He wasn’t getting used to that magic touch—never. He’d never get used to it.

But it was time to stop pretending that he didn’t love it.

Nerve endings fired throughout his body, as he had known they would. He closed his eyes in ecstasy, feeling the goose bumps tingle all over his skin. The hair on his arms stood up. His nipples tightened to aching points. Breath stuttered in his lungs, his heart pounded, and blood rushed to his groin. His cock stretched and stiffened in his jeans, pushing of its own will up under the waistband of his underwear.

Just that, one fae hand on his neck, and his whole body was prepared for sex, his skin on fire for more of that touch, his dick and balls and taint and ass all alive and ready and wanting it.

Oberon had to be able to feel Ángel’s excitement. Ángel’s sense of smell told him that Oberon shared it.

He lifted his face and leaned into Oberon for a kiss. The instant before their lips touched, Oberon’s hand on Ángel’s neck tightened, pushing him away.

Ángel blinked open his eyes to see that Oberon had averted his face from Ángel’s kiss. No answers to be found in Oberon’s face.

“Tonight. Will you come to my room, Ángel?” Oberon’s hand was still on his neck.

“Tonight?” Not right now?

“Take some privacy first,” said Oberon. “And then come to my room.”

“No.”

Oberon dropped his hand.

Then Ángel added, “You should come to mine. Mine doesn’t have cameras.”

Chapter 20

Ángel took some privacy—a very hot, very thorough shower. He brushed his teeth and hair, shaved his face smooth, nervously considered manscaping his scant body hair. Oberon had beautiful hair, but none (as far as Ángel had ever seen) on his body.

Oh, who was he kidding? He could never hope to reach Oberon’s state of physical perfection, not if he groomed himself for an hour. He just wouldn’t worry about it.

Then he settled himself cross-legged on his bed in the dark, barefoot and shirtless and in flannel pajama pants, his hair curling with damp.

He thought about the passage of time. Oberon hadn’t told him how much privacy to take: fifteen minutes? An hour? Two?

And also: eight years.

Oberon had been on Earth for eight years.

How would it feel to be Oberon right now, to be thinking, Tonight I am having sex for the first time in eight years? With Ángel, of all people. Ángel was excited and nervous, on edge with a mix of hunger and fear; how much more nervous would Oberon be?

But while Ángel’s moods and needs and emotions pushed him around from hour to hour and day to day, Oberon rarely seemed out of control. Why was that? Because he was older? How old was he?