But regardless, he was very upset. He shared a burden he had been carrying for years. And I comforted him. Absolved him. And… I don’t think anyone has ever been nice to Prince Llywelyn Y Mabinogi before. Fourth born son out of six. Raised by nannies. A victim of awkward middle child syndrome. Too young for the older siblings, too old for the youngest. The forgotten middle.
I have already figured out that he is desperate to be loved. Hungry for any sort of attention.
Fuck. There is something else to consider, as well as all of that. I’m pretty sure I’ve given him the first decent sex of his life. After years of abuse and manipulation.
Memories of our shared shower pour through me in glorious technicolour, with full surround sound. Okay, that wasn’t decent sex. That was incredible sex. But there is no need to preen about it. I need to focus on its effect.
Oh god. Adding everything together, it wouldn’t be surprising if Llywelyn has latched onto me. Become a little infatuated.
My heart thumps with glee and my chest puffs out.
What the hell? What is wrong with me? This isn’t at all a good thing.
I reach the study and slump down in my chair. Llywelyn quietly sits in the window seat behind me. He seems to be intent on keeping his promise not to be a distraction.
I grip the edge of the desk tight enough to whiten my knuckles. I have to focus. If Llywelyn is infatuated with me, then that is great for the mission. He will do exactly as I say. He will trust me.
So I need to put aside the morals of it and my own personal feelings about it. Right now, I need to figure out all this stuff on the desk in front of me. Who will support Llywelyn’s bid to become crown prince? Who will oppose it? Who needs to be eliminated and who needs to be bribed?
There is so much work to be done. I can’t waste time on squishy things like emotions.
I draw in a big breath through my nose and as I exhale, I let go of everything. There is only the mission. My work is the only thing that matters.
Several hours later, I realise my stomach is grumbling. I forgot to get snacks earlier. Now night has fallen. I look over my shoulder and see Llywelyn curled up on his side, using his arm as a pillow. He is fast asleep.
I grab the throw from the settee and gently place it over him. Then I stride out into the main room in search of food.
There is a cheery fire burning away in the fireplace, and an abundance of lit candles scattered around. The table by the window is set with grapes and slices of cold meat. My stomach rumbles in appreciation. That will do nicely until dinnertime.
I take a step towards the table, and then jump as the door flies open and Llywelyn hurries in. There is a near frantic look in his eyes.
“Please don’t leave me!” he wails.
I open my mouth to explain that I was just getting some food, when he runs over to me and gracefully drops to his knees.
He pulls on a tie at my waist, and suddenly my cock is free. I stare down and try to form a single coherent thought.
I should step backwards. I should push him away. I should dosomething.
But the moment to act is lost. My cock is surrounded in tight, wet heat. My head falls back and I groan.
Oh, my god. Llywelyn may have never received a blow job before, but he has definitely given them. My eyes close as waves of exquisite pleasure wash over me. I swear nothing has ever felt so good. I’m already about to cum and I’m not even embarrassed. The only thing going through my mind, along with the intense joy, is wondering how to get Llywelyn to do this to me every day.
Pleasure surges and swirls. Fireworks ignite in my mind. My lust has gone from zero to one hundred in less than a heartbeat, and it is exhilarating.
I groan again. Then he does something with his tongue and suddenly I’m cumming. Grunting as my cock pumps thick ropes of cum down the prince’s throat.
My eyes open and meet the unflinching gaze of a dark pair of eyes. Dyfri is standing silently by the table. Watching us.
I yelp and stagger a step backwards, pulling my cock from Llywelyn’s mouth. As I hastily figure out how to tuck myself away, Llywelyn flows effortlessly to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he rises.
“I’m evading Jamie,” says Dyfri calmly. As if he didn’t just see what he saw. “And Blake. And even Ollie. They have all been knocking on my door demanding to know if I’m alright.”
He uses an unfamiliar gesture as he says, ‘alright,’ but my brain has no problem at all in interpreting it as the fey equivalent of air quotes.
“And are you alright?” I ask.
Dyfri rolls his dark eyes and mutters, “Humans,” under his breath.
