Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Dyfri
This is awful. Damn inconvenient and frustrating.
It’s early morning, and the world is quiet except for Jack snoring softly behind me. It’s enough to make me want to stab him. But then he’d just stare at me with those ridiculously big puppy eyes of his and look sad. It would be even worse than the snoring.
However, it might be better than this torment. He’s snoring, but he is also waking up and so is his cock, in that way fey and human biology seem to share.
I can sense his sleepy arousal. It is sparking over my skin, golden and bright.
He’s growing his morning glory while I’m lying here in this state. It’s terrible. An unmanageable torment.
It’s been four days since I’ve had any kind of release. Four days. That’s a feat for any fey. It might be a new record, I should note it in one of my study journals.
There isn’t a potion in the world that can completely quell the need, goddess knows I’ve tried. I’ve studied every text. Experimented with every recipe. I’ve figured out how to delay the need for longer than anyone else. But I’m not invincible.
It’s so frustrating being defeated and outdone by basic biology. But I have to admit I’ve reached the limit of what I can endure.
Four flipping days. I didn’t reach my peak on the wedding night because I was too focussed on ensuring that the healers would have the required evidence in the morning.
And I didn’t know that afterwards Jack was going to forbid me from touching him.
So here I am in this stupid predicament, while he is right here beside me. It’s beyond infuriating. Especially since I wouldn’t mind having sex with Jack. It seems as if it could be tolerable. He’s absurdly sweet despite being the size of a mountain.
A mountain of muscle. All shapely and defined. With that strange human body hair that’s oddly alluring and almost begging to have fingers run through it to explore how it feels.
Oh, sweet goddess of the night! Please stop these inappropriate thoughts from swirling in my mind!
With that prayer uttered, I slip quietly out of bed. The last thing I need is Jack waking up and asking any questions.
Silently, I leave the bedroom. I need a solution to my problem, and lying in bed will not provide one. Going back to the palace to make use of my usual means is out of the question. Going back with Mabon as an escort was risky enough. I need to think of something else.
As I step into the living room, I find a servant laying breakfast on the table by the window. This could be perfect.
He looks up at me, and I give him my best come-to-bed smile. He pales and scurries away. Leaving me alone in the empty living room.
I cross my arms over my chest. Stupid humans and their stupid fidelity, and stupid Jack and his stupid sad eyes if I played with someone else.
‘You’re my husband. That means something.’
What a stupid thing for him to say. It’s wrong for a start. I’m his consort, not his husband. Calling me his husband implies an equality that isn’t there. And secondly, there was absolutely no need to say it with such conviction. As if he believed it with his whole entire soul.
Fuck.
Human sensibilities aside, it is our honeymoon. Going to someone else’s bed would be shocking. And not in any way I could utilise.
What the hell am I going to do? I can’t touch Jack. I can’t touch anyone else. I can’t go back to the palace to try my usual means, which probably wouldn’t work anyway because I’ve left it too long.
Cold shower! The thought hits me suddenly. That’s what humans do in similar situations, isn’t it? I’ve never had any interest in their shower contraptions, but Jack has one in his washroom, and it has to be worth a try. Absolutely anything is worth a try at this point.
I hurry into Jack’s washroom and tear my nightgown off.
At first, the blast of cold water is shocking enough to be distracting.
Then the way the water soaks into my hair and makes the unfamiliar weight of my braids more pronounced, is very grounding.
But then it is simply painful. Icy cold water raining down on my flesh while my cock burns.
Now I’m shivering. My teeth chattering. My mind is too befuddled to move, even though the cold water is doing nothing for my problem. I’m going to be stuck in here forever until I freeze to death. This is not how I thought I would die.
“Dyfri, are you okay?”
Jack’s voice is warm and concerned, it dances over me. A taunt and a tease. I groan and double over. I can’t take this. It is unbearable.
He walks in and goes stock-still. An immovable statue by the door.
I’m naked, and my hair is a ruin, and I probably look like a drowned cat, but I barely care. There is an all too familiar bitter taste flooding my mouth.
Defeat.
I grit my teeth. “Did you get to the part in your notes about the fey not being able to masturbate?”
“Yeah,” Jack croaks quietly.
Silence falls. There is nothing but the hammering sound of the icy water and my own ragged breathing.
Jack clears his throat. “Would you like a hand?”
Warily, I nod my head. “Yes.”
I brace myself for his mocking. His cruelty. His delight in his power over me. I hope he doesn’t force me to beg.
He steps towards me. His hand reaches into the shower and shuts the water off. He lets his bedclothes fall carelessly to the floor.
He isn’t saying a word. He isn’t even laughing at my predicament. All I can sense from him is concern, nervousness and a little flickering flame of his own arousal.
Surely he is not truly as guileless, wholesome, and kind as he acts? Nobody is. It has to be a performance. One he clearly excels at.
A sharp spike of need bites into me. I’m too miserable to figure Jack out. The puzzle is going to have to wait because right now my body is demanding all of my attention.
My bones are frozen. My flesh is ice. I can’t even shiver now. The cold has seeped into every part of me. Except my stupid cock.
Jack steps behind me. Takes up position at my back. It should be alarming. Terrifying even. But perhaps I’m too cold to care. Or too in need. Or too used to having him behind me because I have been giving him my back every night, a detail he doesn’t even have the grace to be offended by.
I straighten up. Press my back against his chest. He is warmer than a bread oven.
His large hand wraps around my aching cock with delicate care. He moves carefully. Gently. Tenderly.
Jack’s touch lacks technical skill, but his care and sincerity is endearing. His gentleness is enough to make my breath hitch.
He picks up speed and increases pressure. I bite back my moan of relief and pleasure. My eyes flutter closed. I send my mind far away and allow my body to exult in receiving what it needs.
My peak comes blessedly swiftly. I bite my bottom lip and manage to stay silent throughout.
Clouds of disorder slowly clear. I blink.
I’m sagging back against Jack, and he is delightfully warm.
The furnace of his body heat is blasting the chill away from my bones.
I can feel all the firm muscles of his chest pressing into my back.
He smells good too. All manly and clean.
Healthy and virile. His arm is still around me, and it feels… good. Like something I need.
He goes to move away.
“No!” I snap, and he pauses in place. “Your body heat is pleasant.”
“Okay,” he agrees softly, and he presses himself even closer to me. I must feel like ice to him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
His hands start to glide over me. Rubbing warmth back in with an efficient, impersonal touch that is enraging. He reaches my arm, and his palm falters at the ridges of my scarring. He resumes quickly, and says nothing.
“It will be warmer in bed,” he suggests.
“Fine,” I snap.
Somehow we make it to the bed. I end up with my back towards him, as usual. But the way he presses himself close and curls his giant body all around me, is not usual at all.
It’s warm. It’s reheating my chilled body. It’s also something else I can’t name. Something similar to Jamie’s hugs.
What is it with humans and their fondness for pressing their bodies together when it’s not for sex? It is so peculiar. Even though I can’t say I hate it. Despite the fact it is making my heart do strange things.
“Are you alright now?” Jack asks, his lips so close to me that his breath tickles my ear.
I’m no longer freezing, but I’m perversely enjoying this, and I don’t want him to leave.
“Just tired,” I say.
Hopefully, that’s excuse enough for him to stay.
It’s also true. I’m tired to my bones. Even down to my soul. An exhaustion that has nothing to do with sleep.
I’m tired of all the plots. The spinning webs that constantly twist and change. All the games. The planning five moves ahead while trying to guess everyone else’s next ten moves. The never-ending, ceaseless fight of it all.
How nice it would be if it all just stopped.
How wonderful it would be just to lie in someone’s arms and be held like something precious. To know that someone had your back, and you weren’t alone in the fight.
That would be the greatest blessing ever bestowed.
I sigh heavily. Where are all these thoughts coming from? It must be the stress of denying release for so long. Maybe combined with the hypothermia, it has unleashed this despondency.
A yawn takes me by surprise. Apparently, I am sleepy.
“Go to sleep,” Jack says. “I have you.”
He doesn’t. It is a nice sentiment. He isn’t holding me because he is my lover. He doesn’t have my back like a partner. He is nothing more than a pawn. A means to an end. A way for me to escape court and make contact with the right humans.
Whatever reasons he has for agreeing to this arranged marriage, I’m sure they are just as calculated.
But I think I will allow myself to drift off to sleep. I will steal more of his warmth and this unnamed feeling having his arms around me invokes. I will bask in it and pretend.
Pretend that it is something more than it can ever be.