Page 4

Chapter four

S omehow, I’ve made it to bedtime without throttling the prince. I spent the evening grilling him on the finer details of fey culture and hierarchy. Making sure everything the Agency gave me is accurate and up to date. Tomorrow, I will start on a thorough who’s who of the fey court.

But that’s enough for one day. I’m exhausted. The prince has fine lines around his eyes where his eyelids are drooping. If he was human, I’d say he was pretty beat too. But he is not human and I can’t afford to make assumptions. It is bloody infuriating.

He wanders off to get ready for bed. Tinker-boy appears and shows me to a modern bathroom complete with a normal, if a little fancy shower. Thank fuck. I’ve had all of the strangeness I can cope with.

The servant quickly helps me to undress, then he runs off and leaves me to it.

I shower swiftly. I am far too on edge to relax, so a simple, quick clean it is. As I step out, I find a fluffy towel and a pair of deep purple silk pyjama trousers. The fey really do like opulence. Not that I am complaining.

I dry off, put the soft trousers on and head for Llywelyn’s bedchamber.

It’s empty. Quiet. A huge four-poster swarming with golden quilts and white furs. I quickly scan the rest of the room. There is no cot, no crappy small bed. Not even a sofa. This bastard better not expect me to sleep on the floor .

As if summoned by my thoughts, the prince swans into his bedroom. His golden hair is damp and looks as if it has been vigorously brushed. The rest of the prince is covered in a thick white linen nightgown. The thing falls all the way to his toes, and cuffs at his delicate wrists.

I raise an eyebrow. It looks like something a Victorian maiden would wear. Or a virgin sacrifice.

“Where do you expect me to sleep?” I snarl.

Llywelyn blinks his long lashes. “In the bed?”

All I can do is stare.

“You are my pet,” he says. His tone implying he is deeply bewildered by my question.

I puff out my cheeks and sigh. Fine. The bed is bloody enormous, and it looks divinely comfortable. God knows I’ve suffered far worse in the line of duty.

I stride over to the bed and slide under the covers, rolling on to my side and putting my back to the prince. He will not stab me. He needs me.

After a few moments, the prince joins me. He must be as light as a feather because the bed barely moves.

He snaps his fingers and the room falls into darkness. My eyes close and I fall asleep almost instantly.

Only to be jolted awake an hour later. I sit up in bed, heart racing. But everything is quiet. There are no threats. Nothing to be alarmed about.

A patch of luminous moss on the wall is casting a soft teal glow into the room, but that wouldn’t have woken me.

The prince is asleep. Curled on his side, in the tightest ball I’ve ever seen anyone contort themselves into.

As I watch him sleep, he whimpers softly.

Mystery solved. He is the one who woke me up and disturbed my peace. Trust him to be annoying even when he is sleeping.

He whimpers again, and I shove his shoulder. He startles awake with a yelp .

“You were having a nightmare,” I grunt as I lie back down.

Llywelyn says nothing. I listen to him shift position and get his breathing back in order. Then everything falls silent once more.

This time, it takes me a long time to fall asleep.

I t’s morning, but I don’t want to wake up. This bed is so soft and so very warm. I could lie here all day.

But I have never been that lucky. The scrape of curtain rings over a curtain pole gives me a nanosecond of warning before bright sunlight dazzles my eyelids.

I groan and reluctantly open my eyes. Then I blink.

Llywelyn is standing by the window. Alone. Did he really open the curtains himself? He doesn’t seem the type. I’m surprised he even chews his own food.

His golden eyes glitter as he peers down at me. Then he throws something at me. I catch the small bottle and glare at him.

“What is this?” I ask.

He lifts his chin up. “Oil. So you can prepare yourself for me.”

My thoughts derail. Spectacularly. It’s not a train crash in my mind, it is an entire spaceship exploding. A spaceship containing every coherent thought I have ever had, along with my ability to form new ones.

“You think I’m going to let you fuck me?” my voice says, and I have no idea how I formed the words.

“You are my pet!” he declares regally.

“I don’t give a fuck!” I snarl as I throw back the covers and get out of bed.

Now that I am standing, we are a very similar height. A fact that is far more satisfying than it should be.

He blinks his strange golden eyes at me, as if he is having trouble processing my refusal to bend over for him .

His pink lips twist down into a frown, “If I go elsewhere for my needs, whilst having a pet, it will arouse suspicion.”

My gaze drops down to his crotch. The white nightgown is softly tented. I was told that the fey can’t masturbate. It was in my briefing. Along with the suggestion that I may have to help out in order to keep my cover.

I remember being told this. I remember shrugging it off as no big deal. I remember confidently telling myself, and my superiors, that I was a professional and I’ve done worse.

But that was all before I met Llywelyn. The man repulses me.

Now I’m standing here, imagining lifting up his nightgown and stroking his dick, and it’s making me feel sick.

“Is there no one you trust to help you out?” I snap.

Llywelyn huffs. “Tae, I suppose.”

“Tae?” I raise an eyebrow.

“The one-winged one,” sighs the prince. “But he is so small and he cries so much.”

Rage ignites in my chest. It runs like fire through my veins until every part of me is alight with it.

I step towards the prince. He takes a hasty step backwards.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” I growl. “If you need to cum so bad, bend over the bed so I can fuck you. Because that’s the only thing you’re getting.”

Golden eyes flicker. They stutter. His expression goes utterly blank. I have seen this before, in agents. When their training kicks in and their thoughts go off line. Consciousness recedes to allow conditioning and muscle memory to take control. I’ve felt it myself. But Llywelyn isn’t even human, let alone an agent, so fuck knows what it means.

He glides past me, lifts up his nightgown, and bends over the bed.

A sharp, shocked gasp escapes me as I’m met with the sight of his pale ass. His skin is as white as snow. And his ass cheeks are perfectly formed, perky globes. It is the best ass I have ever seen. If it belonged to anyone else, I’d be smitten. As it is, it simply strikes me as deeply unfair. How can anyone so very ugly on the inside, be housed in such a beautiful body? It doesn’t seem right.

I blink and try to gather my thoughts. What the fuck is Llywelyn playing at? He can’t really want me to fuck him? So what game is this? What purpose does it serve?

Fuck it.

If he wants to play, I’ll play.

I take the two steps up to him and stand between his legs. I’m still clenching the bottle of oil in my right hand, so I pull the stopper out with my teeth, yank my pyjamas down with my free hand, and smear the oil over my cock.

My very hard cock.

It’s fine. No one could look at this ass of perfection and not get a boner. It is a perfectly reasonable biological reaction.

I throw the empty bottle onto the floor, and I step up even closer to Llywelyn. Any second now, his bluff is going to be called, and he is going to jump up with a tirade of outrage that I would dare to get this close to him.

I place a hand on his narrow hip. He doesn’t move. Not even a flinch.

I line my cock up to his pink hole. No reaction. I’m not even sure he is breathing.

Fine. He wants to play some twisted version of gay chicken? I don’t lose. Ever.

Thoughts of condoms drift through my mind only to be swiftly chased away by memories of my briefing informing me that humans and fey share no transmissible diseases.

That certainly makes everything simple. There is no need to pause. No need to stop. I can keep on going.

My hips move. My cock presses against his tight entrance. I push some more and his body yields a little. Lust swirls with my anger. The soft heat of his flesh feels damn good against the swollen, leaking tip of my cock .

I push harder. Insisting. Demanding he open up for me. His muscles move as he bears down against me. He knows how to take cock. Grunting, I shove harder and I pop past the tight ring of his muscle.

I groan as sensations of tight silken heat engulf me. He doesn’t make a single sound. Incensed, I thrust, slamming all the way into him. Sheathing myself deep. Pressing my hipbones against the wonderful globes of his ass.

He still doesn’t make a sound.

I fuck him hard and fast. It is brutal. All my hate and anger. It feels fucking amazing. Normally, I am a gentle, considerate lover. This animalistic, feral display of dominance is exhilarating. Intoxicating. Thrilling like nothing else.

I grunt and thrust and exult in the pleasure and power of it all.

Suddenly, Llywelyn’s channel clenches around me. His muscles spasm as he cums hard and long. It’s all I need to tip me over the edge into my own release.

I see stars. My body shudders as my cock pumps ropes of cum deep into Prince Llywelyn’s ass. I want to yell my triumph. Punch the air in celebration of my victory.

Dazed and wheezing, I withdraw and stagger back a step.

The prince straightens, his nightgown falling into place and covering him once more. He hurries to his bathroom, back ramrod straight, and he doesn’t even glance at me.

The door shuts, and just like that, I am alone.

In a room that reeks of sex and sweat.

I wipe a hand over my brow and try to catch my breath. Slowly, my brain cells reform. My lust drains away. My rage extinguishes. A thousand conflicting emotions rush in to feel the void.

I gasp out a strange noise as one thought takes centre stage.

What the fuck just happened?