Page 38 of The Frog Prince

“There’s no need.”

“I—”

“I have a feeling I will sleep much better with your scent on the pillow,” he said honestly.

With a final look at the soft flush coloring Otto’s cheeks, he walked into the room provided to him and shut the door.

Seven

Otto

His room was a sanctuary.

Their home was the place where he felt safe and grounded, but his room was the one space in the world that belonged to just him. Where he rested his head at the end of the day and worried and dreamed by turns. It was the only place that heard his cries and despair as he tried to stay strong. Sturdy walls that held his plans and quiet celebrations secret, few though they were. And hope. He only allowed himself to hope in solitude.

It was his. It was private.

And now it felt like it was being invaded.

Not forcefully. Despite his talk of monsters and savagery, the Frog Prince acted every bit as his moniker implied. Regal, poised, and calm. He was the antithesis of a beast, better suited for court tables, despite an appearance that would send those courtiers screaming.

Otto wasn’t sure how to explain how that made him feel. Confronted with his own assumptions, maybe, the prince’s sharp tongue throwing them back into his face. While the riot within his chest had made his heart beat a rhythm it had never picked up before the moment they’d locked eyes in the forest.

Surely it was fear?

Although he would have sworn just a few days ago that fear didn’t make him blush. It didn’t make him feel hot under his collar. It didn’t make him dream of things he’d never voice out loud.

It could only be sorcery then.

Pacing around Gisela’s room, he wondered if those strange hands were touching anything of his. He’d had the faintest experience of how they felt wrapped around his wrist; cold, with a noticeable dampness that would slide easily on his skin. His first instinct had been to drop the spoon and turn his hand to touch properly, to invite that slide and see if it would feel how his dreams suggested.

Only good sense had been able to push the urge away, his own mind screaming that he had gone completely mad.

It did the same now as he fixated on those hands and fingers, unable to force them out of his head no matter how hard he shook it.

Would they pull back his bedsheets, spreading wetness that would seep into the fabric and linger? Would he then crawl beneath them, folding himself into the contours Otto’s body had left in his worn mattress? All the places he’d rocked his hips and gasped out his pleasure. Would he be able to taste it in theair as he sprawled those long limbs everywhere, imprinting on everything Otto owned?

It drove him crazy.

He sat down on Gisela’s bed, back stiff and skin feeling too tight as he tried to control his warming blood.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

Giving up, he fell back against the pillow and stared at the sturdy ceiling beams, begging them for control instead.

He could hear movement on the other side of the wall. Steps. Floorboards creaking. The window being cracked open. The croaks of frogs that must have followed their leader.

The groan of the mattress had Otto squeezing his eyes shut, his hands curling into the cover to prevent them from wandering anywhere. He took a deep breath, held it in, then released it slowly. Repeated it once. Twice. Three times.

It didn’t help. His mind kept throwing up images of the Frog Prince between his sheets. Inhaling Otto’s scent like he’d said he would.

Would he like it?

Would it make it impossible for him to relax, like the mere thought of him did to Otto? Would his hands wander the way Otto refused to allow his own to?

He bit his lip to stop himself from making a sound. The prince would hear it. And he’d know then. That Otto dreamed of him.

Of being touched by him. Pleasured by him. Covered with his body and consumed by those inhuman lips.