Page 23 of Fey Sovereignty

Growling, I shift my angle so that I’m pummelling his prostate. I was going to prolong things, but if he is going to be a jerk, well then, screw him.

A few sharp, strong thrusts in the right place do the trick. His left eyelid twitches and then he clamps down on me while his cock spurts thick ropes of cum.

I grin. That’s the second time I’ve made him cum hands free. I hope it annoys the hell out of him.

My body grunts and my cock pulses deep inside the prince, painting his insides with my seed. But my orgasm is disappointing. Mechanical and nothing more.

With a frustrated growl, I pull out and flop onto the bed. Then I roll onto my side, facing away from Llywelyn.

For fuck’s sake. He is even annoying when I fuck him. How is that even possible?

I need to get him on the throne and get the hell out of here before I lose my mind. It is the only sensible course of action.

I have to stick to the plan, my sanity depends on it.

Chapter eleven

The dream disintegrates around me, falling away in tatters as I jolt awake and sit up in the enormous bed. The all too familiar surroundings of Llywelyn’s bedchamber in the middle of the night, settle around me.

Beside me, Llywelyn whimpers in his sleep.

Groaning, I run my hands over my face. Does this asshole never sleep through the night? Must he torment me twenty-four hours a day?

He murmurs something and rolls over.

The question is, do I wake him so I can go back to sleep, or do I let him suffer? The man just murdered someone in cold blood, as well as pissing me off by seducing me for a cold-hearted fuck. So heaven knows he deserves a bit of torment.

“It hurts!” groans Llywelyn. “Please. No. Please stop.”

My jaw clenches and my stomach tries to squirm in sympathy, but it is just a dream, it won’t hurt him. And even if it does, he has more than earned a punishment.

“Iestyn, please! Iestyn!”

Llywelyn’s voice is more of an animalistic shriek than words. The sound rings out, full of terror and a terrible hopelessness.

My heart beats hard against my ribcage. It doesn’t know the threat isn’t real. It thinks the person next to me is being tortured in real time and that I might be next. Fuck this.

“Wake up!”

Another shriek. This time with no words at all. Just mindless fear.

I grab Llywelyn’s shoulders and shake him. “Wake up!”

Golden eyes snap open, hazy and unfocussed. “Iestyn!” he wails.

I roll away from him, switch on the bedside lamp, and then turn back to the prince. His eyes are wide and glassy and he is covered in a cold sweat. I don’t think he is seeing me at all.

Unless he is scared shitless of me and usually hides it incredibly well. I frown. That’s a ridiculous idea. Why would he be scared of me?

“Llywelyn?” I try.

He blinks, but he is still not with it. He is breathing far too fast and his complexion is paler than moonlight. Shit, did some of the poison get to him? Did it seep into his bloodstream through his skin? Or was there another, more successful attempt?

“Llywelyn!” I try again, this time with a little shake.

His head jerks with my motions, and he blinks again. This time his eyes focus and seem a little clearer. A little less lost.

“Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?” I ask.