore.

"Stay there," Joren said.

"Why?"

"Because if you stand up in that state, you'll go through the wardrobe door."

"I want to hit you," Hakon said.

"I know."

"That's not all I want."

He had meant to say it harder.

It came out low and raw instead, and Joren turned around.

For a long moment he only looked.

At Hakon's bare chest, at the hand fisted in the sheet, at the tented cotton of his sleep trousers.

His face stayed calm, but a muscle moved in his jaw.

"We agreed," Joren said. "It stays in the wine."

"Was it?" Hakon said.

"Your Highness."

"Was it the wine, Hallgren? I want you to look at me and say it again."

Joren crossed the room.

He did not hurry, and he did not stop until he stood over the bed.

He took Hakon by the hair at the back of his head, not hard, and tipped his face up.

"Stand up," he said.

Hakon stood.

He was nearly as tall, and it did not help.

Joren put a hand flat on his chest and walked him backward across the cold floor until Hakon's shoulders hit the wardrobe.

The old wood boomed.

"Hands on the door," Joren said. "Above your head. Keep them there."

"You said you wouldn't touch me unless you had to move me."

"I'm moving you," Joren said.

"That's not what that means."

"Tell me to stop," Joren said, "and I stop."

Hakon looked at his mouth.

He put both hands on the wardrobe above his head.

Joren's smile was small and wicked, and it vanished the moment it came.

"Good."

He pushed the sleep trousers down over Hakon's hips.

Hakon's cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, and he heard Joren's breath go out through his teeth.

The crescent on his left hip was glowing silver in the grey light.

Joren set two fingers on it, very lightly.

Hakon shouted.

A bright hot jolt ran straight down to his balls, and his knees went.

"Careful." Joren's other hand caught his waist and held him up. "I've got you."

"Do that again."

"Greedy," Joren said.

"Do it."

Joren stroked the mark slowly with his thumb, in small circles, and Hakon's head fell back against the wood.

His hands slid on the varnish.

"Stay on the door."

"I'm trying," Hakon said.

"Try harder."

Then Joren's hand closed around his cock.

It was big, calloused and dry from sword hilts, and Hakon bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood.

Joren stroked him once, long and slow from root to head, and thumbed the slit.

"You still do that," he said.

"Do what?"

"Make that noise when I get to the top."

"I don't," Hakon said, and then he did.

Joren leaned in until his mouth was almost on Hakon's ear.

"Two years," he said. "I thought about this every night in the north."

"You said it was the wine."

"I said a lot of things."

His fist tightened and began to move, harder, steady, twisting a little at the head.

Wet sounds filled the room.

Hakon's thighs trembled.

He wanted to touch Joren's shoulders, his neck, anything.

Every time his hands tried to come down, Joren said "No" into his ear, and they went back up.

"Please," Hakon said.

"There he is."

"Hallgren," Hakon said.

"Not that. Say what you want."

"Faster. Fuck, faster. Harder."

Joren gave him all of it.

He stroked him fast and rough, his thumb working the sensitive underside, his other hand holding Hakon's hip against the wood.

The mark burned under that palm.

Hakon felt it gathering at the base of his spine, heavy and bright.

"I'm going to," he said.

"Do it," Joren said.

He came with a cry that broke in his throat.

His come spilled hot over Joren's fist and onto the dark wool of his coat.

His whole body jerked against the wardrobe, and Joren stroked him through it, slower and slower, until Hakon sagged.

He would have slid to the floor if Joren had let go of his waist.

For a moment they stood there.

Hakon's forehead was against the wood, his lungs working.

Behind him Joren's breathing was uneven, and Hakon could feel how hard he was, a thick line against his hip.

He turned his head.

"Let me."

"No," Joren said.

"Joren, you're..."

"I know what I am."

He stepped back and wiped his hand slowly on a cloth from the washstand.

His face was composed again, but his eyes were dark and his coat was ruined.

"You have a lecture at nine," he said. "Get dressed."

"You can't just..." Hakon said.

"Watch me."

"That's cruel."

"It's the morning," Joren said. "I've waited two years. I can wait until after breakfast."

Hakon laughed, helpless, and pulled his trousers up with shaking hands.

"You're a bastard," Hakon said.

"Yes," Joren said.

"I'm going to make you beg," Hakon said.

"You can try, Your Highness."

Someone knocked at the door, three brisk raps.

They both froze.

Joren crossed the room, still hard, and opened the door a hand's width with his body filling the gap.

A young woman in a green academy scarf stood in the corridor, an ash-blond braid over one shoulder.

She held a cream-coloured card.

She looked at Joren's coat.

She looked past him at Hakon, flushed and half dressed and leaning on a wardrobe.

"I knocked early," Elske Wexel said, "so I wouldn't walk in on anything."

"Lady Elske," Joren said.

"Guard." She held up the card. "My father invites the Crown Prince to dinner on Friday, at our house."

"He says to bring your guard."

She smiled at Hakon, with perfect politeness and no warmth at all.

"He also says it isn't a request."

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