I open my eyes. Llywelyn is undulating on top of me. His waist and hips moving in a way I’ve only seen belly dancers do and oh my fucking god does it feel amazing.
I drag my gaze up his flat stomach. Up to his plump nipples, erect with his arousal. My hands move of their own accord and claim them. Llywelyn whines and rides faster. My hands squeeze, cup and push. My thumbs flick over his nubs.
His head falls back, and he wails his pleasure to the heavens. I watch him in awe. He keeps moving, a fast and delicious rhythm. My hands keep working.
He lifts his head back up and looks down at me. His expression is a combination of haughty prince and bossy twink, with sweet boy overwhelmed by sensation.
It nearly makes me blow my load. But there is no fucking way I want this to end yet, so I bite my lip hard enough to bleed and force my impending orgasm away.
Llywelyn’s eyes glow with a golden light. More than a cat’s in the dark. Not a mere reflection, actually lighting up from within. A groan rumbles through me. Fuck, that is hot.
I look up at him and blink. Oh my god. His antlers. He is displaying his antlers. If my theory about needing happiness to manifest them is correct, then this is the proudest moment of my life.
The base of my spine is tingling. My extremities are numb. My balls are so tight it hurts. I cannot fight back this orgasm anymore.
There is a beautiful fey prince with antlers and glowing eyes bouncing on my cock while I play with his almost-breasts. Nobody in the world could blame me for not being able to hold back.
Llywelyn continues to ride me. Sliding up my cock and slamming back down. Clenching around me. Caressing my hard length with his undulating movements. Everything is heat and pressure and friction.
With a cry, my orgasm unleashes with the fury of a hurricane. It tears through me, obliterating everything in its path. Distantly, I can hear myself growling, but euphoria has catapulted my consciousness to the stars. I’m floating while my body is rocking with the surge of my peak.
Slowly, I drift back down to reality. I’m panting. Sweating. My softening cock is still cocooned within Llywelyn.
I wheeze and stare up at him. I think my brain exploded. I may never be the same again.
He pouts at me and gives me a disapproving glower. My gaze quickly drops down to his belly. Evidence of his own release is everywhere, so why is hesulking?
“How long until you get hard again?” he whines.
My laugh bursts out of me. Hard enough to startle Llywelyn.
His scowl deepens. “I will have to get Dyfri to make you a potion that keeps you hard all night.”
Laughter continues to bubble up through me. Hard enough to shake Llywelyn.
I give him a smile. He has just had the best idea of his life.
Chapter twenty-eight
I’m still surprised that the princes all get together for a family lunch as often as possible. It seems so very domestic. It hints at closeness and familial bonds that I swear are not there. They are princes. Rivals and enemies. A get together for the fey equivalent of a Sunday Roast, is jarring.
Yet here I am, witnessing it with my own eyes. I am sitting at a large round table with all six of the princes. Jamie, Blake and Ollie are also here. And obviously myself. Selwyn and Dyfri don’t have pets, so it is not that anyone is being excluded.
All us pets are sitting on chairs, next to our masters. It feels like we are being treated like spouses instead of property. Though, in Jamie’s case, that is true. He started off as a pet, now he is married. A consort to the crown prince. The fey version of a queen.
That is quite the elevation. I can’t imagine Llywelyn marrying me. The thought makes me smile and I have to duck my head down so nobody sees it.
As I stare at my cheese course, the gentle hum of idle conversation washes over me. This room is not as fancy as others in the palace. It still has dark oak panelling and high ceilings, but it feels almost cosy. Lived in and functional. It is circular in shape with one window high up in the wall, near the beams, which is letting in plenty of light while not compromising privacy.
I like it. It is far more light and airy in here than any cottage in the woods would be. It is also far more refined.
With a grimace, I chase that errant thought away. Damn Selwyn for putting ideas in my head.
“Prys is an asshole,” Jamie says suddenly. “He needs to go.”
My attention snaps fully back to the here and now, but I’m careful not to let my body language give that away. As far as anyone watching can tell, I’m simply calmly eating my lunch.
“I agree,” says Selwyn.
