He makes an almost pained sound as he cums. I can feel the muscles in his thighs tensing as he rides his peak, then as his euphoria crests, I can feel him quivering, trembling, all but vibrating.
He tries to close his legs, but I don’t allow it. Neither do I slow my tongue. He is fey, he can cum again, and again, and again. And that’s exactly what he is going to do.
He sobs and writhes. Oversensitive and overstimulated. It is beautiful. He cums again, far sooner than I was expecting.
Fuck, I love fey physiology.
I stop tongue fucking him and start sucking instead. Trying to pull his soft flesh into my mouth. He goes wild and cums for me again.
I coax one last orgasm from him by tenderly and slowly licking around and around his rim. Then I sit up to admire my handiwork.
Llywelyn is sprawled loose-limbed against the sheets. Cum all over his belly. His eyes are half-closed as if he is about to pass out. His chest is heaving.
I eye the white bandages carefully for signs of fresh gold, but they look good. Sighing in relief, I resume my slow perusal of my boy. His cheeks are flushed. His bottom lip swollen and indented with teeth marks.
My gaze drops back down. Plump candy-floss pink nipples are just peaking over the top of snow-white bandages.
God, I’d love to cum on them, but I don’t want to get his bandages dirty. I don’t give a shit what the healers would think, but Llywelyn might. And it is probably not the best for hygiene.
With a wistful sigh, I free my hard cock. I continue to drink in the sight of fucked out and dazed Llywelyn while I stroke myself.
He watches me with half-lidded eyes that gleam with appreciation. He loves watching me make myself cum. It is still an exotic novelty for him. I hope it never wears off.
Fuck. A few more strokes and I’m going to be done. I walk on my knees a few steps up the bed.
“Can I cum on your face?”
His eyes widen and then darken. The flush along his cheeks grows a deeper pink. He nods.
“Close your eyes,” I grunt in warning.
I’d love for him to keep watching, but he is new to this. He won’t know how to keep cum out of his eyes and that shit stings like a motherfucker.
I groan as my orgasm shoots through me. It’s a struggle to stop my eyes from rolling back, but I’m not missing this. I watch in reverent awe as my cum covers Llywelyn’s beautiful face. It drips down his cheeks. It catches in his long eyelashes. It smears over his plump lips.
It is the hottest thing I have ever seen in my entire life.
Despite everything, I feel bloated with well-being. As long as Llywelyn and I have each other, everything will be okay.
Chapter thirty-seven
“Are you sure you are well enough?” I ask.
Llywelyn looks up from fussing with his sleeve. “Why do you keep asking that?”
A strange whiny noise pours out of me and I hate it. “I don’t know. Maybe because you died in my arms three days ago and now you want to go to a party?”
Llywelyn blinks slowly. “You are worried about me?”
His golden eyes are full of disbelief. Bewilderment. I hate it. I never want to see him look like this. He should know how much I care. And I think, deep down, he does. It is just his upbringing and his fey nature that is preventing him from fully accepting it.
“I’m worried about you,” I state clearly.
He stares at me for a moment longer before going back to fiddling with his robes.
“I feel fine. The healers said I can resume my duties. I can’t miss Selwyn’s intended being presented to court.”
I frown. “I can’t believe that is still going ahead.”
