CHAPTER 208: CHAPTER 208: POWERPLAY (3)

[WARNING - Spice ahead 🙂 ]

Chris’s breath hitched, heat curling low in his stomach. "You’re enjoying this more than I am, aren’t you?"

"I enjoy you," Dax corrected, his thumb brushing lightly along the short hair at the nape of Chris’s neck. The rings glinted as his fingers tightened. "And seeing you confident, wicked, and thinking you can dismantle me..." His lips twisted into a slow, devastating smirk. "It entertains me."

Chris exhaled sharply, wondering why this turned him on even more. "So this is a performance for your amusement?"

"Not a performance," Dax said, leaning back with infuriating ease. "A gift." His fingers stayed buried in Chris’s hair, his touch warm and unshaken. "I’m letting you believe you’re in charge. For now."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "You think obeying is a gift?"

"I think giving you enough room to feel powerful without actually losing control is a gift," Dax replied, utterly unbothered. "And I’m very generous tonight."

Chris’s pulse quickened. "Hmm... but Dax, you touched me."

Dax stilled, his fingers remained in Chris’s hair, the gold rings warm against his scalp, then tightened on the strands.

"Did I?" he asked, voice low, almost lazy.

Chris lifted his chin just a fraction, enough for their eyes to lock. "You did," he said softly. "You broke the rule."

"Well, I didn’t touch you sexually." Dax had the guts to smile like he did nothing.

Chris’s brow arched higher, and the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth was slow, sharp, and far too knowing. His gaze flicked deliberately from Dax’s smug face to the king’s very obvious, very large one before returning to Dax with a look that said ’really? this is the argument you’re choosing?’

"Not sexually?" Chris echoed, his voice soft enough to be dangerous. "Are you sure that’s the hill you want to die on?"

Dax’s smirk didn’t falter, but a flicker of something, calculation, perhaps, through his eyes. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug, the movement shifting the fabric of his expensive trousers. "It’s a very sturdy hill," he rumbled, his voice a low, confident purr. "And I have excellent arguments."

Chris let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating around Dax’s cock still inches from his lips. "Arguments?" he repeated, his own smile widening. "Dax, you’re a king. You don’t win arguments with words, you win them by decimating your opponent’s position. And right now," he leaned in, his lips ghosting over the sensitive head, making Dax’s entire body tense, "your position is... compromised."

Dax’s fingers flexed in his hair, the rings pressing a little harder. "A strategic compromise," he countered, his voice tighter now, the lazy control beginning to fray. "I allowed a minor infraction to maintain the integrity of the primary objective."

Chris pulled back just enough to look up at him, his eyes dancing with wicked light. "And what’s the primary objective?"

"To see how far you’ll take this," Dax admitted, his voice dropping to a rough, honest whisper. "To see what you’ll do when you think you’ve won."

The air between them crackled.

"Oh, I’ve already won," Chris murmured, his confidence soaring. He leaned forward and, without breaking eye contact, pressed a soft, wet kiss to the very tip of Dax’s cock. The alpha’s sharp intake of breath marked his victory. "The moment you put your hand in my hair, you lost. You proved you can’t stay away from me."

Dax’s jaw tightened. His gaze was dark and intense, a storm of hunger and frustration. He didn’t deny it.

"So now," Chris continued, his voice a silken command, "you’re going to sit there, and you’re going to keep your hands to yourself, and you’re going to let me finish my victory lap. Because you’re a generous king, aren’t you? And you wouldn’t want to deny your winner his prize."

For a long, charged moment, Dax didn’t move. The only sound was his ragged breathing. Then, with a slowness that was both an admission of defeat and a promise of retribution, he pulled his hand back from Chris’s hair and placed it firmly on the sofa cushion, back into a white-knuckled fist. The rings gleamed in the dim light, like a silent concession.

"Generous to a fault," Dax ground out, the words laced with gravel and unspoken promises.

Chris’s triumphant smile was devastating. "Good boy," he whispered, and then he took Dax back into his mouth. He took him deep with a single, focused slide, and the king’s control finally, truly, shattered.

The game was over. The victory was his. And now, it was time to claim the prize.

Chris could feel the change in Dax, the frantic pulse against his tongue, the low, desperate moans that were no longer restrained but freely given, and the way the king’s hips lifted from the sofa in a silent, pleading demand. He was right there, balanced on the knife’s edge of release.

So he did the cruelest thing Chris could think of and stopped.

He pulled back slowly, his lips releasing Dax with a soft, wet sound that was swallowed by the king’s sharp, guttural cry of denial. Dax’s eyes flew open, dark and wild with a mixture of agony and disbelief. His cock, flushed and glistening, throbbed in the cool air.

"Chris..." The name was a broken, ragged plea. "No. Don’t you dare stop."

Chris didn’t answer. He simply rose from his knees in one fluid, graceful motion. His undone shirt, which had been sliding from his shoulders, finally pooled around his wrists, leaving his torso bare. Dax’s gaze was riveted, his hungry eyes tracing the lines of Chris’s chest and the hard planes of his stomach down to where his own trousers still hung low on his hips. He watched, mesmerized, as Chris pushed them the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and kicking them aside.

The scent of Chris’s arousal, thick and sweet, filled the air. The inside of his thighs glistened with slick, his own desperate need in physical form. He was just as undone, just as desperate, but he wore it like a crown.

He moved forward, climbing onto the sofa, one knee planting itself on the cushion beside Dax’s powerful thigh. He swung his other leg over, straddling the king’s hips, his knees sinking into the plush fabric on either side of him. He hovered for a moment, a tantalizing vision of power and surrender, his body poised directly above Dax’s aching cock.

Dax’s hands flew to his hips, rings warm against Chris’s skin, the grip tight enough to bruise, a warning to the alpha’s unraveling control. "Chris," he begged again, his voice hoarse. "Please."

Chris reached down between them, his fingers wrapping around Dax’s cock. He gave it one slow, firm stroke, coating it in his own slick, before positioning it at his entrance. He looked down, meeting Dax’s wild, desperate gaze.

"Watch," Chris commanded, his voice a low, husky whisper.

And then he sank down.