Stroke, stroke, stroke.
Oh sweet goddess, I’m already nearly there.
Suddenly the world is spinning. Surprisingly, it’s not because I’m coming. It’s because Selwyn is moving me. He is bending me over the table. He is lifting my robes up over my hips. He is pouring warm oil that was meant to be for the bread, down my crack.
The oil seeps and teases. It spreads and caresses. Soft and gentle. Wet and warm. Gliding over my hole. Making me moan.
Now his oily hand is back on my cock.
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
There is so much oil dripping down my thighs.
Selwyn steps in close behind me. He moves my feet, pushing them together instead of spreading them, much to my confusion.
Then everything becomes clear. His hard, silken cock nudges between my oily thighs. His hand picks up pace. His hips dance. He ruts into me while his hand glides over my cock.
He fucks my thighs while his hand fucks me.
His hard cock slides over my hole. It bumps against my balls. It rubs over the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.
My throat seizes up as a strange gurgling cry pours out of me. My mind disintegrates, overwhelmed with a bright, keening please. My cock spurts as my orgasm races through me, lighting up every part of my body and soul. Every blood cell, every nerve ending, every muscle is glowing with euphoria.
Selwyn grunts. His hips fall still. His hot, wet, seed splashes between my legs.
My lungs heave. The only sound in the dining room. Sweat is beginning to cool on my skin. My thoughts are slowly reforming.
Selwyn tugs at my waist. He sits back down and pulls me back onto his lap. I sag, boneless and spent. My head lolls back on his shoulder.
He holds me, and he doesn't walk away.
Chapter seventeen
My pillow is very warm. It smells wonderful. And it is gently moving up and down.
Oh no! I can’t believe this! I’m resting my head on Selwyn’s naked chest! It’s morning, but who knows how long I have been like this. The sheer audacity of it is shocking.
Just as I’m about to scuttle frantically away, warm fingers brush over my hair with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
Selwyn is awake. He is aware my entire body is curled up as close to him as I can get, and that I’m using him as a pillow, and miraculously, he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seems to be enjoying it.
Goodness. Yesterday at dinner, I used him as a chair. Now I’m using him as a bed. Why am I acting this way? My husband is not furniture!
All of a sudden, the bedchamber door bursts open. I jump. But then Selwyn’s arm wraps around me. Protecting me and keeping me pressed close against him.
I peek apprehensively at the intruder.
It is an incredibly beautiful fey man with long lilac hair and amethyst eyes, and onyx black horns that curl backwards.
I blink in confusion. Why has Prince Mabon burst into Selwyn’s bedchamber at dawn?
“Mabon, you cannot walk into my bedchamber, any time you choose,” rumbles Selwyn.
“Why not?” asks Mabon breezily as he tucks an errant strand of hair back behind his pointed ear. There are a multitude of thin silver bracelets on his slender wrist. They jangle as he lowers his hand.
Selwyn sighs deeply. Enough to jostle my head. It is a very long-suffering sound.
Mabon’s purple eyes narrow. He stares right at me. It’s hard not to squeak.
