Jamil was quiet, his face still pressed against Rohan’s throat. Rohan didn’t need to see it to know that the prince was already starting to feel guilty and ashamed.
“Hey, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” Rohan murmured, threading his fingers through the wavy mop of soft brown hair. “I feel better now. Don’t you?”
Jamil didn’t respond.
“Come on,” Rohan said, dropping a chaste kiss to his temple. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about. It doesn’t mean that you’re… unfaithful. I’m sure your husband wouldn’t have minded your feeling good. He’s gone, has been gone for months. You didn’t betray him.”
Jamil said nothing.
“Come on, love,” Rohan said, dropping another kiss to his hair. A part of him, the part that could still think rationally, felt incredulous by his own behavior. Endearments weren’t really his thing. He’d rarely used them on women he’d dated over the years, much less on men he’d known for such a short time. And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop using them now. They felt right. This felt right. “Jamil, it was the Fit. We couldn’t help it. Stop beating yourself up over it.” He gave an amused snort. “If it could make me, a straight man, so damn horny, you stood no chance.”
That, at last, seemed to have the intended effect. He felt Jamil relax slightly, the sickening waves of guilt and shame finally lessening.
“I know,” Jamil said softly, rubbing his cheek against Rohan’s throat. Nuzzling into him.
Rohan felt strange, because it didn’t actually feel strange. Far from it.
His expression pinched, he pulled away gently, both physically and mentally—and nearly threw up. Jamil made a sound of protest, too.
They looked at each other, breathing unsteadily.
“We went too deep,” Rohan said with a grimace. “The connection deepened.”
Jamil bit his bottom lip. “Maybe try breaking it gentler?”
“That was me being gentle,” Rohan said with a laugh, but he did try again.
At the first sign of Jamil’s distress, he stopped, unable to continue. Unwilling to continue.
They stared at each other again, at a loss.
“You try,” Rohan said with a sigh.
Pursing his lips, Jamil shook his head. “It’s not a good idea. I don’t really know how to end a merge properly. I might mess it up. You’re my first, remember?”
Of course he did. All too well.
“Then I’m out of ideas,” Rohan said, tucking his spent cock back into his pants.
Blushing, Jamil did the same. He went to his dresser and pulled out a few wet tissues to wipe his fingers. The merge didn’t snap, but the distance between them was more aggravating than it should have been.
Rohan clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay where he was.
“Is it always like this?” Jamil said, his voice strained.
Rohan almost laughed. “Of course not. If it were, I would be married to the first girl I merged with.”
Some unpleasant feeling reached him through their connection.
Rohan smiled, amused when he recognized it. “See? I really can’t help feeling possessive. It’s the merge.”
Jamil shot him a flat look. “According to you, we’re absolved of all the blame,” he said dryly.
Rohan shrugged. “Not all the blame, but most of it. I see no point in beating myself up over something I can’t control.”
Running a hand through his hair, Jamil just looked at him for a long moment. Rohan could feel that his words did ease his conscience a little.
“You’re probably right,” Jamil conceded at last with a small, helpless kind of smile. “I know I tend to overthink situations and stress myself out.”
Rohan tried to squash the inappropriate wave of affection. Affection was the last thing they needed. Things were complicated enough without bringing affection into the mix.
He glanced at the door. “I should probably go. It’s late.”
Jamil gave a clipped nod.
Gathering all his willpower, Rohan walked toward the door. The merge stretched, on the verge of snapping.
Rohan stopped, gritting his teeth. “Fucking hell.”
Behind him, he heard Jamil sigh. “I heard that merges dissolve when people sleep,” he said, unsteadily. “Is that true?”
Rohan stared at the door. “Yes.”
“You can—you should stay here, then. Sleep here.”
When Rohan turned around to look at him incredulously, Jamil glared at him. “On the couch. Obviously.”
Rohan glanced at the couch in question and made a face. Jamil’s suggestion had merit, but his back would kill him tomorrow if he slept all night on that short, flimsy couch. “No. You can take the couch if you’re so afraid that you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”
Jamil lifted his chin. “I’m afraid of no such thing!”
“Fine, then,” Rohan said with a smirk, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the couch.
He half-expected Jamil to blush and turn away, but to his surprise, Jamil looked at his naked torso unabashedly, his gaze lingering on his tattoos once again.
“I don’t understand why people willingly mutilate their bodies,” Jamil said.
Rohan shrugged, amused by the way the prince’s eyes lingered on his tattoos in reluctant fascination. “You like them,” he stated.
Jamil didn’t bother denying it: lying within a merge was pointless.
“Can I borrow something to sleep in?” Rohan said, undoing his fly. “Though I don’t mind sleeping naked.”
That finally made Jamil turn away. He walked to his wardrobe, pulled out some loose blue pants and a soft gray shirt, and threw it over his shoulder. “Put these on.”
Rohan did and grinned in amusement, looking at Jamil’s very straight back. “You can turn around now. Not that I have anything you haven’t seen already.”
Huffing, Jamil slipped into the bed, lying on its very edge.
