But that was all before I met Llywelyn. The man repulses me.
Now I’m standing here, imagining lifting up his nightgown and stroking his dick, and it’s making me feel sick.
“Is there no one you trust to help you out?” I snap.
Llywelyn huffs. “Tae, I suppose.”
“Tae?” I raise an eyebrow.
“The one-winged one,” sighs the prince. “But he is so small and he cries so much.”
Rage ignites in my chest. It runs like fire through my veins until every part of me is alight with it.
I step towards the prince. He takes a hasty step backwards.
“Here is what’s going to happen,” I growl. “If you need to cum so bad, bend over the bed so I can fuck you. Because that’s the only thing you’re getting.”
Golden eyes flicker. They stutter. His expression goes utterly blank. I have seen this before, in agents. When their training kicks in and their thoughts go off line. Consciousness recedes to allow conditioning and muscle memory to take control. I’ve felt it myself. But Llywelyn isn’t even human, let alone an agent, so fuck knows what it means.
He glides past me, lifts up his nightgown, and bends over the bed.
A sharp, shocked gasp escapes me as I’m met with the sight of his pale ass. His skin is as white as snow. And his ass cheeks are perfectly formed, perky globes. It is the best ass I have ever seen. Ifit belonged to anyone else, I’d be smitten. As it is, it simply strikes me as deeply unfair. How can anyone so very ugly on the inside, be housed in such a beautiful body? It doesn’t seem right.
I blink and try to gather my thoughts. What the fuck is Llywelyn playing at? He can’t really want me to fuck him? So what game is this? What purpose does it serve?
Fuck it.
If he wants to play, I’ll play.
I take the two steps up to him and stand between his legs. I’m still clenching the bottle of oil in my right hand, so I pull the stopper out with my teeth, yank my pyjamas down with my free hand, and smear the oil over my cock.
My very hard cock.
It’s fine. No one could look at this ass of perfection and not get a boner. It is a perfectly reasonable biological reaction.
I throw the empty bottle onto the floor, and I step up even closer to Llywelyn. Any second now, his bluff is going to be called, and he is going to jump up with a tirade of outrage that I would dare to get this close to him.
I place a hand on his narrow hip. He doesn’t move. Not even a flinch.
I line my cock up to his pink hole. No reaction. I’m not even sure he is breathing.
Fine. He wants to play some twisted version of gay chicken? I don’t lose. Ever.
Thoughts of condoms drift through my mind only to be swiftly chased away by memories of my briefing informing me that humans and fey share no transmissible diseases.
That certainly makes everything simple. There is no need to pause. No need to stop. I can keep on going.
My hips move. My cock presses against his tight entrance. I push some more and his body yields a little. Lust swirls with my anger. The soft heat of his flesh feels damn good against the swollen, leaking tip of my cock.
I push harder. Insisting. Demanding he open up for me. His muscles move as he bears down against me. He knows how to take cock. Grunting, I shove harder and I pop past the tight ring of his muscle.
I groan as sensations of tight silken heat engulf me. He doesn’t make a single sound. Incensed, I thrust, slamming all the way into him. Sheathing myself deep. Pressing my hipbones against the wonderful globes of his ass.
He still doesn’t make a sound.
I fuck him hard and fast. It is brutal. All my hate and anger. It feels fucking amazing. Normally, I am a gentle, considerate lover. This animalistic, feral display of dominance is exhilarating. Intoxicating. Thrilling like nothing else.
I grunt and thrust and exult in the pleasure and power of it all.
