North’s POVHe stood up, shedding his own clothes with an efficiency that was still so Lucien. He was beautiful, all hard lines and lean muscle, a monument to power and control. But his eyes… his eyes were soft, vulnerable.He led me to the couch, laying me down on my back. He covered me with his body, his weight a comforting, grounding pressure. He kissed me again, a deep, slow kiss that tasted of me and him and something new, something fragile and hopeful. He entered me slowly, his eyes locked on mine, watching for any sign of pain, any hint of hesitation. There was none. I opened for him, welcoming him in, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.He moved inside me with a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust a declaration, each retreat a promise to return. There was no punishment, no anger, no jealousy. There was only a deep, abiding need to connect, to merge, to become one. It was the gayest love-making I had ever imagined, a slow, tender dance between two men who wer
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