Page 36

Chapter thirty-six

L lywelyn looks adorable, sitting up in bed with a lap tray over his legs. He doesn’t look as pale as he did and he has eaten a good amount of dinner. It might be okay to trust the army of healers, who are constantly coming and going, when they say he is going to make a full recovery.

Llywelyn is poking at his dessert, but I told him to obey the healers and eat everything, so I’m fairly confident he will.

I sense movement in the doorway and I turn towards it, fully expecting it to be more healers, but it is Dyfri. Looming for a moment like a shadow. With his dark hair and black robes, he could easily pass as some sort of shadow creature.

He strolls in and stands by the bed. Staring down at Llywelyn with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You look good,” he comments dryly.

Llywelyn opens his mouth to say something, but Dyfri holds up a hand. “Do not thank me!”

Llywelyn’s eyebrows rise. Then he dips his head in an elegant gesture of agreement.

Dyfri nods, as if satisfied, and then sits on the bottom of Llywelyn’s bed. Pulling his long legs up and tucking them under his black silk robes in a cross-legged position.

“I’m assuming, since you’ve been stuck in here, you haven’t heard the rumour Prys has been spreading?” Dyfri says casually.

Llywelyn’s golden eyes turn to me, questioning. I shrug. I haven’t left his side since he died. I have heard nothing he is not privy to .

He turns his attention to his brother. “What have you heard?”

Dyfri takes a long breath. “He has been telling anyone who will listen that you are an omega. That your hole gets slick and you whine for cock. He says you entertained him and three of his friends in one evening and you couldn’t get enough. You were like a bitch in heat.”

Llywelyn’s eyes grow large. He swallows. He glances at me briefly before looking back at his brother.

“It is kind of you to let me know.”

Dyfri slides off the bed and flows to his feet. “I thought you should be aware.” He walks towards the door. Just as he steps through it, he adds casually, “Let me know if you need a hand with anything.” Then he is gone.

“Why would he do this?” says Llywelyn, and the despondency in his voice is going to break my heart.

I know he isn’t talking about Dyfri’s offer to help with revenge. That motive is clear enough.

I clear my throat. “Making you seem weak is a calculated move. Powerful people want a ruler who can’t control them. If Prys paints you as pathetic, it will make it easier to rally people to put you on the throne.”

Llywelyn says nothing. He simply pushes his spoon around his nearly empty bowl.

My own mind is whirling. If Prys knows about Llywelyn’s omega traits, then Selwyn must have told him. Backstabbing bastard that he is. But it probably means that Selwyn wants Llywelyn on the throne. For whatever dark motive stirs his rotten heart.

However, The Agency will not like this at all. They are seeking sovereignty over the fey by proxy. They want their puppet prince to have the illusion of full control. They want him to be obeyed and respected .

But once a reputation is lost, it is very hard to win back. And I get the impression that allegations of being an omega are especially destructive amongst the fey.

Fucking Prys.

Llywelyn wasn’t popular. He didn’t have any friends, but he was thought of as an arrogant jerk. Vain and self-serving. Characteristics fey admire. So once his hair grew back and losing a duel was forgotten, everything would have been fine.

Now what the fuck do I do? How do I fight this fire?

I run my hand over my face. On top of all of this, there is no point in ignoring the bombshell Llywelyn dropped on me yesterday. He doesn’t want the throne.

It changes everything, and nothing.

I have to get him to see he can’t just tell The Agency, ‘No thank you.’ They won’t let him walk away. Neither will Prys.

But even once Llywelyn understands he can’t back out, his reluctance will shape the entire game.

What a hopeless mess.

Tae scurries in and takes the tray away. I open my mouth to say Llywelyn hasn’t finished his dessert, but I decide to let it go. It really is the least of our worries.

Llywelyn sighs heavily. “I’m bored.”

My eyebrow rises. I’m sure he is bored. He has been in bed for two days. But he is also upset. He is not daft. He probably understands the implications of what Dyfri just told him, every bit as much as I do.

The poor boy just died. He never gets a break.

“You’re not allowed out of bed yet,” I say.

He pouts at me. A full lifting of the lips. He looks adorable. As well as extremely fuckable. And that’s an excellent idea.

I grin. “I suppose, if you promise to keep very, very still, I could entertain you.”

He deserves a bit of pampering. A distraction. Cheering up. Really, it is the very least I can do .

His eyes grow dark, and pink colours his cheeks.

I chuckle and step closer to the bed. He lies back against the pillows and watches me like a hawk.

I work swiftly. First, I pull back the quilts covering him. Then, I lift up his nightgown. Next, I steal one of the many plump pillows and wriggle it into position under his ass.

Finally, I lie down on my stomach, positioned between his legs. He is already breathing in sharp short bursts. His pretty cock is already hard.

My palms rest against the soft, smooth skin of his inner thighs. Gently I coax his legs wider apart, and up a little.

I’m grinning so hard my face is hurting. I know damn well he is assuming I’m about to blow him.

My tongue rasps over his pretty pink hole and he squeals. It is music to my ears. My veins are thrumming with delight.

If nobody has ever kissed him before. Or blown him, I’m willing to bet my substantial life savings that no one has ever done this to him before.

I’m going to blow his mind and rock his world. It is going to be marvellous.

My tongue runs over the sensitive skin around his hole and he gasps in response. He already sounds blown away.

I lift my head up to look at him. “Is this okay?”

He nods so enthusiastically that it makes me chuckle. My sweet, sweet boy.

I lick again, and he makes another beautiful noise. It sinks into me and wraps around my soul. Lust, passion, desire, all soar to full velocity. My thoughts fall silent. My mind is peaceful.

My tongue is flicking, licking. Swirling. Broad strokes over him. Quick darts around his rim. Llywelyn is whimpering and moaning. His hips twitching as he desperately fights to be a good boy and stay still like I told him to .

I nuzzle deeper into his soft flesh. My face is buried in his ass cheeks. I love it. His delicious scent is everywhere. I’m bathing in it.

His puckered skin has softened. Relaxed. His hole is fluttering in an invitation I cannot resist. I stiffen my tongue and slip inside him. He gasps and his hips buck. It’s only my hands that hold him down and keep him in place. I have driven him to lose all control.

I fuck him with my tongue. Going as deep as I can. As fast as I can. My soft, warm, wet tongue thrusting past his rim over and over again. Far faster than I can go with my cock. The friction tempered by the softness of my tongue.

He makes an almost pained sound as he cums. I can feel the muscles in his thighs tensing as he rides his peak, then as his euphoria crests, I can feel him quivering, trembling, all but vibrating.

He tries to close his legs, but I don’t allow it. Neither do I slow my tongue. He is fey, he can cum again, and again, and again. And that’s exactly what he is going to do.

He sobs and writhes. Oversensitive and overstimulated. It is beautiful. He cums again, far sooner than I was expecting.

Fuck, I love fey physiology.

I stop tongue fucking him and start sucking instead. Trying to pull his soft flesh into my mouth. He goes wild and cums for me again.

I coax one last orgasm from him by tenderly and slowly licking around and around his rim. Then I sit up to admire my handiwork.

Llywelyn is sprawled loose-limbed against the sheets. Cum all over his belly. His eyes are half-closed as if he is about to pass out. His chest is heaving.

I eye the white bandages carefully for signs of fresh gold, but they look good. Sighing in relief, I resume my slow perusal of my boy. His cheeks are flushed. His bottom lip swollen and indented with teeth marks .

My gaze drops back down. Plump candy-floss pink nipples are just peaking over the top of snow-white bandages.

God, I’d love to cum on them, but I don’t want to get his bandages dirty. I don’t give a shit what the healers would think, but Llywelyn might. And it is probably not the best for hygiene.

With a wistful sigh, I free my hard cock. I continue to drink in the sight of fucked out and dazed Llywelyn while I stroke myself.

He watches me with half-lidded eyes that gleam with appreciation. He loves watching me make myself cum. It is still an exotic novelty for him. I hope it never wears off.

Fuck. A few more strokes and I’m going to be done. I walk on my knees a few steps up the bed.

“Can I cum on your face?”

His eyes widen and then darken. The flush along his cheeks grows a deeper pink. He nods.

“Close your eyes,” I grunt in warning.

I’d love for him to keep watching, but he is new to this. He won’t know how to keep cum out of his eyes and that shit stings like a motherfucker.

I groan as my orgasm shoots through me. It’s a struggle to stop my eyes from rolling back, but I’m not missing this. I watch in reverent awe as my cum covers Llywelyn’s beautiful face. It drips down his cheeks. It catches in his long eyelashes. It smears over his plump lips.

It is the hottest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

Despite everything, I feel bloated with well-being. As long as Llywelyn and I have each other, everything will be okay.