“If you have finished interrogating me, I’d like to get out of these soiled clothes,” he sniffs haughtily and darts around me, heading for his bathroom and not the drinks cabinet.
I sigh heavily and let him go. His walls are up high now and he is on the defensive. Probing will not get me anywhere tonight.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to fight my impending headache. My adrenaline has worn off now, and it has left me feeling weak and tired. But that’s fine. I can go to bed, it is late anyway. Tomorrow will come soon enough and I can deal with the prince then.
Lucky me.
I head for the bathroom that I have adopted as my own. There is a velvet pull cord to summon Tae, but the poor boy doesn’t seem to get any days off and it has to be nearly midnight.
With a bit of swearing, I manage to undress myself. A fact I’m stupidly proud of.
Leaving my clothes in a neat pile in the corner, I step under the shower. As the hot water hits me, I groan in pleasure. God, I needed this.
After a good long soak, I reluctantly leave. Sadly, I can’t hide in the shower all night. So I throw a towel around my waist and pad into the bedchamber.
Where I find Llywelyn. Lying on the bed with his nightgown hiked up above his waist. A bottle of oil beside him on the crisp white sheets, and two of his fingers disappearing into his ass.
I stop dead and stare. All my blood has rushed to my cock. All I can do is watch while he leisurely fingers himself.
His golden eyes settle on me. “I don’t want you to be angry with me anymore,” he all but purrs.
Then he casually removes his fingers, picks up the bottle of oil and places it on the bedside table. His golden eyes turn back to meand hold my gaze without mercy as he slowly, purposefully spreads his legs in explicit invitation.
I try to swallow, but my throat muscles have forgotten how to coordinate. All they manage is an ineffectual spasm that nearly has me choking.
I can’t untangle all the emotions swirling through me. There are too many, and they are all far too intense. There is lust, for sure. A sudden all-consuming arousal that has hit me like a truck. It’s not every day beautiful people offer themselves to me, and I’ve never had someone as beautiful as Llywelyn give me the come hither. Sure, he has demanded services from me before, but this feels entirely different. He is not ordering me to get him off, he is offering me pleasure.
My body takes a lumbering step towards him. Frantically, I try to clear my head. This seduction attempt is crass. Blatant and crude. Does he really think I’m that easy to manipulate? He can’t go around killing people and then offering up his hole as an apology and a way to smooth things over.
So why the hell is it working?
Why do I want nothing more than to forgive all his sins, jump on that bed and sink into him? Am I really that shallow?
I grind my teeth. Llywelyn’s beautiful body taunts me. All pale and slender and waiting.
Fuck it. I can take what is on offer and not be swayed. I can have him and not forgive him. That will show him.
I may not be able to think straight right now, but I will in the morning. Sex is just sex. It won’t sway me. I’ve fucked him before and didn’t become enamoured.
With a little growl, I drop the towel and dive onto the bed.
I crawl my way up Llywelyn’s body until I’m looming over all of him. My face inches above his. His nightgown is a thin barrier between us. I’d like to see all of him, for him to be nude. I want to know if his nipples are as pink as his lips. But I also like the clothbeing there. A statement of separation, a signifier that this isn’t truly intimate. It is just sex, it is not making love.
He spreads his legs even wider and settles against the pillows. There is a challenge in his eyes and it ignites a part of my soul that I didn’t know existed.
I line my cock up to his slick and open hole. The heat of him burns. I push a little, merely a hint of pressure, and Llywelyn’s golden eyes flutter closed. It feels like a victory and I want to growl my triumph.
A fresh wave of carnal desire floods me and instinct and need take over. I’m sliding into Llywelyn, claiming his tight heat, exulting in the feel of him enveloping me. He feels amazing. Soft, warm and mine. His body takes me well, as if it knows I belong. I sink into him, all the way and it feels like coming home.
He twitches around me, and I grunt in response. Fuck, this feels good. Sex is wonderful, I really don’t get enough of it. Though it looks like that’s about to change. If Llywelyn is going to keep being a horny little shit, then this could be something to make my time here more bearable.
I grunt as another thought hits me. If the future plays out the way I want it to, that means right now I’m balls deep in the future ruler of Britain. Oh fuck, why is that such a turn on? I am a perverted sonofabitch.
My hips begin to dance. Thrust and slide. Thrust and slide. Delicious friction all along my cock. I groan and pick up the pace.
It takes me a few moments to realise that Llywelyn isn’t moving or making a sound. My eyes snap open. His eyes are closed and his expression is blank. It’s like that damn fucking hand job all over again.
Fuck him! What stupid game is this? If he is trying to seduce his way into my good books, he should be acting like I’m giving him the best D of his life. What does pretending to be unmoved achieve? Nothing. Nothing except to piss me off.
