“How long should that take?”
He shrugs. “I’m the first resyn in forever.”
My heart thumps in rhythm with Llywelyn’s sadness. As realisation settles over me, I feel weighed down by my impotence. There is nothing I can do to help. This isn’t a problem that can be solved with cunning. It is just going to take time, and there is nothing I can do about that.
I walk over to him and pick up the discarded hair brush. Gently, I pull his hands out from his hair. Then I start to slowly and carefully brush his hair. Maybe the oil will help. It certainly won’t hurt to try.
He doesn’t relax under my touch. He tenses instead. A shivery tension that holds him alert and wary. Followed by trembling undercurrents of his body yearning to sink into my attentions.
His reaction is making me think of shelter dogs again. Unfamiliar with touch. Hungry for it. Fear of the unknown clashing with instincts.
Llywelyn is so touch-starved it is breaking my hardened, shrivelled heart. But I’m still an agent. And a bastard. So I’m going to seize this moment of vulnerability and use it.
“Who is Silas?” I ask in a casual tone. “Ollie mentioned at the garden party that you helped him with Silas?”
Llywelyn’s shoulders tighten a tiny amount. “Just some leach at court trying to sabotage things between Tristan and Ollie by spreading rumours. I encouraged him to go back to the fey lands. Ollie thinks it was for his sake. It was because I didn’t want Tristan’s feelings for Ollie to be soured to the point he wouldn’t fight a duel for him.”
Oh. That’s straightforward enough. I’m so glad it is nothing and I can forget it. I have more than enough things to look into.
The brush glides through Llywelyn’s soft hair. This is actually really soothing. I wonder if we could make a routine of it?
Llywelyn squirms in his seat in a very particular way, and a realisation hits me. He didn’t demand services from me this morning. Or the day before. How could I have not noticed? Just because I’m old and therefore still sated from our wild night of passion, doesn’t mean he is.
This could be the true cause of his unhappy mood. And something I can actually help with.
“Need something?” I rumble.
He staggers to his feet, and I step back. Our eyes meet briefly in the mirror before he looks away.
“No,” he mumbles.
I make a show of putting the hairbrush on the dresser, but then I move my hand lightning fast and cup his cock through his layers of silk. His very hard cock.
He flinches slightly but doesn’t push me away or try to move.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
Llywelyn remains stubbornly silent.
As the silence stretches a panic begins to build in my chest. The night he was all hot and eager was the best of my life. But he wasout of it, for reasons yet to be unearthed. He is also a grooming victim.
The experience could have been very different for him.
Oh god. Was it too much? Was I too much? Did I push too hard?
“You…you did enjoy yourself that night?” I blurt suddenly.
I watch in the mirror as Llywelyn’s pale cheeks turn a beautiful shade of fuschia. He nods microscopically, and a blanket of relief settles over me.
Thank fuck for that. Shyness and embarrassment are fine. We can deal with those. It is actually incredibly cute.
“Good,” I say. “Because that was the best night of my life.”
Golden eyes snap up and collide with my gaze in the mirror. His face is a picture of utter shock and surprise and it melts my heart even more.
I kick away the stool that is between us. Then I press myself to his back. I hold his gaze as my hand burrows through layers and layers of white and gold silk and eventually reaches his cock.
I give him a long gentle stroke and watch in the mirror as his pupils blow. The sight ignites a wildfire of arousal within me. I am the keeper of his pleasure and I like it far too much. It is intensely more satisfying than keeping a boy in a cock cage, and I haven’t even had the opportunity to do that in a very long time.
