6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

M abon 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. “Am 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.