Kit
“Does it feel good?” I asked, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock, a small swell of pride shooting through my stomach when he rolled his head back.
“God, yes,” he groaned, tunneling his hands through his hair. “You’re such a good fucking girl.”
I kissed the velvet skin on his shaft, working up and down again, knowing he liked it this way the most.
“How much do you love it, sir?” I squeezed his balls before dipping his cock back into my mouth, slowly allowing it to slide to the back of my throat.
“More than you could possibly imagine.” He buried his fingers in my long dark hair, fisting handfuls as he guided my head the way he wanted. I loved this the most, when he took control, when he made me purr in a way only he could. “My little kitten. My precious cub.”
Fuck, that turned me on more. All these years I had walked this planet and no one had ever made me as wet as him. No one had ever come close. Pressure built between my legs and I dug two fingers into my clit, trying to alleviate it.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he said, slowing his pace while he tsked his teeth, chiding me. “Don’t you dare touch that pussy, love. That’s mine to play with. Mine to have and to hold, forever and ever.”
I whined, letting his cock go with a loud pop that had his hips bucking off the cushioned seat.
“We’re not married,” I said. “Not really.”
He ran the back of his fingers down the side of my cheek. “Just like we’re not fucking, not really.”
I took a deep breath and glanced at the scene he’d chosen for us. We were in his grandfather’s throne room, or at least, I thought we were. I hadn’t gone to London with my parents any of the times they’d visited, so I couldn’t be sure. But he’d told me about this fantasy in one of our lifetimes, how he liked to bring people back to the palace and sit on his family’s ancestral throne and skull fuck whoever would let him. In this case, he liked doing it to me because of what it said to his grandparents.
What did it matter?
This wasn’t real. None of this was real. Not even my feelings for him. They, too, were manufactured by the world’s biggest villain—Alberich, the fairy king. My heart clenched and I blinked back tears.
I thought I had loved him, once upon a time. I thought I had loved him and married him over and over again for a hundred years. But no…that was a fiction built for me by a monster from a nightmare.
I didn’t have a choice in loving Prince Edward, Duke of Sussex, nor did I have a choice in connecting to his mind every single night and living out these deliciously vile fantasies with him.
But alas, there I remained.
“,” someone called from the real world, and I glanced up at Edward’s green eyes one last time before blinking back to existence. “,” came the voice again.
I focused my gaze on my much younger sister, Abigail. “What?”
“Are you okay?” She squinted at me. “You were calling out some random dude’s name in your sleep.”
Ahh, hell.
“I’m fine. What do you want?” I didn’t talk about my time spent under the fairy king’s spell. Aside from my siblings, who would believe me? It wasn’t like being abducted by the fairies was a modern-day occurrence, if it ever was, and almost no one on the planet could relate to feeling mentally seven hundred years old while being in a twenty-four-year-old body.
“It’s Mother,” she said, her steel eyes swimming with torment while she wrung her hands. “I need your help.”