My fingers dance over him. Pumping pleasure into his cock, making my fist a snug tight hole for him.
He swells even more. His hips lift a fraction of an inch. My gaze flicks up to his face. His eyes are closed. His expression almost serene. He looks like he is enjoying nothing more than a massage.
He could be a statue carved of marble. An effigy created in celebration of beauty. Perfect. Yet unmoving. Unresponsive. Uncaring.
Outrage coils through me. I grit my teeth and start using all of my tricks. I am damn good at this. One lover called me a cock-whisperer. I know how to give pleasure.
Llywelyn should be writhing. Whimpering. Gasping and pleading. His pretty face should be all flushed. I should be holding his hips down while he tries desperately to buck against me. He should be out of his mind with pleasure. Feral and incoherent.
Not… stoic. Lying there like he is at the fucking hairdresser’s.
I bite my bottom lip and pump my hand fast. So fast it is nearly a blur.
No change. I tighten my grip. Still no change.
Biting back my growl, I change tactics and slow right down. Really slow. Long, languorous strokes. Lazy. Teasing. Gentle.
The corner of his right eye twitches. His lungs start working. There is a slight lifting of his hips.
I scowl. Better, I suppose. It is a slight improvement. At least I know slow and gentle is the way to go.
I look down at his swollen cock. The head is all rosy pink now and glistening. It looks delicious. If I blew him, he definitely would not be able to stay stoic.
I lick my lips. God, it is tempting. But it would be cheating. I can rock his world with just my hand, so that is exactly what I am going to do.
With that thought in mind, I loosen my grip even more. My touch is now feather light, barely there. Most people would find it maddening. Especially when this close. Llywelyn is right on the edge, I can tell that much. Getting him to cum isn’t the challenge, it never was. It is forcing him to give any sort of reaction that is the goal.
Maybe I can just edge him like this for hours? That is bound to drive him wild eventually. Nobody can cope with that forever.
I slide my palm off of him and tap my fingers all the way up the front of his hard length. Then I dance my fingers down his underside. As I tap the underside of his base, he erupts.
Thick, pearly white ropes of cum pump out of his cock and paint his snow white belly.
He doesn’t make a sound. His closed eyes don’t even twitch. His hips don’t move. His hands remain flat and uncurled against the sheet.
My jaw drops open in incredulous, incandescent outrage.
Llywelyn’s cock stops spurting. He takes one breath, and then he is flowing off the bed, onto his feet and striding away from me.
I glare at his back.
What a fucking bastard.
Chapter eight
As I walk into the breakfast room, Llywelyn doesn’t even deign to look up at me. He is fully dressed and looks immaculate. Not a hair out of place. He keeps his attention on the window and the view of the gardens, while he chews an apple.
I grind my teeth and take a seat. He is being petty and I’m being ridiculous for allowing his behaviour to rile me.
I’ve showered and dressed. Both took a while, especially since getting dressed required Tae’s help. All in all, it’s been an hour since the prince coldly walked away from me. I should be over my indignation that he didn’t react to my wonderful hand job.
Yet here I am, instantly irritated because he is not looking at me. What has happened to my professionalism?
Scowling to myself, I snatch up a bowl of berries and start shovelling them into my mouth. They taste delicious, but I can’t truly enjoy them because this little twat is still ignoring me.
“The pets at the wrestling match said they weren’t human?” I bite out. As much as I hate this git, I have a job to do.
Golden eyes finally look at me and it feels like the sun has come out from behind the clouds.
