Page 10

Chapter ten

A s I step into Llywelyn’s rooms, my mind starts to function again. I staggered away from the ballroom and the scene of the murder, blindly following Llywelyn, but now finally the shock is wearing off.

Llywelyn strides towards the drinks cabinet, but I jump in front of him, blocking his way and forcing him to stop in his tracks.

“You’ve had enough to drink, don’t you think?” I tell him.

His golden eyes fill with outrage.

“Or do you murder innocent people when you’re sober, too?” I snap.

Llywelyn’s golden eyes narrow and fill with affront. “He wasn’t innocent!”

I raise an eyebrow, cross my arms over my chest and settle in for the wait. This little twat is going to tell me everything, even if he doesn’t want to.

The prince’s gaze sweeps over my stance and my expression. His lips curl in disgruntled annoyance, and his dainty nose twitches.

“The wine was poisoned,” he huffs in reluctant defeat.

“How did you know?”

Llywelyn’s scowl intensifies. “It is one of my skills. I have the ability to sense poison. I wasn’t sure until I felt it on my skin.”

My jaw twitches as I battle to keep my expression stern yet neutral. Llywelyn surprised me by walking right into the servant like that. He is a graceful asshole, and he didn’t seem that drunk. Therefore, this story of his has some plausibility.

“You should have kept him alive for questioning,” I say .

Llywelyn bristles. “So torture is acceptable, but a clean death is not?” His chin tilts up haughtily and his eyes blaze.

Despite my best intentions, I glare back at him. Like we are two kids in the playground having a standoff. I thought I was better than this. I believed I was better than sinking down to his level, but clearly not. Prince Llywelyn Y Mabinogi has the ability to get under my skin and rile my soul in a way that no one has ever done before and I have no idea what to do about it.

I inhale sharply through my nose and force myself to focus.

“The poison wasn’t for you, so why do you care?” I challenge.

The servant had been walking past us. Not slowing or stopping. Definitely not trying to get Llywelyn’s attention. His tray of drinks was not even Llywelyn’s favourite tipple. He likes that honey-coloured stuff. The would-be poisoner was carrying wine.

Llywelyn deflates a little and shrugs. “I wasn’t going to take the risk,” he mumbles.

My eyes narrow as my mind continues to work. The servant was scurrying towards Jamie and Blake. But they were both drinking water.

Drinking water while standing near the East door. The door closest to Rhydian’s rooms. The door the crown prince would be most likely to stride through, and then presumably join his husband.

I don’t know if Rhydian drinks, and if he does, I have no idea what his favourite is. But I’m wondering if it is red wine.

I stare at the prince before me. Should I ask him, or would that be playing my hand? Is this a plot within a plot? Llywelyn is supposed to want his brother dead. It is the whole reason I’m here. So why stop an assassin? Does he not want anyone beating him to it? Or was the assassin Llywelyn’s, but the prince panicked and thought the attempt was too clumsy?

If that were so, why not tell me ?

Llywelyn wilts under my stern, assessing glare. He drops my gaze and squirms. He is definitely not telling me everything. What a sneaky little shit.

“If you have finished interrogating me, I’d like to get out of these soiled clothes,” he sniffs haughtily and darts around me, heading for his bathroom and not the drinks cabinet.

I sigh heavily and let him go. His walls are up high now and he is on the defensive. Probing will not get me anywhere tonight.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to fight my impending headache. My adrenaline has worn off now, and it has left me feeling weak and tired. But that’s fine. I can go to bed, it is late anyway. Tomorrow will come soon enough and I can deal with the prince then.

Lucky me.

I head for the bathroom that I have adopted as my own. There is a velvet pull cord to summon Tae, but the poor boy doesn’t seem to get any days off and it has to be nearly midnight.

With a bit of swearing, I manage to undress myself. A fact I’m stupidly proud of.

Leaving my clothes in a neat pile in the corner, I step under the shower. As the hot water hits me, I groan in pleasure. God, I needed this.

After a good long soak, I reluctantly leave. Sadly, I can’t hide in the shower all night. So I throw a towel around my waist and pad into the bedchamber.

Where I find Llywelyn. Lying on the bed with his nightgown hiked up above his waist. A bottle of oil beside him on the crisp white sheets, and two of his fingers disappearing into his ass.

I stop dead and stare. All my blood has rushed to my cock. All I can do is watch while he leisurely fingers himself.

His golden eyes settle on me. “I don’t want you to be angry with me anymore,” he all but purrs.

Then he casually removes his fingers, picks up the bottle of oil and places it on the bedside table. His golden eyes turn back to me and hold my gaze without mercy as he slowly, purposefully spreads his legs in explicit invitation.

I try to swallow, but my throat muscles have forgotten how to coordinate. All they manage is an ineffectual spasm that nearly has me choking.

I can’t untangle all the emotions swirling through me. There are too many, and they are all far too intense. There is lust, for sure. A sudden all-consuming arousal that has hit me like a truck. It’s not every day beautiful people offer themselves to me, and I’ve never had someone as beautiful as Llywelyn give me the come hither. Sure, he has demanded services from me before, but this feels entirely different. He is not ordering me to get him off, he is offering me pleasure.

My body takes a lumbering step towards him. Frantically, I try to clear my head. This seduction attempt is crass. Blatant and crude. Does he really think I’m that easy to manipulate? He can’t go around killing people and then offering up his hole as an apology and a way to smooth things over.

So why the hell is it working?

Why do I want nothing more than to forgive all his sins, jump on that bed and sink into him? Am I really that shallow?

I grind my teeth. Llywelyn’s beautiful body taunts me. All pale and slender and waiting.

Fuck it. I can take what is on offer and not be swayed. I can have him and not forgive him. That will show him.

I may not be able to think straight right now, but I will in the morning. Sex is just sex. It won’t sway me. I’ve fucked him before and didn’t become enamoured.

With a little growl, I drop the towel and dive onto the bed.

I crawl my way up Llywelyn’s body until I’m looming over all of him. My face inches above his. His nightgown is a thin barrier between us. I’d like to see all of him, for him to be nude. I want to know if his nipples are as pink as his lips. But I also like the cloth being there. A statement of separation, a signifier that this isn’t truly intimate. It is just sex, it is not making love.

He spreads his legs even wider and settles against the pillows. There is a challenge in his eyes and it ignites a part of my soul that I didn’t know existed.

I line my cock up to his slick and open hole. The heat of him burns. I push a little, merely a hint of pressure, and Llywelyn’s golden eyes flutter closed. It feels like a victory and I want to growl my triumph.

A fresh wave of carnal desire floods me and instinct and need take over. I’m sliding into Llywelyn, claiming his tight heat, exulting in the feel of him enveloping me. He feels amazing. Soft, warm and mine. His body takes me well, as if it knows I belong. I sink into him, all the way and it feels like coming home.

He twitches around me, and I grunt in response. Fuck, this feels good. Sex is wonderful, I really don’t get enough of it. Though it looks like that’s about to change. If Llywelyn is going to keep being a horny little shit, then this could be something to make my time here more bearable.

I grunt as another thought hits me. If the future plays out the way I want it to, that means right now I’m balls deep in the future ruler of Britain. Oh fuck, why is that such a turn on? I am a perverted sonofabitch.

My hips begin to dance. Thrust and slide. Thrust and slide. Delicious friction all along my cock. I groan and pick up the pace.

It takes me a few moments to realise that Llywelyn isn’t moving or making a sound. My eyes snap open. His eyes are closed and his expression is blank. It’s like that damn fucking hand job all over again.

Fuck him! What stupid game is this? If he is trying to seduce his way into my good books, he should be acting like I’m giving him the best D of his life. What does pretending to be unmoved achieve? Nothing. Nothing except to piss me off .

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.