I drop her hand and fall like an angelic sacrifice back onto the sheets, stretching my white wings out wide. “That’s right, worship your god, Omega.”
Freya snorts, which is rude, before scrambling over me and elbowing her god in the stomach.
I regain my elegant pose, displaying myself on the ivory sheets as sensually as I was taught to in the Courtesan Guild.
Like this, I can’t hide that I am already at half-mast just from the thought of my soulmate’s soft hands sliding through my sensitive feathers.
My balls ache.
I can’t stop myself tensing like I always do when Freya moves further away from me and she is lost to the shadows of the room, blurred by every step that she takes from me, as if she has been reduced to the ghost that I swore she wasn’t.
Every time that she moves too far from me, and I am unable to see more than her outline, I worry that I will lose my sight completely at any moment.
Then it will have been the last time that I have ever looked upon my beautiful soulmate.
I can’t miss a single opportunity. I need to live each moment to the full.
My breathing speeds up.
What if it is…?
I listen out keenly to the sounds of Freya rifling through something metallic, possibly beads. She is searching for the brush, I guess.
I like the idea that she is stealing another king’s precious personal belongings for me.
“I bet bat-face’s expression will be amusing, when he notices my white feathers in his brush,” I say, smugly.
“I’m not going to use Lanlin’s brush. I found something better.” Freya’s voice is laced with a seductive excitement, which goes straight to my cock.
She hasn’t suggested anything that hasn’t ended in the best way for both of us.
My lips curl into a smile, before I sniff. “Smells like Lanlin.”
“It’s incense oil.” Freya rushes back to the bed, clambering on and straddling me. “You wanted to be worshiped.”
I suck in a breath, as her pussy rubs across my cock.
She teases her slicked folds against me several more times, before scooting up to rest her arse on my chest. I stare up adoringly at the gorgeous sight of her breasts swinging above me.
I would die and burn in hell to be able to suck and lick her pebbled nipples until she comes.
I’m distracted out of my happy daydream by the smell of the jar being opened.
My nose wrinkles.
Freya drops something into her palm, before resting the jar to the side. Then she leans over me to caress the oil through the outer, iridescent feathers of my right wing.
I keen.
The sensation on my sensitive wing is like Freya is rubbing her hand directly over the sensitive head of my cock. Except, it’s more intimate: An emotional connection that binds my soul to hers.
It makes me want to fly with her high into the skies, as my ancestors would their soulmates, while she strokes my wings, claiming me as an Omega should their Alpha.
Only a soulmate has a right to touch their Alpha’s wings.
Too many other people have got handsy with my wings since the dragons captured me.
Yet Freya has seemed to understand, despite not being a fae, that brushing and tending for my wings is what I have needed to feel…unviolated…again.
