Chapter Six #7
“You may not go for the eyes, but everything else is allowed: choking, slapping, hair pulling…”
“Hair pulling?” William asked, regarding Iver’s long mane.
“I’ve heard of contestants shaving their heads to avoid that, but I deemed it unnecessary.”
Arrogant prick.
Iver’s oil-slick hand cupped William’s cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you. You’ll come pulsing and moaning, and then I’ll spill inside your sweetly clenching hole.”
“Not if I mount you first.”
Iver gave him a look that one might bestow upon an over-ambitious child.
“If you want to pull out, you can. I’m sure the priestess would annul our marriage if you insisted.
After all, it hasn’t been consummated. You’d have to deal with the embarrassment of a revoked marriage, but you can handle it.
The question is: can you handle getting fucked into the ground by me? ”
If that son of a bitch thought William was too afraid to go through with it, he had another thing coming.
“I’m not scared of you,” William said and walked past Iver. “Let’s go out there. Show me what you can do.”
He strolled past the partition, ignoring the delicious punches of the plug that hit him with every step.
The winter faerie fruit had given him confidence.
He’d win. Even if he didn’t, he’d long accepted the result.
It would determine their positions in their marriage in the eyes of the fae.
William wanted to come out ahead, but the thought of Iver overpowering him had a seductive appeal.
The snow crunching under his feet was the only sound as he approached the circle of hooded fae.
They parted as he drew closer, revealing the ring drawn on the ground.
It was fifteen feet across, the fae moving to stand a few yards back.
Their steps made no sound, and neither did Iver behind him though William felt his presence.
Shamelessly disregarding his hard cock jutting out in front of him, William stepped into the circle, finding two short lines drawn into the snow near the center.
The circle erupted in sapphire blue light.
Frowning, he threw a glance over his shoulder.
Iver had crossed into the ring behind him, smirking as he sauntered over.
That cocksure bastard thought he’d already won.
Iver walked to the closest line and sank to his knees in a wide stance. The starting position.
William followed suit. The officiant stepped to the edge of the circle, the diamond studs of her skirt glinting in the blue light.
William focused on Iver, who regarded him with a neutral expression.
If it weren’t for his prominent erection, one might’ve thought he had no interest in William.
Iver could stare blankly all he wanted, his body spoke a louder truth. So did William’s.
Iver had looked like a meal in that skintight leather armor. He’d looked even better in that scandalous robe at their church wedding. Naked, Iver looked like a god.
A bright bell rang, and a chant set in, words in a language even the long-lived fae regarded as ancient. A chorus of a hundred voices resounded, but none of the fae were moving their lips.
We’ve come together to witness the ancient ritual of domination and submission, a voice said.
It echoed through the throne room, but there was no telling where it was coming from.
Perhaps the officiant? But she wasn’t moving her lips either.
May this struggle decide the balance of power in this union. May we witness the glory of surrender.
William shuddered with a chill that had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures in the hall.
You begin on the third beat of the drum.
There were no visible drums. Boom, came the first deep, resonant sound. It reverberated through the throne room, through William. His hands were slick, and not just with oil.
Boom.
Every muscle in his body went taut, the strength of the winter faerie fruit coursing through him. Iver was as still as a statue. He might as well have been frozen in place were it not for the fire blazing in his eyes.
Boom.
Faster than William could see, Iver was on him. Strong arms wrapped around him, and he fell backward into the snow, Iver on top. Oh, not so fast. He grabbed Iver, tried to push him off, but his hands slipped ineffectively over Iver’s slick torso.
He wasn’t done trying. As Iver pinned his arms, William’s legs wrapped around his hips. Triumph flashed through him when he locked his ankles at the small of his back. Drawing on his new strength, he swung their bodies around. Putting Iver on his back, he straddled him.
A dangerous spark glinted in Iver’s eyes. “I like your fighting spirit.”
His grip on William’s arms firmed. He twisted them behind William’s back, whose center of gravity shifted. Iver put him off balance, which was all he needed to reverse their positions.
Unlike William, Iver didn’t struggle with the slipperiness.
Why? Iver was faster than him, William could admit that, but that didn’t give him an advantage when it came to holding onto him.
Was he that much stronger? Or was it his technique?
Iver might’ve witnessed the ritual before.
He might’ve trained for this very moment.
William squirmed. He rolled from side to side, trying to use the slipperiness to his advantage and dislodge Iver.
As he wriggled, his arms slipped free of Iver’s hold.
A small victory. He bucked, but Iver was straddling him, reaching for the plug between his legs.
Heat rushed into William. He twisted, throwing Iver off, and got out from under him.
He shuffled backward, away from Iver. Flaring sapphire light warned him that he was dangerously close to breaching the boundary.
Iver rushed toward him. William jumped to his feet and ran.
It was futile. Iver tackled him, powdery snow flying up in a cloud as they hit the ground.
The impact pressed the plug against William’s prostate, and pleasure burst inside him, the shock tearing a blissful cry from him.
The fae’s chant escalated, growing louder and faster.
William wrapped his arms around Iver’s neck to keep him from gaining an even more advantageous position.
But naked and with Iver on top of him, it was more of an embrace.
For a second, the fight left William, and he allowed himself to feel Iver’s slick body atop his, their cocks rubbing against each other.
It was more erotic than it had any right to be. William had thought he’d feel self-conscious being naked and under Iver in front of the high fae. In reality, it was freeing. Fae had a different understanding of modesty.
That didn’t mean he was going to throw the fight. Grinning, he pressed up, the sudden full-body contact distracting Iver enough for William to flip them.
William’s ascendancy was short-lived. With one expertly executed move, Iver had him face-first in the snow. Iver, back on top, wrapped one hand around William’s throat from behind; the other snuck between his legs.
His grip closed around the base of the plug. William compressed his inner muscles, trying to hold on, but Iver pulled it out, the flared head popping free of his tight ring.
The loss of the weight and comfortable pressure was sudden and acute. How had William grown used to it so quickly? He missed the plug, his hole clenching sadly around nothing. He’d never been filled before today, but he already yearned to welcome something into his achingly empty channel.
Iver thrust his fingers inside, and William cried out with happy relief. “Yes!” His inner walls narrowed, welcoming the intruders.
He didn’t care that the winter fae were watching. He didn’t care that no king before had been humiliated like this. All he cared about were Iver’s fingers lodged deep inside him. They pressed down on his prostate, and William screamed his affirmation.
He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of pleasure and jammed an arm between Iver and his neck, forcing him off his throat. He scrambled forward, dislodging Iver’s fingers, his body protesting the loss.
William crawled away. Iver pounced, throwing himself on top of him. This time, he didn’t grab William by the throat. He grabbed him by the balls.
William froze. His most vulnerable body part was in Iver’s grip. He wasn’t squeezing or hurting him, but the threat was there. A threat Iver wouldn’t make good on if provoked.
Iver pushed between William’s spread legs, and his hard cock slid across his stretched entrance.
William wanted him inside. The plug had felt good. Iver’s fingers had been amazing. His cock would be glorious.
Iver fondled his balls, his thumb stroking William’s scrotum, teasing those sensitive nerve endings. There was no getting away. He’d hurt himself if he tried to break free.
Iver’s constant caress made him pant. His thoughts muddled. He couldn’t twist away. He couldn’t kick. He was at Iver’s mercy.
Iver draped himself over William’s back and dragged his teeth over his nape before placing an open-mouthed kiss there.
“I told you it would end this way,” Iver said in his ear, his cut-glass accent magnifying his air of superiority.
The chant crested.
Iver had been right. Not even the power of the winter faerie fruit made William a match for him. Deep down, he’d known. He’d pretended otherwise to keep a sense of control.
Make no mistake, I’ll win, Iver had told him in Winterbourne.
He’d played into William’s ego at times, but he’d never led him to believe that he stood a chance.
William had known what he was getting into.
He’d known Iver was going to claim him, and he’d agreed to it.
Because Iver, in his skintight leather armor, had been the most provocative thing he’d ever seen.
Everything about Iver made him want to expose his neck and let him have his way.
“Fuck me,” William said in a low voice, his words meant for Iver alone.