Obsidian: The Sentinel Code Book One, page 35
His head fell back, a soft curse torn from his lips. “Can’t get enough of you,” Viktor rasped, hips snapping forward, cock pressing deep, the edge of pain making everything sharper, sweeter. “All I think about is your mouth, your cock, the way you fall apart for me.”
The thrill of being caught, of kneeling in my suit, sucking him in the palace dressing room just minutes before we were meant to play our parts, only made me harder. I sucked him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, tongue swirling around the head, swallowing every drop of precome, loving the taste, the helpless sound he made as I took him to the root.
“Fuck, Sebastian—just like that. Don’t you dare stop. Want you to remember this all night. Want you leaking for me through the whole goddamn gala.”
Viktor’s hips jerked, cock thick on my tongue, fingers tight in my hair. His breath came ragged, but then he paused, the tip of his cock resting against my lips, eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker. “You ever think about another cock in your mouth?” he asked, voice thick with lust, the words sending a jolt straight to my core. “Ever wonder how it’d feel, two of us, using you at once? You’d take it, wouldn’t you, prince?”
The question made my own cock twitch, breath catching in my throat. Shame and hunger tangled, but there was no doubt, no hesitation. I moaned around him, nodding, letting my tongue tease his slit, inviting more.
He grinned, wicked and proud. “That’s what I thought.” Viktor slid out of my mouth, stroking himself slowly as he stepped back. His hand fished his phone out, thumb flying across the screen. “Stay right there. Keep those pretty lips wet for us.”
I stayed on my knees, pulse racing, suit rumpled, mouth slick with spit and precome, aching for whatever came next.
A knock sounded at the door. Viktor’s voice, calm and low but edged with promise, said, “Come in.”
The door opened, and Malik—a tall, broad-shouldered member of Viktor’s team, with warm brown skin, sharp eyes, and a quick smile—stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him. I remembered Viktor introducing us at the start of the night, his tone hinting at trust, respect, something more.
Malik took in the scene in a single glance—me on my knees, Viktor stroking his cock, the air thick with need and secrecy. His eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth curling in hungry approval.
“You sure about this?” Viktor asked, voice soft but clear, one hand on my shoulder, the other beckoning Malik closer. His gaze locked to mine, seeking nothing but my want.
“Yes,” I whispered, voice hoarse, heart pounding, cock throbbing in my trousers. “Want it. Want both of you.”
Malik’s voice came low, velvet and heat. “You’re sure?” He knelt down beside me, his hand coming to rest on my thigh, the warmth steady, real, grounding.
“Want to be used,” I said, breathless, looking up between both of them. “Please.”
Viktor smiled, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Good boy.”
He leaned back, eyes never leaving me as he watched Malik step forward, hands moving with calm confidence to undo his own trousers. Malik’s cock was thick, long, a perfect complement to Viktor’s, already half-hard and swelling as he watched me, want blazing in his eyes.
Viktor guided me, hand still possessive in my hair, pulling my face to Malik’s cock, the other hand stroking himself slow and tight. “Open for him,” he murmured, voice a command and a promise. “Show him how good you are.”
I obeyed, mouth parting, tongue flicking over the head, tasting him, letting my lips slide down his length as Malik’s hand found the back of my neck, gentle but insistent. His cock filled my mouth, stretching my lips, the taste of him dark and new, muskier than Viktor but just as addictive. I moaned around him, savoring every inch, every pulse, every sound Malik made as I took him deeper.
“Goddamn,” Malik groaned, his hand threading into my hair, his hips rocking forward, feeding me his cock with careful, hungry thrusts. “He’s perfect, Viktor. Fucking perfect.”
Viktor watched, stroking himself, his eyes burning with pride and lust. “Told you. Our prince loves being used. Loves pleasing us. Isn’t that right, Sebastian?”
I nodded, mouth full, cheeks hollowed, spit dripping down my chin as I worked Malik’s cock, letting myself go, desperate for more, for everything.
Malik let me set the pace at first, his voice a steady rumble of praise. “Just like that. Take it. Take all of me. You look so good on your knees, so hungry. Don’t stop, pretty boy.”
Viktor moved in behind me, kneeling, one hand sliding around my waist to squeeze my cock through my slacks, grinding his own cock against my hip, his breath hot on my ear. “Want to see you messy for us. Want to see you come without either of us touching your cock.”
I whimpered, hips rocking back, mouth working Malik’s cock as Viktor’s fingers pressed harder, teasing me, squeezing, never giving enough. Malik’s hand slid over my cheek, thumb smearing spit over my lips, pushing deeper, voice trembling with restraint.
“Fuck, he’s so good, Viktor. So fucking good.”
They traded glances above me, wordless understanding passing between them, hands and cocks and praise making me dizzy, high, desperate for every touch, every filthy sound.
Malik pulled out, letting me gasp for breath, spit running down my chin. “You want to taste both of us?” he asked, voice thick with heat.
“Yes,” I begged, eyes glazed, need burning through every inch of me. “Please. Use me. Want you both.”
Viktor grinned, nodding to Malik. “Let’s give our prince what he wants.”
They switched places, Viktor’s cock pushing into my mouth, Malik’s hand stroking my hair, his other hand sliding down to knead my ass, squeezing, fingers pressing against the seam, making me shudder.
Viktor fucked my mouth slow and deep, Malik whispering filth in my ear, both of them owning me, making me their plaything, their prize.
“Such a good boy,” Viktor groaned, cock leaking precome onto my tongue. “So fucking beautiful like this.”
“Take it,” Malik murmured, voice velvet and thunder. “Take all of it. Show us who you belong to.”
I took it all, letting myself be lost, letting myself be found in their hands, their voices, their cocks. The danger, the thrill, the wild freedom of being wanted by both of them—everything I’d ever craved, right here, right now.
Viktor’s hand gripped the back of my head, guiding me deeper, his cock pulsing on my tongue. The taste of him flooded my senses—salt, musk, pure want. Malik’s palm slid down my neck, thumb caressing my jaw, keeping me steady as Viktor’s thrusts grew sharper, every muscle in his thighs trembling with restraint.
“Going to fill you up, prince,” Viktor growled, voice thick, words slurring with the promise of release. “Swallow it for me. Let Malik see what a good boy you are.”
The first pulse hit the back of my throat, thick and hot, Viktor’s hips pinned tight to my lips as he emptied himself into my mouth, every broken sound a reward. I swallowed greedily, not wanting to waste a drop, needing to give him everything he wanted, everything I had.
No sooner had Viktor pulled out, stroking the last streak of cum over my lips, than Malik pressed forward, cock thick and urgent, his voice a rumble in my ear. “Open up, beautiful. My turn.”
My lips parted, tongue wet and eager, Malik’s cock filling my mouth in a single, hungry thrust. His hand never stopped stroking my throat, gentle but unyielding, hips rocking as he chased his own release. The taste of Viktor lingered, blending with Malik’s heat, the flavors and the praise making me dizzy with need.
Malik’s breath stuttered, a deep groan echoing from his chest. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his other hand cradling the back of my skull, guiding me to take him deeper. “Take it all. Want you to remember the taste of us all night.”
He shuddered, cock jerking, and spilled into my mouth, thick and heavy, the pressure making my eyes water. I swallowed around him, feeling every throb, every pulse, every wordless growl as he emptied himself, filling me with proof of his want.
Malik let go slowly, hand stroking my hair, a silent promise in every touch. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, pride and hunger tangled in his voice. “You did so fucking well.”
I sagged between them, mouth tingling, lips swollen, the mess of both men slick on my tongue and chin. My own cock strained in my trousers, desperate and aching, the friction of fabric nearly unbearable.
Malik’s arms slid around my chest, strong and reassuring, hauling me back so I sat flush against him, thighs spread wide, body open and shaking with need. His hand wrapped around my throat, thumb stroking under my jaw, his voice low and possessive at my ear. “Let us take care of you now. Let us see you fall apart.”
Viktor dropped to his knees in front of me, eyes blown wide, lips parted as he leaned in, hands deftly undoing my trousers, dragging the zip down slow, pulling the waistband over my hips and freeing my cock. The rush of cool air sent a full-body shudder through me, my cock springing free, red and leaking, desperate for touch.
Viktor’s mouth wrapped around the head, hot and wet, his tongue swirling, licking up the mingled flavors of precome and hunger. His hands splayed over my thighs, holding me open, pulling me closer to the edge of the rug. Malik’s arms tightened, keeping me pinned, chest pressed to my back, cock still hard where it rested against the curve of my ass.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Viktor whispered, mouth still wrapped around my cock. “Could watch you fall apart for us all night.”
Malik’s voice rumbled in my ear. “Let go for us, prince. Give us everything.”
I moaned, helpless, hips bucking up into Viktor’s mouth, cock throbbing as Malik’s grip grew tighter, his lips brushing the side of my neck, teeth scraping the skin, grounding me in the whirlwind of pleasure and want.
Viktor swallowed me down, taking me deeper, tongue flicking over the sensitive ridge, sucking hard, cheeks hollowed with effort. My thighs shook, toes curling, every nerve set on fire, every muscle straining for release.
Malik’s hands slid down, tweaking my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, sending sparks shooting through my core. Viktor’s mouth never let up, working me, worshipping me, coaxing every filthy sound from my lips, every gasp, every sob, every desperate plea for more.
“Please, Viktor, fuck, please, I’m so close—” My words broke off into a moan as Malik pinched harder, lips finding my ear, whispering filth and praise, everything I needed to tip over the edge.
“That’s it,” Viktor groaned, sucking harder, tongue swirling over the head, hand stroking the base. “Come for us, prince. Show us how much you need it.”
Malik’s grip never faltered, his hand wrapped around my chest, pinning my arms, his teeth grazing my throat as Viktor sucked me through the building pleasure, the raw need, the wild ecstasy of being seen and wanted and used by both men.
My body snapped, pleasure crashing through me, cock jerking, spilling into Viktor’s mouth. He swallowed every drop, moaning his approval, never breaking eye contact as I unraveled for them, hips stuttering, thighs trembling, chest heaving.
Malik held me tighter, murmuring praise, hands soothing and proud, anchoring me as the aftershocks rolled through, Viktor licking me clean, tongue soft and reverent, lips kissing every inch, every bruise, every mark.
My breath came in ragged gasps, sweat cooling on my skin, the taste of them still on my tongue, the proof of their hunger still smeared across my mouth, my chest, my cock.
Viktor pressed a last kiss to the tip, Malik’s arms never letting me fall, both of them wrapping me in warmth and worship and filthy, perfect satisfaction.
For a moment, we simply stayed there—tangled and breathless, the hush in the room loud with the aftermath. Malik’s hand stroked my hair, thumb brushing my jaw, and Viktor’s lips pressed to my hip, reverent, grateful. The world outside the door didn’t matter. Not for these precious stolen seconds.
Viktor was the first to speak, his voice quiet but carrying weight. “No one can know of this,” he said to Malik, gaze steady and unyielding. “Not a word. Not to anyone. Not ever.”
Malik met his eyes, the promise clear. “You have my word, boss. This doesn’t leave this room.”
A pulse of gratitude, of trust, passed between them. Malik squeezed my shoulder one last time, a warm, grounding touch, then got to his feet and started adjusting his trousers, fast and efficient. Viktor offered him a nod—something more than thanks, less than dismissal, but it was enough. Malik slipped out the door, leaving nothing but the memory of heat and pleasure and wild, hungry satisfaction.
I sagged against Viktor’s chest, boneless and high, a lazy smile tugging at my lips. “We’re going to be late, you know,” I murmured, voice a broken whisper. “You’re going to have to explain this one to the whole palace if they notice.”
Viktor snorted, tucking himself away, hands gentle as he started helping me clean up—fetching tissues, fixing my shirt, straightening my tie, smoothing back my hair with careful, tender fingers. “Worth it,” he muttered, a rare smile ghosting over his lips, all pride and wickedness and love. “Absolutely worth it.”
I grinned, still a little breathless, every inch of my skin tingling with satisfaction and the secret that now bound us even tighter. “Time to put on a show?” I asked, voice teasing as I tucked myself back into my trousers, fingers trembling only a little.
“Always is,” Viktor said, stepping back and scanning me from head to toe, making sure there was no evidence left, no sign of what we’d done but the flush on my cheeks and the way my lips felt bruised and swollen.
Together, we tidied ourselves—fixing cuffs, brushing off lint, making sure not a single hair or wrinkle betrayed what had happened. Viktor handed me a fresh handkerchief, and I wiped my mouth, catching a last taste of them both before swallowing it down. Malik’s scent lingered on my skin; Viktor’s touch still burned everywhere he’d held me.
Viktor reached for the door, his eyes finding mine, every word unspoken, every promise clear. “Ready?” he asked, voice gentle.
“Ready,” I replied, the mask slipping back into place, the prince reborn, but the secret smile never leaving my lips.
The Royal Opera House blazed like a bonfire in the heart of London, every chandelier lit, every window glowing gold against the night sky. Press lined the red carpet in a wall of cameras and microphones, flashbulbs popping like gunfire, voices calling my name in a chorus that never quite sounded friendly.
“Prince Sebastian! This way!”
“Your Highness, can you comment on the recent security concerns?”
“Sebastian! Over here! Give us a smile!”
I smiled. Waved. Played the part I'd been rehearsing since birth. Prince Sebastian in navy velvet, perfectly tailored, perfectly harmless. The golden boy who'd survived too many attempts on his life to count and still showed up smiling.
Viktor shadowed me from three steps back, close enough to move if needed, far enough to maintain the illusion of professional distance. Black suit that probably cost less than my cufflinks but looked more dangerous. I felt his presence like heat, like gravity, pulling at me even when I couldn't see him.
Every camera flash made him tense. Every shout from the crowd triggered some micro-adjustment in his stance. He was wound tight enough to shatter, and we hadn't even made it inside yet.
Marcel appeared at the top of the stairs, immaculate in white tie, champagne flute in hand. His smile could've cut glass. Behind him, the doors stood open, spilling warmth and light and the distant sound of strings tuning.
“Your Highness,” he purred, offering a slight bow that managed to be both respectful and mocking. “You honor us with your presence.”
“Duke Marcel.” I kept my voice warm. Polite. Empty as a politician's promise. “Thank you for the invitation. I wouldn't miss it.”
His eyes slid past me to Viktor, and something flickered there. Amusement. Assessment. Recognition of a threat he thought he could neutralize. “And the ever-watchful Mr. Volkov. You're quite the spectacle together. The prince and his guardian angel.”
“Guardian demon,” Viktor corrected flatly. “Angels are not good at my job.”
Marcel laughed, delighted by the response like Viktor had just told the world's best joke. “Fair point. Come, shall we? The performance begins in thirty minutes, but there are drinks, conversation, people simply dying to see you.” He gestured toward the entrance with his champagne flute, liquid gold catching the light. “You won't want to miss the overture. Handel. Absolutely exquisite.”
I let him guide me inside, Viktor falling into step behind us like a shadow with teeth.
The opera house was obscene in its beauty. Gold leaf covered every surface, reflecting candlelight until the whole space seemed to glow from within. Red velvet curtains framed the stage where stagehands moved like ants, making final adjustments. Chandeliers hung overhead like frozen fireworks, crystal catching light and scattering it into rainbows across marble floors.
But it was the people that made it overwhelming.
Hundreds of them, dressed in their finest, moving through the space like pieces in an elaborate chess game. Old money in understated black. New money in colors that screamed for attention. Foreign diplomats clustered in corners, conducting business in three languages. Politicians pretending they cared about art while really here to be seen, to network, to build alliances over champagne and lies.
And every single one of them noticed when I walked in.
The crowd parted. Not dramatically. Just that subtle shift that happened whenever royalty entered a room. People turning. Conversations pausing mid-sentence. Eyes tracking my movement like I was prey or predator, depending on who was watching.
“Prince Sebastian!” A woman in emerald silk materialized at my elbow. Lady Pemberton. Parliament. Reform Committee. Sharp as a knife and twice as dangerous. “How wonderful to see you. You look well.”
