That is one impressive house. I feel daunted just looking at it. It is a million miles from the tiny two-up two-down in the East End of London where I started my family all those years ago. Well, not a million miles in actual distance, it’s only about eighty of those. But it is so far away in every other aspect, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Am I happy that my great-great grandkids are growing up in luxury? Yes. Am I happy that it is a side effect of being enslaved by a psycho billionaire? No. Well, maybe yes. Having some good come out of it has to be something. 

A heavy sigh escapes me. I don’t know the answer. I’m tired and I just want to see my family. Whatever I think or feel about things is irrelevant. It happened. It is reality. Time to get on with it. Moping is for losers.

With that thought in mind, I carefully drive my car down the driveway and get it as close to the front door as I can. Thank heavens there is a porch, and it is a cloudy day. I’m really not looking forward to getting older, and direct sunlight meaning bursting into flames instead of intense discomfort. But I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

All right, time to take a deep breath and make a run for it. 

I grimace as I barrel out of the car and sprint the short distance to the shade of the porch. I’m so anxious to get out of the sun that I don’t even hesitate about ringing the doorbell.

The chimes ring out pleasantly and the large fancy door opens swiftly. I quickly step inside into the white marble floor of the entrance lobby. The grand staircase is super impressive.

“Edmund?” says a pleasant voice behind me.

They are probably slightly offended that I barged past them, but there is sod all I can do about that. I needed to get away from the sun. Hopefully, they won’t report my social faux pas to their boss.

“It’s Ned,” I reply automatically as I turn.

And then my long dead heart thumps. Jesus effing Christ. My eyes are feasting on the most handsome man to have ever walked the earth.

Tall, check. Dark, check. Handsome, hell yeah, because if I needed to breathe I’d be asphyxiating right now.
He is definitely six foot something. With dark, luxurious looking hair in what has to be an extremely expensive haircut. Eyes the color of finest whiskey. Strong nose and jawline. Manly chin. Good tan.

Flipping heck. If he smiles, I just know his teeth are going to be dazzling white and perfect.

My gaze rakes over his broad chest and then down over his strong legs. All wrapped up in a very fancy suit.
I swallow. God damnit. This is no butler. This has to be Morgan Dowd. My great-granddaughter's widower. 

Apparently, taste in men is genetic or something. Because, damn it. This is unreal.

“Come this way, please,” he says.

I nod mutely and follow him. Why the hell did he have to open his own door? He could have sent a member of staff to do it. Now his first impression of me is me bursting into his house uninvited. 

Not that he seems bothered. And besides, I am about to glamor the poor man into hiring me as his nanny. It is not as if he needs to like me.

I glance around as he leads me down a hallway. The house is silent. It feels empty. I don’t think the kids are here and it is stupid of me to be disappointed about that. I knew they wouldn’t be. Because who the hell introduces their kids to all the people they are interviewing?

Morgan opens the door to a lovely study. There is a big mahogany desk, groaning bookshelves. And a plush leather chair in front of the desk. Right in a beam of dazzling sunlight.

“Take a seat,” he says as he gestures to the cursed chair.

Fuck my life. The only other chair in here is the one behind the desk. The one he is about to sit on.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks.

“Whiskey, please,” I answer.

And then I remember it is not even lunchtime. And this is a job interview. For a nanny position.

Morgan gives a soft chuckle. “I know the feeling. How about coffee to tide us over?”

“That would be great!” I blurt.

Oh my days. I can’t believe he took my fuck up for a joke. I’m never this lucky. Ever.

He wanders over to a side table, and I belatedly spot a gorgeous coffee machine. For fuck’s sake. I thought he was going to have to leave the room. Oh well, there is nothing for it. I’m going to have to act while his back is turned.

Quickly, I grab the chair and yank it sideways, towards the shade. It is far heavier than it looks and it scrapes loudly across the stained floorboards.

Morgan whirls around at the noise and catches me red-handed. Wrapped around his expensive chair and inexplicably dragging it across his fancy floor. 

I wince. “The um…sun was in my eyes.”

He blinks at me. Then he robotically holds out a coffee. I think I have really freaked him out now. Should have known my luck wasn’t going to last. I’m going to have to glamor the shit out of him.

I take my coffee and sheepishly sit in the chair. At least it is out of the sun now.

Morgan takes his seat on the other side of the desk. He places his coffee cup down, and then he sighs heavily.
“The kids are four, three and two years old. Their mother died by suicide just over a year ago. I’ve taken as much time away from my business as I can, but I need to be more hands on. Hence needing a nanny.”

He takes a deep breath and the grief in his eyes is breaking my heart. “I just wanted to get that out in the open.”

“Okay,” I nod calmly.

While inside, I feel like I am dying. How many times has he had to say that today? Lay his grief bare for everyone to see. It’s awful. And it is all my fault. Ritchie said he’d kill my family if I didn’t behave. And stubborn, arrogant ass that I am, I didn’t listen. And my great-granddaughter and her family paid the price.

“The kids are doing remarkably well. They have a great therapist. The job isn’t anything to do with that.”

I nod my understanding. “And how are you doing?”

He blinks at me again. His body even recoils a little. A tiny, rueful smile tugs on the corners of his generous lips.

“Not so good.”

Now I’m the one startling in surprise. That was a brutally honest answer. But I did ask. And I’m a stranger, a safe space. Someone he thinks he is never going to see again, because I’m pretty sure he is not going to give me the job by his own violation.

He visibly rouses himself and picks up a piece of paper.

“So you don’t have any professional experience, but you helped raise your baby sister?”

She was my daughter. I want to say it. It is on the tip of my tongue. I long to claim her, to tell the world that she existed and that she was wonderful. But I can’t. I look nineteen. Early twenties at most and that is shockingly young to have kids these days. 

I want to come across as normal and unremarkable as possible. As well as avoiding awkward questions about where my child is. So, sister is the lie I am going with.

My Barbara has to stay dead and buried. As much as it pains me. But this is all so I can take care of her great-grandkids, so I think she would forgive me.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say with a smile.

Morgan doesn’t reply. His eyes look over the piece of paper in his hand. My shitty resume, I assume. I only threw enough of a one together to get an interview. My plan always was to get my foot in the door and then use my powers to get him to give me the job.

Except I wasn’t expecting to feel guilty about it. Goddammit!. This is awful. Stupid conscience. Dumb morals. What good have they ever done me?

Morgan sighs heavily and places my resume down. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“The job is yours, if you want it.”

His softly spoken words drift around the study. My mind replays them. Several times.

“What?” I splutter, because I must have misheard him.

“You’re hired.”

I stare helplessly at him. He looks at me and smiles. A nice smile, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 
I haven’t used any glamor. He has to have had dozens of far more suitable candidates than me. What the hell is going on?

“You are a man,” he says.

Well, no shit. Ten out of ten for observation.

He shrugs. “It feels less like replacing her.”

His gaze drops to the floor and his shoulders droop. For the second time today, my long dead heart beats. Fuck me. My great-granddaughter had excellent taste in men. Truly phenomenal. Her husband is hotter than hell and so damn lovely it is unreal.

I can feel his love for her. It is a palpable thing hanging in the air between us. He loves her. Misses her. Morgan mourns his wife with an intensity that smolders.

The knowledge settles my determination. I’m going to take this job. I’m going to look after the kids, but now I’m also going to look after him, the very best I can. Because, lord knows he deserves it. And it is the very least I can do. A shitty pathetic gesture towards making amends for this terrible thing I have done.

And while I’m doing so, I need to keep my heart dead. I absolutely cannot fall for this man. Nope. It cannot happen. For so very many reasons. I don’t deserve him, for a start.

But most of all, because his heart is already taken.

I take a deep breath and seal my resolve into my soul.
​
Then I smile. “When do you want me to start?”

​

​Mabon stirs in my arms. He untangles himself and stretches like a cat. All long lines and elegant grace. He is completely naked and utterly free from shame.
He yawns. “Give me Mister Dinky.”
“W…what?” I stutter in surprise.
He flashes me a condescending look. “Put your cock inside me.”
Whatever I was attempting to say gets stuck in my throat and gurgles. A light-headed feeling washes over me as all my blood rushes down. I was already fairly hard, just from memories of last night as well as it being morning.
“Get on with it!” he snips.
I roll on top of him and he spreads his legs for me. I look down at him and he grins up at me with sparkling eyes.
“I’m loose enough from last night, slide Mister Dinky in.”
I grunt, and do as I’m told. His tight, soft heat engulfs me, and I groan in delight. He feels so fucking good.
His head tilts back and his eyes flutter closed.
“That’s it. Good boy,” he purrs. “You fill me so well.”
Oh fuck. Fireworks are going off in my mind. I felt his words viscerally. They have sunk into me and rewritten my DNA. I may never recover from this, and I don’t even care.
I ease all the way into him, but before I can savour the sensation, my hips take over and start to rock.
Mabon moans. “Keep going. Harder. Deeper.”
My body obeys him. The friction of my thrusts zings like electricity through my veins. I gasp.
Then I stop. His eyes snap open in outrage. I give him a slow gentle slide of my cock, nearly all of the way out, then a sensual glide in. The noise he makes is music to my ears.
“No,” I rumble breathlessly. “I’m going to give it to you nice and slow until you are a whimpering, pleading mess.”
His amethyst eyes glow. Sparkling delight. Dark satisfaction. Keen anticipation.
My heart ricochets against my ribcage in response. He likes my idea. It pleases him. He wants me to tease and torment him. To slowly fill him with pleasure until he cannot take it anymore. Maybe this is how I get him to scream my name. By making him so desperate that he begs me for it. Pleads. Whines my name in a cry for mercy.
My hips settle into their new rhythm. Pulling out, sliding in and feeling his body opening up for me all over again. In and out. In and out.
He is tight around me. Soft silken heat. Little ripples of his pleasure spasm around me. He is moaning beautifully now. His cock is hard and flushed. Leaking clear liquid onto his taut stomach.
My movements are too gentle to cause his chains to pull on his piercings. And that’s a tragedy that needs to be resolved.
I shift my weight onto one arm. With my now free hand, I take a hold of his silver chains, just above his belly button ring. I lift gently upwards, pulling the silver chains taut. Tugging on both his nipples and his cock at the same time.
His nipples immediately harden, and he cries out and writhes helplessly. Grinning, I do it again and again. Timing it in between my gentle thrusts.
“More,” he whimpers desperately.
A deep groan rumbles through me. My vision darkens and balls draw up. His soft begging nearly made me cum.
“More,” he repeats.
I give his chains a firm tug, and he keens, high and long.
“Do you want something, Your Highness?” I tease.
He mutters something my translator doesn’t catch, but I’m pretty sure it is an inventive swear word.
“Make me come,” he whines.
“I’m not stopping you,” I say. “But I could watch you writhing on the edge like this all day.”
He yowls and lifts his hips up. It forces a grunt from me. He clenches tightly and I’m seeing stars. He wraps his long legs around my waist and holds me tight. He continues to buck up against me. Fast and hard. I should stop him. I should let go of the chains and take a hold of his hips and hold him down. But pleasure is coursing through me. Pure. More intense than anything I have ever felt.
Our hips slam together. Messy and uncoordinated. My cock pulses and suddenly I’m cumming. My muscles are spasming. I’m yelling. Jerking. He keeps on bucking and tightening around me. Milking me. Drawing out my bliss in great shuddering waves that are going on and on. Far longer and deeper than anything I ever thought was possible.
I’m floating now. Spinning amongst the stars. My consciousness driven out of my body by the sheer ecstasy.
He wails his way through his own orgasm, and I love the sound of it. A song of rapture and euphoria. Pure burning joy. All things I have given him and that he deserves.
The volume slowly reduces. Now the only sound is our panting breaths. I open my eyes. He is looking up at me. My softening cock is still nestled inside his heat. I never want to leave. I could stay like this always.
His amethyst eyes are full of fondness. Tenderness. And a little bit of awe. His beautiful face is flushed and sweaty. He looks well fucked. Sated. Drunk on endorphins.
Pride swirls through me. Warm and golden. Look at what I have done to him. Me. I’m the one that has made him look like this.
And suddenly everything is so clear now. As clear as the morning light streaming around the curtains. I know what I’m going to do.

Mabon is already sitting in the sunken bath by the time I reach the bathroom. I hover by the doorway for a moment, while holding my own leash like a crazy person.
“Get in,” orders Mabon.
The bath is big enough for twelve people at least, so fine, whatever. I’ll join the bossy prince in his bath.
As I wade into the hot water, he throws a washcloth at me. It nearly hits me in the face, but I just about manage to catch it in time.
He doesn’t notice. He just leans back against the wall of the tub and tilts his head back, showing off the long lines of his slender throat.
The water is lapping at his chest. Teasing against his pierced nipples. The silver chains dip down into the water and out of sight. It is very hard not to think about where they go. Very hard. Impossible in fact.
I hate that I have such a perfect image of it burned into my mind. I can picture the rest of him in intricate detail. 
“You are supposed to be washing me,” he says without opening his eyes.
His accent is exquisite. Exotic. Enticing. I swear it dances over my skin and caresses it.
He lifts his head up and looks at me. I’m standing here, waist high in the bath, washcloth in one hand, my leash in my other. Just staring at him. 
My cheeks heat and I hastily stumble forward. I’ve never washed someone before, but it can’t be hard. Surely it is simply a matter of running this cloth all over him?
I drop the leash into the water. The weight of it tugging on my bejewelled collar is… is something I do not want to think about right now.
Mabon closes his eyes again and tilts his head back. He is sitting and I’m standing. I’m towering over him. He doesn’t look the least bit concerned.
I take a deep, fortifying breath. I’m biding my time. I’m being clever. I’m gathering information. That means I have to do this. No matter how humiliating it is. Because that’s what I’m worried about. Humiliation. I’m definitely not worried about how much I’m going to like it. 
I’m not into men. Not even extraordinarily beautiful ones. And I’m absolutely not into captors. Or invading overlords. So it’s all fine. Nothing to worry about.
Grimacing, I dip the washcloth into the gently steaming water. Then, I hold my breath and place the dripping wet cloth onto his shoulder. Water streams over his slightly shimmering skin. It pools in his clavicle. A droplet beads on his nipple.
I force a swallow down my dry throat. 
I dip the washcloth again and slop it messily onto his other shoulder.
“You are terrible at this,” he says without looking at me or even opening his eyes.
Indignation coils low and heavy in my guts. Of course I’m terrible at this. I’ve never been ordered to wash someone before. This sudden burning desire to show him that I can be the best personal washer who has ever existed, is stupid. I have nothing to prove. I don’t need his approval.
I clench my jaw and run the wet cloth slowly and carefully over his glistening chest. I slide between his nipples, skirt under the edge of his left one, delicately jangling the silver chain as I go. Then I repeat, this time going around his right nipple.
He doesn’t move. He barely seems to be breathing. But his nipples harden. They darken from lavender to violet. 
I wonder what they taste like? What would the silver rings feel like on my tongue? Would he gasp if I flicked them, or tugged on them with my teeth? Do his nipples get harder than this? More swollen? Are they as sensitive as they look?
I blink. What the hell is wrong with me? Why on earth did my thoughts go down that path?
And now they are not stopping. Now I’m picturing him writhing beneath me while I torment his nipples. I’m imagining making him cum just from that. I’m fantasising that he would make the same noises as the last time I watched him orgasm.
“Enough of this,” he says abruptly.
I stagger back as he stands and turns. Water sloshes everywhere. He steps out of the bath and stands on the tiled floor with his back to me. My gaze drops to his pert ass cheeks as water streams over the peachy globes of perfection.
“You may dry and oil me.”
I cough awkwardly. I am rock hard. And naked. The water is the only thing saving me.
“Now.”
I step towards him. His back is to me. Besides, he is probably already aware of my arousal. Who knows what kind of freaky sex powers he has? He definitely seems like the type to have them.
He points at a low table, where a neatly folded towel sits next to a jar. He said to dry and oil him, so I guess I’m supposed to do it in that order. I’m sure he will soon tell me if that’s wrong.
I hurry over to the table and grab the towel. It is ridiculously soft. Do they spin them out of clouds or something? Actually, thinking about it, this is now a fey court. So towels spun out of clouds could totally be a thing. 
My stomach twists uncomfortably. Just how much my world has changed is deeply unsettling. And that was even before I was abducted and imprisoned. And made to dry a super gorgeous prince with a cloud.
My hand shakes as I dab the towel at the middle of his back. I wait for a heartbeat, with bated breath, but he offers no criticism. So I continue. I pat gently all over his back. And then his ass cheeks. They jiggle ever so slightly under my touch, and the urge to drop this blasted towel and knead Mabon’s ass cheeks with my bare hands is frightfully strong.
I grind my teeth and continue my journey down his long, shapely legs. I’ve done all of this side of him now. Which means I need to walk around to his front. Where he will be able to see my erection.
But I don’t see any way out of this.
Mabon stands perfectly still as I walk around to his front. I stand before him, with the towel ever so casually held in front of my cock.
His amethyst gaze drops down to my groin and then back up to my eyes. He smirks. An honest to god smirk. A mocking curling of his lips that causes dimples to form in his cheeks. Actual dimples. Insanely cute ones. It’s outrageous.
I’m almost angry as I step forward and dab at his chest. But being confronted with his nipples again, drains the anger from me and leaves me feeling hazy. A little dizzy even.
“Those cuffs do not suit you,” he says suddenly.
And they slide off of me and hit the floor with a dull thud that makes me flinch. Mabon didn’t move. The magic just happened, and that is so very freaky.
“Continue.”
Oops. I hadn’t realised that I had stopped. Hastily, I resume my task. 
I work my way down. To his taut stomach. And down a little more. His pierced cock is hard by the time I reach it. I’m sure that should be satisfying. I’m sure I should smirk back. Even though I don’t have dimples.
I try to ignore his cock. I dry one leg and then the other. I’m on my knees before him now. Please tell me this is over. My skin feels too tight for my body. Like I’m about to explode.
I look up at him. He looks down at me.
Slowly, very slowly, his long-fingered hand drifts down to his cock. He unclips the chain.
“You may take me into your mouth.”
A strange strangling noise comes out of me. It sounds like an animal caught in a trap. One that can’t breathe. And I guess that is exactly what I am.
“I don’t know how to,” I rasp.
Not, ‘I don’t want to.’ Or, ‘I like girls.’ Or even, ‘Remember that consent stuff?’
No, nothing like that comes out of my mouth. Just a helpless confession of inadequacy.
Mabon rolls his eyes and huffs. “I’m I going to have to teach you everything?”
I’m fairly confident that’s a rhetorical question. Even if it’s not, I’m pretty sure I’ve lost the power of speech.
“I can’t be bothered to teach you right now.” He grabs a fistful of my hair. “Open your mouth and don’t resist me.”
My mouth opens.
His eyes narrow. “No biting.”
I shake my head as best I can with his grip on my hair. If he is willing to mutilate me for trying to escape, I can’t even imagine what he would do to me if I bit his cock.
He nods, seemingly satisfied, and all of a sudden, I have a cock in my mouth. It’s hot and surprisingly heavy. It doesn’t taste bad at all. And the silver barbell isn’t scraping my throat. It’s just there, slightly colder than the flesh filling me, and heightening my awareness.
Suddenly, he is deeper in my throat. I gag. He pulls out a little. He shoves back in, even deeper than before. The choking noise I make is obscene. He makes a pleased, happy noise in return.
Then he starts to fuck my face. His hips are thrusting. He is yanking my head up and down, and the stinging pain in the roots of my hair is exquisite. I’m drooling helplessly. Slobber is escaping my mouth. My eyes are watering, tears are flowing down my face.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow. He shows no mercy.
And I love it.
I’m on my knees before a man, having his cock rammed down my throat, and I’ve never been harder. Or more aroused.
He is using me. This pretty, feminine man is using me. Dominating me. Making me helpless and vulnerable. He is taking control and all I can do is submit. Take it. Yield and surrender. It’s driving me wild.
He slams into me and holds still. He is so far down my throat, I can’t breathe. He lets out a soft, breathy moan, and hot gushes spill down into my stomach. I can’t taste him. I guess that’s because he is far past my tastebuds.
I look up at him. He is not pulling out. I still can’t breathe.
He smiles down at me. His eyes are heavy lidded and dark with stars again. He smiles and the dimples appear. He pats my head.
And I explode. My orgasm destroys me. I’m shaking and convulsing. My throat spasms around his cock. He groans in appreciation.
I’m cumming and cumming and I don’t think it is ever going to stop.
Until suddenly it does.
He pulls out of me and my lungs suck in an enormous wheezing gasp, and I fall backwards onto my ass. My head is swimming. My sight is blurry. My lungs continue to heave.
“You look good like that,” he says softly. 
His cool fingers run tenderly over my swollen and puffy lips. He gives me another dazzling smile and pats me on the head again.
“Good boy.”
My cock twitches in response.
Oh heaven help me. I’m so fucked.


​

​Sighing, I climb into the enormous bed and collapse against the soft furs. The firelight is flickering pretty patterns onto the canopy, so I roll over onto my side so I can watch the flames directly.
The room has already heated up, and the furs are warm. Lying on top of them naked feels perfectly comfortable. I’m totally not posing for when Rhydian gets here. That would be absurd.
But I am wondering how much longer he is going to be. Fey or not, the man has to sleep sometime. And I don’t think he is so embarrassed by the confession Mabon teased out of him that he is going to avoid me all night. Is he?
My stomach twists, and my lungs do a stupid stutter. Damn it! My body is so annoying. I’m not a teenager with a crush. I’m a grown man. An adult in a very dangerous situation. I have to keep my wits about me.
Another yawn nearly splits my jaw in half. My eyelids flutter. It’s fine. I can snooze while waiting for him.
The warmth of the fire dims, and I open my eyes. Rhydian is standing in front of me, silhouetted by the flames. I blink. Did I fall asleep? How long has he been standing there?
His face is all shadows, so I can’t tell what he is thinking. Not that I can at the best of times. He is a secretive bastard.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he rumbles.
“It’s so late, it is probably officially classed as early morning, and you are only just coming to bed,” I point out.
He tilts his head up and I can see his frown in the flickering firelight.
“And you had that bad news about Iestyn,” I add. Nevermind awkward revelations of fondness for me. I’m never bringing that up. Ever. I’m not stupid.
Something warm and heavy hits me lightly in the chest before settling on the furs beside me. Did this bastard just throw something at me?
I snatch the item up and examine it in the dim light. It reminds me of a cucumber, but carved from smooth rock, no, it’s crystal. Rose quartz, I think. It’s pink anyway. Heavy, with some slightly raised wriggly lines along its length. Oh! They are veins! This is a dildo!
Oh my! I’m blushing all over, I just know I am. My first instinct is to drop it, but I don’t. Along with the surprise, my body is flooding with a dark and deep arousal. So I don’t drop the dildo, instead I wrap my hand around it and look up at Rhydian with my best seductive look.
I can’t see his expression. But I can see him slowly reach up and, ever so slowly, draw the gauzy drapes of the fourposter bed shut. I swallow and my cock throbs in its bag. Damn Rhydian, how does he make closing curtains look so sexy?
He is kneeling on the bed now, at my feet. The bed drapes are thin enough that I can still see a hazy outline of the fire, dancing around his imposing shadow. A horned creature from myth in my bed.
“Use it,” he says softly.
I stare up at him. I lick my lips. I roll onto my back. Why oh why did I ever confess to using toys on myself?
“I can’t just shove it in. That won’t feel good,” I explain.
He frowns.
“I usually play with my cock first,” I try to clarify.
Maybe he will take this blasted cockbag off and I’ll get to see my poor cock again. I’ve pretty much forgotten what it looks like.
He moves gracefully. Slowly. As if he has all the time in the world. He leans towards me. His long pale hair falls forward, only one simple braid twists around his head, the rest of his glorious hair is free. Firelight flickers through the thin cotton shift he is wearing, showing me a teasing hint of sculpted muscles on a firm chest. I’d give anything to see him naked, I suddenly realise.
Wait a minute, where is he going?
My heart flutters frantically against my rib cage. I’m dizzy. God knows what my guts are doing. Some strange clenching and twisting thing.
Rhydian lowers and lowers. His warm breath dances over my stomach like a soft caress. His lips brush over the silk imprisoning my cock. Is this really happening?
Suddenly, hot, wet heat engulfs my cock. My back arches, a cry tears out of my soul. I’m in Rhydian’s mouth. The bastard hasn’t taken off the bag, but I can still feel everything. Suction. Pressure. Toe-curling heat. Brain-numbing wetness.
The silk of the bag is wet now, and the added sensation is destroying me. My hips are demanding to lift off the bed. They have the audacity to want to fuck a prince’s face.
Oh, my god. My hands scramble for purchase. Anything to hold on to. They land on Rhydian’s horns and squeeze tightly. A low, low rumble pours out of Rhydian. It sounds like a growl. Deep and primal. Not angry. Appreciative. How my mind can interpret a growl, I have no idea. But I know I’m right.
He sucks me even deeper into his mouth. I’m hitting the back of his throat now. Soft flesh bumping the head of my swollen cock. My hands twist on his antlers and he growls again. A perfect feedback loop.
My skin is alight with pleasure. Ecstasy is flowing in my veins. My mind is amongst the stars.
The fire crackles. The furs beneath me are soft. Rhydian’s scent is filling me. Forest and moss. The deep, dark and ancient, hidden places of the world. His antlers are warm and smooth. They seem to vibrate and heat under my touch.
It doesn’t feel as if I am in London anymore. I’m far, far away in another world. I’m no longer a call handler, I’m the plaything of a fey prince. Life has changed so very much. I think I like it.
Rhydian’s tongue swirls over my slit. I cry out. Pleasure is coiling and building low in my gut. A volcano about to erupt from all the built up pressure.
My balls start to draw up. I can taste my impending orgasm on my tongue, but Rhydian pulls off of me. A whine escapes me, and I yank on his antlers in an attempt to pull him back down, but he is far stronger than I am. He dislodges me easily and my hands fall uselessly by my side. His amber eyes sparkle as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
He picks up the crystal dildo. An unstoppered bottle of oil appears in his other hand. Did he do that with magic or are my brain cells too frazzled to notice him grabbing lube?
He grins at me. A wicked grin full of promise. Malicious. Malevolent. Mischievous.
I try to swallow, but I can’t. My muscles have completely forgotten how to coordinate. All they know how to do now is lay here all pliant, waiting for whatever Rhydian wants to do to me.
He pours oil over the dildo. It gleams, glistens and drips. The bottle disappears. Rhydian’s hand strokes the dildo, smearing the oil over it. His hand continues to move. Caressing the smooth crystal as if it were a real cock. Up and down. Up and down. A twist over the head, followed by a swift glide back down.
A strange noise gurgles out of my throat. My cock is so hard it almost hurts. The wet silk clinging to it is not cooling.
He hands me the oiled crystal. I take it. His amber eyes glow with far more than firelight as he watches me lower it to my hole.
I spread my legs even wider and tilt my hips up. As if I want to give him a better view. My gaze won’t leave his face. I’m addicted to watching him watch me.
I line the oil-slick dildo up to my hole. I’m so very horny, I’m sure this is going to work. I push. Amber eyes flare again. The sensitive skin around my hole protests, but the burn feels good. It makes me moan. I feed the fake cock to my hole, relishing in the stretch, the growing fullness, the feel of Rhydian’s eyes on me.
The dildo slides all the way in. I wish it was bigger. I wish it were real. I wish it was him.
A hungry, carnal noise rises out of me. My hips buck. Need floods every cell of my body. My hand moves. Rhydian watches as I fuck myself.
One, two, three thrusts. The weight of his stare is heavy. It pushes lust, desire, and arousal into me.
Four, five, six, and I’m done for. My orgasm blooms into life. Possessing every part of me. My thighs tremble. My cock empties into the bag. My mind soars. Pleasure, euphoria and ecstasy are the only things that exist. They swoop around me. Twist into every fibre of my being, lift me up and carry me far, far away.
As I slowly return to reality, I see his eyes are still on me. The dildo is still inside me. I go to remove it, but his slender fingers on my wrist stop me.
His other hand moves to my cock. One quick tug and the silk bag is gone. My cock is naked and exposed. Soft and spent against my body.
He lowers his head, and I gasp. He sucks my bare, soft, length into his hot mouth. I cry out. My hands fly to his antlers. He hums his appreciation around my cock. The vibrations force a deep, depraved moan from me.
He feels so good around me. But I only just came. I whine and buck. He holds me down with one hand against my belly. I whimper and cry. My hands twist on his glorious antlers.
He sucks and licks and devours. Suddenly, the dildo slides within me. His other hand has taken the end of it. My head thrashes against the pillows. He swallows my cock while gliding the dildo right over my prostate.
It is too much. It is both bliss and torture and everything in between.
I scream and suddenly I’m coming. No time to warn Rhydian. No time for anything. My back arches. Every muscle clenches. I scream and scream. And cum and cum and Rhydian drinks it all down.
I can’t see, I can’t hear. I can’t breathe. All I can do is spin away into the black.
Holy fuck.

​My head is pounding with a terrible headache. The breakfast table is swimming in front of me. I can’t taste my toast. I can’t concentrate.  
It’s been three days since my indiscretion, and while I doubt I’ll ever be happy about it, I don’t think I’m so hysterically distraught that I am giving myself a headache. 
Wriggling around to a new position on my chair doesn’t seem to be helping either. Perhaps it is the breakfast room that is the problem? It is lovely and quiet in here, but it is quite bright. 
Uncle Will walks in and takes a seat opposite me. Guilt floods through me. How could I have forgotten the frantic phone call I received last night? Colby, Jem’s brother-in-law, called me to say that Jem had been sent by the council to be emptied by someone else. 
I had told Will, and he had stormed off in a rage, presumably to go fetch Jem. And here I am, moping and feeling sorry for myself. 
I look up from my toast. “How is Jem?” 
“Fine,” Will says with a smile. Then he peers closely at me. “How are you?” he asks. 
I give him a weak smile. “I’m fine, thank you. My social calendar is filling up nicely. I was wondering if you would attend some events with me?” 
“Of course!” he says brightly as he pours himself a coffee. 
A faint clinking sound fills the room. Oh, my spoon is rattling against the edge of my cup as I stir my tea.  
“Perhaps Master should return to his bedchamber,” suggests Jeeves. 
A shudder wracks my body so hard that my teeth clatter. No. It can’t be. Surely it is too soon? It’s only been three days. 
But the droning words of my boring old trainer start to replay in my mind. “When a vessel is first tapped, their magic is erratic. It eventually settles down to a predictable rhythm, with seven days being the most common, but until then, one’s new husband must stay close by. It is why honeymoons exist.” 
Oh, my gods. Is Jeeves correct? Am I ripe? Is this what it feels like? Is my magic brimming? Demanding freedom? Is sex with a mage the only thing that can make me feel better? 
A slow, careful assessment of my body confirms all of those things. I’m ripe. I’m horny. It is true. 
My butler is offering to help me. 
I drop my spoon and flush a bright red. “Umm . . . er . . . Yes, that is a splendid idea. Please excuse me, Uncle Will.” 
I clamber to my feet, turn sharply on my heels, and shuffle away with Jeeves stalking behind me like a dark shadow.  
“What do I do?” I babble. As soon as we are in the hallway and out of earshot of my uncle. 
I have received very basic training on what it means to be a vessel, and the practicalities involved, but right now there is nothing in my mind but blind panic. 
“May I suggest retiring to your bedchamber as a good first step?” 
Ah yes. Of course. How blindingly obvious. He already told me this. I am such an idiot. I pick up the pace and flee to my bedchamber.  
It is dark in here. The curtains have been drawn. Jeeves must have already been in to make preparations. 
I try to swallow, but my throat is too tight. My awareness of Jeeves is like a thousand tiny pinpricks all along my skin. I’m too hot. I’m too cold. I can’t possibly turn around and look at him. My lungs are faltering. Breathing is so complicated when you think about it. 
“Do you wish to prepare yourself, or shall I?” 
The heat of my blush spreads across my cheeks and down my neck. It is burning. At least he isn’t calling me master now. There is security in formality, but there is also coldness. And I don’t think I could cope with that. Not that I am coping with this. 
“I . . . er . . . I can do it,” I mumble, as I run into my bathroom. 
I lock the door and try to remember how to breathe. It’s fine. Everything is fine. I’m getting to have sex with my crush. It’s great. It needs to be done and everyone says sex is fun. I’m no longer a virgin. There is no reason to fall apart. Everything is good.  
No one will ever know.  
No one will ever know that I let my butler rail me. Not that I imagine Jeeves rails. He is probably very calm and methodical. 
Oh gods. Oh gods. Oh gods. 
Deep breaths. Come on now, passing out in the bathroom would be far more humiliating than anything else that is going to happen today. 
Breathe. Just breathe. 
My gaze falls onto the bottle of lube on the bathroom shelf, nestled amongst the soap and shampoo. It never used to be there. Jeeves is being efficient again. And the thought of that is sending my stomach into cartwheels. 
As I turn away from the sight, I come face to face with a pair of soft cream pajamas, neatly laid out on the heated towel rail. My body recoils. My heart sinks. The high quality pajamas symbolize everything that is wrong. If I was about to be emptied by my husband, I’d be wearing a traditional receiving gown. 
Instead, these pajamas seem to be glaring at me accusingly. They are a stark declaration of my unwed shame. My disgrace. I may be lying and hiding it from the world, but I am still a fallen vessel. Tapped, yet unwed. 
Nobody would want to have anything to do with me if they knew. I’m going to be tricking them all. But I can’t trick myself. I can never forget what I am. And my butler knows the truth. He knows exactly what I am. 
Jeeves has given no sign of it, but he has to be deeply disappointed and ashamed of me. Does he look at me and feel disgust? 
I stagger towards the toilet. I think I’m going to be sick. 
I heave dryly, but nothing comes up. My head is pounding. I’m seeing flashes of color. I need to get this magic out of me. Shame and regret are going to have to wait. 
I grit my teeth and reach for the lube. 
A short while later, I stride into my bedroom with false confidence. Jeeves is standing by my bed, his hands clasped behind his back. His impeccable dark suit makes me feel naked in my pajamas. I cannot meet his eyes. The fake confidence that got me out of the bathroom has burned out, leaving me standing alone and deflated in the middle of the room. 
“Would Master prefer to use a brace?” Jeeves asks softly. 
I nod numbly. 
Jeeves steps forward and places something in my hand. I stare at it. It is a finger length of wood wrapped around and around with strips of soft dark leather. Where did he get a brace from? Did he make it? That thought makes all my insides clench and my toes curl. Cold sweat is trickling down my back. 
“Perhaps Master would care to bend over the bed?” 
My eyes slam shut. My fists clench. The brace digs into the palm of my right hand. But Jeeves is right, it is time to get on with this. There is no point in delaying the inevitable. I made this bed, now I have to lie in it. Or in this case, bend over it. 
A strange noise comes out of my nose. It’s part snort laugh, part whimper. I even sound like an idiot. 
Somehow my legs move. They are heavier than lead, but they carry me to the edge of my bed. I lift the brace to my mouth and clench it between my teeth. I bend over my bed and wait. The only sound in the entire world is the thumping of my heart. 
“Do you remember your training?” he asks softly. 
I nod and clench the sheets. My hole is all but dripping with lube, and I’ve opened myself up as much as I can. I hope that is what he is asking me. If he means something else, I am at a loss. 
My pajama trousers are slid down, and my ability to think goes with them. I bite down on the brace and catch my pathetic whimper. Goosebumps erupt on my skin. It is not only trepidation that is coursing through my veins. Despite my nerves, I yearn for his touch, his warmth. I want him to hold me, kiss me. 
But my butler is not my lover. He is only doing this out of necessity. It is going to be cold and functional. Yet still I burn for it. I crave it. I want him. Arousal is thrumming through me. My cock is hard and weeping. I am nervous and ashamed. But oh, so very desperate. 
I could blame it all on the magic, but that would be yet another lie. My magic is screaming for this, but I want it too. I want my butler. I want Jeeves. Another secret to bear. Jeeves is being wonderful and saving me from my own stupid mess. He is going far above and beyond his duty. He would likely be horrified if he knew how pervertedly pleased part of me is about all of this. The poor man deserves far better than my inappropriate lust. He is not my gigolo. 
One hand touches my hip., hotter than a brand. It’s burning into me. Consuming me. I want that touch everywhere, but this is all I’m going to get. I feel like a man lost in the desert, catching a single drop of moisture on his tongue. I need more, so much more. 
Something hot and blunt is pushing at my hole, demanding entry. Oh, my gods. It really is happening. I’m about to be filled, and this time I am going to remember it. Probably for all eternity. For every single life I am reincarnated to, I will dream of this. 
My body is opening up for him. 
“That’s it. Good boy. You are doing so well.” 
The words caress my very soul. My mind short circuits. I bite down on the brace with all my might and only just stop my moan. It would have been a moan of sheer delight. 
He breaches me, and the very tip of him is inside me. It already feels so good. Oh gosh. This is going to destroy me. He sinks in a little further and my body stretches around him. A yowl escapes me, unhindered by the brace. I wince. A good vessel is a quiet vessel, even I know that. I bite down harder and tighten my grip on the sheets. I will not utter another sound. I’m going to be a good boy. 
“Well done. Breathe, that’s it. Bear down against me, as if you are trying to push me out.” 
Pain flares. The stretch has turned into a burn. The brace holds my whimper in. 
“You can do this.” 
I can do this. I am a vessel. It is what I was born for. My very purpose is to surrender my magic and my body to a mage. 
He slides in some more. Panic ignites. I wish I had checked how big he was before I agreed to this plan. I’m going to be impaled. It is too much. It is never going to fit. 
He pauses and makes soothing noises. I wish he’d touch me. Flip me over and kiss me. 
“You can take me, Barny.” 
My heart flutters. My stomach flips and every muscle in my body relaxes. He called me Barny. Jeeves used my name. 
He continues to slide in, and in, but the progress is easier now. Less pain, more pleasure. Warmth is shooting down my legs, causing them to tremble and my toes to curl. My breaths are coming in short, rapid bursts. 
Still he gives me more, and more. Gods, how much is there? I swear if he goes any deeper, he is going to hit my ribs. Surely he has to know he is too much of a man for a novice to take? What was he thinking in offering this? 
And still he eases into me. In and in, and in some more. Never ending. 
Finally, I feel the press of his groin against my ass cheeks. He is all the way in. I have done it. I have taken him all. I could weep with exuberance and joy and pride. 
“Well done, Barny.” 
A helpless groan tries to escape around my brace, but I don’t let it. I’m sweating. I’ve never felt so full, so stretched. So complete. This feels incredible. It is nothing like the dildos I practiced with. Jeeves is so hot and heavy inside me. He is filling me to breaking point. There is no room for anything else, in my body, mind or soul. There is only Jeeves. 
My lungs are heaving now. I can’t remember how to open my eyes. Dull pain is seeping from my palms and my jaw. I think I’m clenching the sheets and biting down on the brace too hard.  
Jeeves moves. A gentle roll of his hips that sets me alight with euphoria. Oh my, that feels good. He does it again, and again. Rocking pleasure into me with every thrust until I feel as if I am floating on a sea of it. 
The friction, the pressure, the feeling of fullness, it is all divine. In my wildest dreams, I never knew it could feel like this. I finally understand why people are obsessed with sex. I think I am going to be now. My new addiction. 
Thrust, and thrust. I’m soaring now. Pleasure is flooding my mind. Every inch of my skin feels alive. It is overwhelming. I want to weep, but all I can do is take it. I can only lie here as Jeeves drives me further, and further into bliss. 
A strange heat is growing low and deep within me. It feels tight and heavy. Magic? Orgasm? Both? I do not know. 
Whatever it is, it is building, and building. It is making me squirm and writhe. Jeeves is keeping his steady pace. The pressure grows, and grows. It is spreading out along my every nerve ending. Consuming every single molecule of my being. 
I erupt. There is no other word for it. All my pleasure, desire, and joy, pours out of me. My magic joins it. My soul is on fire. I am incandescent. I blaze in glory for long, agonizing minutes. And then I am spent. 
Now I am empty and hollow. Wheezing alone as I lie here, bent over my bed. Dizziness swirls through me. I’m shaking. The intensity I just experienced has left me shattered. I can’t think, can’t focus. 
I know only one thing. 
Jeeves has left.