Chapter Six #6
Iver didn’t thrust deeper. He didn’t force his way inside against the resistance of William’s body. That had to count for something. Iver wasn’t trying to hurt him, even if the only reason was that a frightened, bleeding husband wouldn’t make enjoyable entertainment for the fae watching on.
Or would it?
William deliberately relaxed his muscles. He took a deep breath, and his ring loosened its death grip.
“There you go,” Iver said.
He tunneled inside, his hand muffling William’s shout as he hilted his fingers in him. William groaned through parted lips, practically kissing Iver’s palm.
He was at Iver’s mercy. In his own castle, he was at Iver’s mercy. There were no human guards within earshot he could call if things went wrong. The fae in the hall wouldn’t care if Iver decided to harm him. A chill prickled William’s back.
Iver withdrew, pulling out of him as he let go of William’s mouth. He left a strange void in his wake. A moment ago, he’d been all around William, inside him; now he was two steps away, slicking a plug.
“Can you keep quiet?” Iver asked as he approached with that massive wooden tool. Somehow, it looked a lot bigger when Iver was holding it—when it was supposed to go inside William.
“Yes,” William ground out.
“Good.” Iver moved behind him. “Spread your cheeks for me.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Blood rushed into William’s face. Those damn dark fae. He burned. A king wasn’t supposed to debase himself like this. But his hands were already clutching his cheeks and parting them for Iver. Despite his mind rebelling against the notion, he liked it.
William screwed his eyes shut and presented Iver with his most private opening. He shouldn’t want this, but he did.
Iver touched him with the plug’s blunt end, and that small nudge was an order William eagerly obeyed.
He bore down, his rim widening, welcoming the fat tip inside.
And fuck, that thing felt even bigger than it looked.
It parted William’s inner walls in every direction.
The faerie oil slid into his every fold, warming and pleasuring him as the plug went in and up and—
“Ah!”
It hit something deep inside him, the contact sending sparks through him, his jaw going slack, his toes curling in the powdery snow.
He knew about the prostate, but he’d never felt it.
The moans of his male concubines when he fucked them had always seemed too enthusiastic to be real.
The tall tales of this mystical pleasure point had sounded so ridiculously exaggerated that William hadn’t taken them seriously.
That might’ve been a mistake. Because damn, if one knock to his prostate was this good, what would it feel like for a cock to drive into it over and over?
Iver was bigger than the plug… William shuddered.
Perhaps he should hope for Iver to win the wrestling match after all.
He couldn’t help squeezing the plug rhythmically, trying to steal pleasure. The thing was heavy, its weight pulling at him.
Iver fed him the rest, easing the strain.
A fullness, not dissimilar from when he needed to relieve himself, settled.
He narrowed around the plug, trying to press it against his prostate and feel that incredible sensation again.
But the position of the plug wasn’t right, and he didn’t receive that sliver of pleasure he’d enjoyed so much.
Iver stepped back, fetching the next item they’d need—another, larger vial of oil. This one was the regular type, a flask filled with golden liquid, no mysterious plant parts floating in it.
William stood, and the plug shifted, drawing a low sound from him.
Upright, it was more difficult to hold onto the plug.
William gripped it with his inner muscles.
It was stretching him, priming his hole for penetration.
No matter how many concubines he’d gone through over the years, he’d never felt more like a slut. He liked it.
Iver popped the cork off, and a scent reminiscent of artichokes permeated the air.
This oil—probably olive, from Maressia or another kingdom to the southwest of Vale—would not be used to slick their insides.
They were going to apply it to their skin, making the fight slippery—and pleasing to the eye.
Iver beckoned him closer, and William, the plug beating him with pleasure, teetered over as if he were some inexperienced fawn. Thankfully, Iver didn’t comment.
He handed William the flask, who took it wordlessly. He poured oil over Iver’s shoulders, watching it cascade down his body. He spilled more onto his chest and abdomen, noting with satisfaction that Iver was fully hard. Inserting the plugs hadn’t left him unaffected.
William rounded him, splashing oil onto his back. It slid over his shoulder blades and spine before dripping down the prominent curve of his ass. Iver’s skin glistened, the oil highlighting his muscles and curves, showing off his splendid physique.
Iver took the flask from William and circled him like a predator as he poured oil down his body. The herbaceous scent intensified as the liquid spilled over his skin. Iver emptied the last of the oil onto William’s ass, no doubt taking a good look.
He put the empty flask away and stepped in front of William.
William sucked in air as Iver palmed his pecs, distributing the oil evenly across his chest. To have those hands, equally elegant and strong, on him did things to William he had no words for.
Under Iver’s attention, he caught fire. His cock, granite between his legs, grew impossibly harder.
He’d never longed to fuck anyone as much as Iver, who was kneading his pecs, thumbs brushing his erect, appreciative nipples.
The smallest touch made his cock twitch.
Iver stepped closer yet, exploring William’s shoulders and back. Their bodies brushed against each other.
When their cocks bumped, William bit his lip to keep himself from making noise. Under Iver’s caress, he was in danger of moaning and panting, restraining himself by sheer force of will.
Iver trailed his hands down William’s back and onto his ass, squeezing and fondling his cheeks.
He sank onto his knees as he spread the oil over William’s legs.
Those steel blue eyes looked up at him, and memories of Iver touching him similarly when he’d searched him for iron flashed through his mind.
“Your legs are much more muscular,” Iver said with appreciation. The winter faerie fruit had worked wonders.
As Iver rose to his feet, he traced the inside of William’s leg.
The sensitive skin prickled under his touch, and William’s eyes widened when Iver didn’t stop at the junction of leg and torso.
He wouldn’t go there, right? William’s cock throbbed with anticipation.
Goosebumps danced over his skin as Iver’s long fingers traveled to the base of his cock and wrapped around his aching shaft.
William couldn’t contain the happy gasp that flew off his lips.
Iver gave him a pointed look but dragged his hand up William’s length, showering him in bliss.
William hadn’t found release in days, which had to be a record for him, his body thrumming under the caress.
Iver hauled his thumb over William’s crown, smearing the oil across it.
“In case you win by some miracle,” Iver said.
William’s ability to shoot back a barbed remark had left his body with the swelling bead of precum on his glans.
Iver straightened, gracing William with an expectant look. “Help me spread the oil,” he said when William didn’t move.
Forcing himself to focus, William placed his hands on Iver’s generously shaped pecs, hard nipples teasing his palms. He moaned.
Iver’s flesh was as firm as his skin was soft, robbing him of all thought.
He worked the oil into him, wandering from his chest to his shoulders and arms, then down to his stomach.
His thumbs traced the relief of Iver’s abdomen, his gaze dipping south.
Iver’s cockhead shone with wetness. The sight of Iver’s arousal had William salivating.
He stepped closer yet, hands running to Iver’s back, lazily stroking before dropping to his ass, giving it the same treatment he had received.
And damn, what an ass. Iver was deliciously firm, growing increasingly slippery as William lingered.
He couldn’t help kneading Iver thoroughly, drawing a chuckle from him.
With hot ears, William let go, drawing to Iver’s front. He looked him in the eye as he gripped Iver’s thick, hard cock and lubed its considerable length. A muscle in Iver’s jaw ticked, the only sign of his struggle to control himself.
William swiped his thumb over the glans, triumph blooming when Iver jerked in his hand.
Unperturbed, he let go and proceeded to spread the oil evenly on Iver’s legs.
As he sank to his knees, the plug moved, knocking his prostate.
He swallowed the groan threatening to roll off his lips.
That thick, wooden thing was driving him insane.
How bad would it get during the fight? Because whether William ended up on top or not, there’d be something up his ass when he came.
Iver’s cold gaze rested on him. “The rules are simple. There’ll be a circle drawn in the snow at the center of the hall.
We must stay within its boundaries, and if one of us steps over them, by accident or on purpose, they automatically lose.
Otherwise, the match lasts as long as it takes one of us to make the other come through penetration.
If that isn’t enough to produce an orgasm, hands may be used, though it’s discouraged.
At the Winter Court, we believe that coming in front of an audience through the power of penetration alone is the most exquisite form of submission. ”
William swallowed. He’d expected this, but hearing it from Iver in such clear terms made him shiver. “Is there anything that’s forbidden?”