Page 14 of The Frog Prince (The GriMM Tales #6)

Seven

Otto

H is 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 the air 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.

He threw his head back and reached his hand under his shirt, feeling overheated skin and gooseflesh under his fingertips.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he pushed his hand into his breeches and gripped his hard length, trying to go to one of his generic fantasies, grasping for normalcy.

He conjured up faceless bodies wrapped around his as they brought each other to ecstasy, memories of past encounters and very human limbs as they kissed and touched.

It wasn’t working. The skin melting into his turned green between one breath and the next. The hands touching him in his mind were damp and cold.

He moved his own hand over his length furiously, as if trying to get it over with so he wouldn’t have to admit to himself he was enjoying it. As if it was something shameful he needed to tuck somewhere deep inside himself before anyone noticed.

He tugged at the sensitive flesh harder and faster, until he could barely hold his moans in. His teeth broke the skin on his lips and copper spilled over his tongue.

He was teetering on the edge and desperately trying to hurl himself over it before the rational part of his mind woke up and made him realize what he was doing, and exactly who was starring in the fantasies that were making him this hot and bothered.

Images flashed before his eyes; ones he only saw in his dreams. Of lips wrapped around his balls. Of rounded fingertips pressing into him. Bulging eyes watching his every move as he fell apart.

It wasn’t enough.

The reality wasn’t enough.

He reached his free hand out and spread his palm over the cool window just next to the bed, his overheated skin making the glass fog and dampen.

The chill seeped into his hand, and when he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore, couldn’t hold it anymore, he released his cock and gripped it with the one he had held on the glass.

Now cool and damp.

Not the same as the dream, but close enough to finally get him to shatter.

He spilled all over his hand and stomach, panting into the darkness of the room as he tried not to let despair and shame crush him.

He had never felt heat like he did thinking of the Frog Prince.

It had never felt so all-consuming. He was never that desperate to finish, to climax with the Frog Prince’s name on his lips. A name he didn’t even know.

He gulped air like each breath would be his last, willing his heart to settle, to let him rest.

He cleaned himself up as best as he could then sank back into the mattress, running a hand over his sweaty forehead.

He was exhausted. And sated. And so deeply confused by his own mind and body he didn’t know what to do with it all. He realized he wouldn’t get any answers tonight, so he allowed himself to close his eyes and relax.

Allowed his mind to drift and blank until sleep pulled him under, covered him in black, and muted the sounds until Otto drifted and disappeared from his bed and reformed somewhere else.

Lush greenery surrounded him on all sides, bathing him in the scents of herbs and flowers. It was twilight, fireflies lighting up the darkness and meticulously tended pathways with a warm yellow glow.

The beautiful, sprawling garden held a tinge of familiarity to it, like he was walking into a memory instead of a dream.

Stepping onto the path, he began to follow it, admiring everything around him with wide, innocent eyes. He turned his head to face a gentle breeze and took a deep breath, tasting the earthiness on the back of his tongue.

He heard a soft croak.

He turned his head to look and saw a tiny pond frog hop into a nearby bush.

Another croak sounded from the other side, and he reached out to part the leaves, hoping to find it. He found his center of gravity lower to the ground, and his hands when he looked at them were small and childlike.

He giggled, forgetting about the frog as a burst of energy set him running until he was out of breath.

Quickly, quickly. I must hide before Father finds me.

He ducked down behind a statue of a beautiful woman, a bed of cornflowers at her feet. He lay down on his front, uncaring about the dirt on his clothes, and tilted his head to examine them from all angles, fascinated by their shape and wondering at their details.

Even the simplest looking things can hold powerful secrets.

He put his head in his hands, wondering what secrets these could hold.

Footsteps drew his attention and he startled, peeking around the base of the statue and looking in all directions.

They seemed to be coming from the darkened entrance to a hedge maze, a subtle golden glow enticing him inside. The sight of it arrested his attention, making him frown.

Wait…wasn’t there someone I needed to find?

The thought was a growing weight in his chest, a prickle against his mind as that golden glow got brighter. Yes, yes, he was missing something. Someone. They needed his help. He was certain of it.

He broke from his hiding spot and followed the footsteps into the darkness. The glow retreated, and he turned corner after corner chasing it. It remained frustratingly out of reach, growing fainter and fainter no matter how fast he ran.

“Hello?” he called. “Wait, please!”

They didn’t, and soon he couldn’t hear the footsteps at all.

He was all alone in the darkness as it came tumbling in around him.

He began to grow scared, then terrified the longer the endless maze went on. He could not remember his way back, and every way forward was a twist or a turn.

Where were they?

Where was he?

“Please,” he gasped. “I’m lost.”

Helplessness weakened his legs and had him tripping and falling. Fat tears rolled down his ruddy cheeks as his hands and knees stung.

“Where are you?” he sobbed, feeling bereft and robbed and not knowing why.

Steady arms wrapped around him. Deep breaths against his back guided his own breathing into something sustainable.

A gentle hush was whispered into his ear as cool hands ran up and down his arms soothingly. He didn’t know who it was, but he allowed them to comfort him. He relaxed against their safety, closing his eyes as gentle golden light began to pour back in to chase the darkness away.

The fingers kept up the steady rhythm up and down his arms. Soft and gentle. Soothing.