Page 25 of The Frog Prince

Cold breath hit his cock through thin cotton, making his back arch and his eyes widen. His fingers grasped the mattress, sure the fabric was about to rip as the prince lingered.

Fingers slipped under his smallclothes and pushed higher, smearing something viscous over his skin and making it tingle. Those fingers were so long they were able to reach the inside of his sensitive thighs, and there they stuck, suctioning to the skin like limpets on a rock.

His hips shifted against his will, his manhood filling out and pressing against wide lips that were braced to take him.

“Prince,” he gasped, shaking his head in denial as his eyes fluttered shut.

A long tongue unfurled to wet the fabric, curling around the length of his hardness until his whole lap was damp and sticky. His hips undulated into the sensation without his permission. Seeking friction. Seeking sensation. Moans filled the empty, cold night with heat as he chased that tongue and mouth.

His stomach tightened with every suck on his thighs from amphibian fingers, his hips and legs falling open and allowing the Frog Prince to push deeper into him. Otto plummeted into it without putting up any kind of fight, sure he must have been bewitched or drugged.

When he felt like he was about to tip over the edge, the prince pulled back, crawling the rest of the way on top of him, plastering their bodies together from head to toe, trapping him, stifling his breathing with that earthy, watery scent. The drag of sensation against his pulsing cock was enough to make Otto’s knees squeeze those narrow hips, needy and begging.

And then that monstrous face broke from under the covers and hovered over his, hands pressed to the mattress on either side of his head.

“You reek of pleasure.”

Otto shook his head in denial. “No.”

Still, his knees couldn’t give up their grip on the prince, his cheeks flaming in shame as his hips started to roll again. The prince thrust down to meet him, rocking him into the bed and making it creak. Otto whined, fingers scrabbling above his head, searching for purchase.

His shirt was ripped open again, exposing his flushed, heaving chest. A single fingertip pressed to his pink nipple, latching on hungrily.

Otto’s eyes rolled in his head, his mouth hanging open and nothing but moans pouring out of it as he undulated his hips wildly, his cock so hard it hurt. The suction didn’t break, the seal perking the nipple up to a tight peak that stung with pleasure.

“Such a beautiful bride,” the Frog Prince purred, a single droplet of water rolling down green skin to fall directly into Otto’s open mouth, splashing against his tongue.

Otto rolled out of bed and hit the floor with a painful thump, a phantom taste flooding his mouth and pleasure shaking his bones.

He tried to orient himself as he rolled to sit up, frantically checking the room.

It was empty.

“A dream,” he murmured. “It was just a dream.”

“Otto?” Gisela called to him through the closed door. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” he said, wincing at how rough his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, I am all right. Just tripped getting out of bed.”

“That will be the thud I heard then.”

“Yes.” He curled on the floor, terror still rattling his bones.

The wet spot on his smallclothes taunted him. He bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut in shame at the way his body hadreacted to the dream. A dream about a monster touching him. Pleasing him.

How could he reconcile his reactions?

He shouldn’t have liked it. Oh but he had. And the evidence was right there, sticking to his skin, matting the hair on his groin and making him scared of his own body.

“Come out,” Gisela called. “I’ve made breakfast!”

The words cut through the self-loathing, and he took a deep breath to clear his mind and find a way to appreciate what he’d gotten in exchange for this breakdown he was going through.

His precious sister.

She felt healthy and strong enough to get out of bed and make them food. She was back to joking and talking back to him and he couldn’t have been happier about it. He’d take the bloodcurdling fear. He’d take the dreams and the potential loss of who he thought he was just to see and hear her like that.

He cleaned himself up at his basin, forcing himself not to think of the phantom fingers and tongue on his skin. Pulling on a simple white shirt and breeches, he slipped his braces over his wide shoulders, each item making him feel more secure. Dark woolen socks and shoes on, he walked to the small kitchen and found Gisela sitting at the table with her hair tied back and an apron over her blue dress.