“A semi-willing servant helped out. Didn't seem very interested in knowing why.”
I walk around him, fingers grazing his shoulders, dragging along inked skin and rough rope.
“So Cinder,” Charming says, “What would you like to do while I’m in my current condition? Shall we talk about the weather? Discuss politics?”
He's giving me an out. Taking the pressure off while literally offering himself on a silver platter.
We sure as fae fucks won't be discussing the weather.
I take note of his tattoos. Where they begin, where they end, which are instantly my favorite. The one that strikes me most is front and center on his pelvic bone—the silver and jeweled crown of Midnight. It must have hurt like a bitch to get.
Whoever did the work is a pro, and I have high standards for ink.
I don't say a word, simply drink him in.
Kaison shifts in discomfort under my open assessment.
There are so many things I want to touch, maybe even taste. I give in to tracing my thumb over his bottom lip, sliding over the piercing. His brows scrunch, thrown by my choice.
I don't change course. I revel in memorizing the textures of his lip and the cold slide of metal.
His Adam's apple bobs as he stares at me in awe. A strange sight with marshmallows on his fangs.
I brush my lips over his cheekbones, trail them down his neck. Hot tingles race through me as I explore.
I've never felt this free. Never this. . . safe. It brings out a dark sensuality I've been suppressing for years.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I've stripped him of his mask, his certainty.
“Whatever I want.” My fingers skim his chest, tracing cold contours.
Under my hands, Kaison shivers, cock stiffening despite the reservation in his expression. I go lower until he gasps.
I lean in, drinking in his scent. The heat of my lips bounces off his cold ones.
Then I kiss him.
The pressure starts light, experimental. He lets me set the pace, and opens his mouth when my tongue asks for entry. I gingerly sweep against his, keeping the marshmallows in place.
The kiss deepens, grows urgent. I tangle my tongue with his, the sweet bite of the marshmallows mixing with his intoxicating taste.
Cold meets hot, hard meets soft, and I'm drowning in the intensity of it.
I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his thick length. He bucks into my hand, a strangled curse falling from his lips. The metal of his piercings is a delicious shock to my palm. He rocks as much as he can as we both build a rhythm for me to jack him off.
He’s panting and straining. When his tip weeps with precum, I know he’s close.
I release him.
A frustrated groan escapes him.
“Whatever I want,” I remind him.
He nods, expression drawn. The Prince of Midnight is putting himself in discomfort to let me decide how to proceed. It's a hard scenario to swallow.
“But if you're feeling kind, I'm dying to see your perfect breasts,” he begs, words distorted.
“How do you know they're perfect if you haven't seen them?”
