Chapter Six #8
Iver didn’t have to be asked twice. He guided himself to William’s entrance, his thick cockhead nudging William’s rim.
He’d been stretched by the plug, but Iver was considerably bigger.
That fat tip pressed against him, and his anal muscle surrendered.
Iver tunneled inside, driving his cock in to the root, vanquishing all resistance.
William shouted at the sudden, powerful invasion.
He’d felt full with the plug inside him, but that paled in comparison.
Iver’s cock was monstrous. It filled his every corner; it sat shoved against his prostate, granting him unwavering pressure.
Never had he been so full. Never had he felt more complete.
How had he lived without a cock up his ass every night?
In a way, William had saved himself for his husband. Iver would be the only one who got to have him on all fours, vulnerable and stuffed to the brim.
Iver let go of his balls. He wrapped his arms around William’s midsection and kissed the space between his shoulder blades.
“You’re going to come hard for me,” Iver murmured against his skin. “The high fae will see how good I make you feel. Let them witness how my husband yields to me.”
William dropped his head, allowing Iver to take over. Between his legs, his erection stood tall, protruding veins pumping blood up his shaft. Iver was doing to him what no man had done before. His embrace felt incredible.
William’s insides clamped down on Iver when he withdrew, trying to keep him inside. There was no stopping Iver. He pulled back until only his head remained. A beat passed, then he tilted his hips and thrust, hitting William’s prostate dead center.
William’s blissed-out scream echoed as his vision blackened. His jaw hung open, breath rushing in and out of him. He reeled with pleasure. Iver’s glans was squished against his prostate, every nerve ending in that dense knot sizzling with lust. He loved having him there.
Submission hadn’t come easily, but now that he was on his knees and under Iver, it was the most natural thing.
With every passing moment, William’s hunger for more escalated.
He’d gone from wanting to subdue Iver to accepting his fate to welcoming and now craving it.
He wanted the orgasm Iver was going to force from his body.
That he was expected to come on his cock alone, no hands, only furthered his excitement.
Iver gyrated his hips, massaging himself into William’s core.
A low grunt followed by a puff of air hit William’s ear.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Iver said quietly.
“Even after the plug. So. Fucking. Tight.” He groaned, squeezing William to his front.
“And all of this is mine.” Iver sank his teeth into William’s shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a mark.
William jerked, need coiling in his groin at the delicious wave of pain.
He’d always disliked it when his lovers grew proprietorial, but Iver was different.
Iver was his husband. He was his shield from the world.
He was the man he’d share his life and bed with, and for some reason, William wanted him possessive.
William eased his knees further apart, widening his stance. When Iver rocked forward again, he plowed deeper. They moaned in unison.
“Fuck,” Iver muttered, “I knew you’d be a slut for my cock. I’m going to give you what those whores never did.” Iver cupped one of William’s pecs.
“You think you’re a better fuck than a trained courtesan?” William shouldn’t goad him, but the temptation to tease a reaction out of him was irresistible.
“I have two hundred years of experience. Trust me when I say I’ll make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name.
” Iver squeezed William’s pec. “I’ll let you fuck me later in bed.
Then you can work off your frustrations with me.
” William drove back, meeting Iver’s next thrust. “I bet you want to get your dick inside my hole.” Iver punched his prostate, and William’s inner walls narrowed, clutching that thick length slamming into him.
“I feel that plug every time I plunge into you.”
William was going cross-eyed from Iver’s words alone. His mind was drenched in arousal, unable to form coherent thought.
Iver rolled his hips. His cockhead kissed William’s gland over and over. Nothing mattered but the small place Iver focused on. He’d been right. William was going to come whether he liked it or not.
“F-Feels good,” was all William got out.
Iver flicked his erect nipple. “And it’s about to feel that much better.”
He delivered on his promise, driving into William.
Every thrust had pleasure exploding in his core.
Iver robbed him of his sanity. William was nothing but a pulsing ball of need.
No concubine had reduced him to such a moaning, writhing mess.
Iver made him feel owned. Taken care of. William’s cock throbbed with lechery.
Hit for hit, Iver pounded him toward the pinnacle of lust. William narrowed, the involuntary, delicious spasms pulling that divine thickness against his inner walls. Wanton sounds spilled from his lips, accentuating each strike against his prostate.
“Will you come for me?” Iver said in his ear. “Will you show my court what an obedient husband you’re going to be? Or do I have to wring the climax from you?” William’s hole clenched and unclenched of its own accord, drawing a chuckle from Iver. “Oh, you’ve lost control, haven’t you?”
William was helpless in Iver’s arms, under the relentless assault of his cock. Every smack spurred him toward completion.
Iver’s breath caressed the shell of his ear. “Be good and come for your king.”
William’s pride rebelled. How dare he…
Iver thumped his prostate. Oh God! All of William’s attention converged on that one spot and the overwhelming force Iver applied to it. It felt incredible, impossible to resist.
William, unable to hold on any longer, surrendered to his husband.
He screamed as he came, his wildly twitching cock splattering cum against his front.
His hole convulsed, squeezing Iver with all its might.
Nothing compared to coming on a hard cock.
William relished the resistance, the pressure on his prostate that kept him contracting.
His arms gave in, and he sank onto his elbows.
Iver groaned in his ear, his cock jerking inside him, knocking his gland as he erupted, wet splashes painting William’s walls with his seed.
Grunting and moaning, Iver emptied, the filthy sounds he made spurring William’s climax to new highs.
He clenched on Iver like his life depended on it, wave after wave of release crashing into him.
Now he knew why his concubines had never satisfied him, why he’d needed half a dozen of them, and they still didn’t achieve what Iver did.
He would’ve never let them fuck him. He’d let Iver do anything to him.
William didn’t want to want it. But want it he did.
Panting, Iver went slack on top of him. He allowed himself a second to recover, then withdrew, leaving William bereft. William gritted his teeth. He’d repay Iver threefold the minute they were alone.
They rose to their feet, William unsteady, and two of the fae came to attend to them.
It was a surprise that high fae did this, not servants, but perhaps it was done to preserve royal untouchability.
Iver removed his plug and disposed of it.
The fae, keeping their heads lowered, wiped William and Iver down with soft cloths, removing oil and cum.
When it was done, William’s skin was glossy and supple.
Other fae came carrying William and Iver’s robes and dressed them.
Once they were laced up and Iver’s silver crown on his head, the fae parted, opening a path to the altar at the foot of the dais.
Snowflakes danced in the air, floating onto the white marble surface.
Behind it stood the officiant, her face hidden by her low hood.
The chant, which had subsided in the meantime, resumed, accompanied by the steady beat of invisible drums.
William remained where he was while Iver approached the altar in measured steps.
He moved beside it and faced William. His long white hair was smooth and unperturbed, his silver robe laced to the base of his neck and in perfect order, as if he’d never taken it off.
If William didn’t know better, he wouldn’t have guessed that Iver had wrestled and fucked minutes ago.
Those bloody fae, always flawlessly beautiful.
William bet his own hair, even though the fae had smoothed it down, betrayed what they’d done.
Having let a beat pass, he strode toward the altar, eyes glued to Iver. God, he looked good enough to eat. William would have his fill once they were alone.
He took Iver’s offered hand, allowing him to help him onto the altar. Thanks to the winter faerie fruit, he managed it with grace. It wouldn’t have been elegant before.
If the snow-covered marble slab was cold, William didn’t feel it. He lay down, his white silk robe folding around him, exposing the contours of his body—including the hardness between his legs that rose as he offered himself like a sacrifice.
They’d vow their allegiance to one another, and the officiant would burn the wedding marks into the backs of their hands. Iver had assured him it wouldn’t hurt, though he couldn’t quite believe that.
Iver placed his right hand on William’s lower abdomen, the touch proprietary and comforting. Exhaling, William lay his hand next to Iver’s. They were going to be one.
“The fae of the Winter Court have witnessed the bodily union of King Iver of the Winter Court and King William of Vale,” the officiant said.
Her real voice had a different quality than the ethereal intonation William had heard in his mind.
“The king of Vale, subdued and conquered, is offering himself up to His Majesty to be bonded in marriage.”
Her words weren’t helping William’s situation.
Neither was Iver’s unwavering blue gaze pinning him to the altar.
There was no reason to be embarrassed—the fae had already seen him come for Iver.
Still, to be mounted and taken was one thing; to visibly yearn for more was another.
Iver gazed at him, and William pulsed. Wetness pushed out of his slit and soaked into the thin silk of his robe.
It was Iver’s fault. Why did he have to look so appetizing?
No wonder William reacted to him. He was going to make him pay for this.
“Now,” the officiant continued, “you will bear witness to their wedding. The magic of the winter forest shall bind their souls. King Iver of the Winter Court, do you vow to honor and protect your husband and stay by his side in life and death?”
“I do,” Iver said, his gaze burning into William. Was that possessiveness in his eyes? The officiant gave William no opportunity to dwell on it.
“And do you, King William of Vale, vow to honor and obey your husband and stay by his side in life and death?”
William swallowed. Obey. Unlike Iver, he wasn’t magically bound by his words, but what he said mattered. He was king. He could break his vow, though it’d leave a terrible taste in the mouth of every lord and lady in Vale, damaging his already dubious reputation.
The minute he’d lost the fight and Iver had entered him, he’d known this was coming. It didn’t make his lips form the words more easily. A hundred pairs of eyes were on him, waiting for him to submit to Iver once more. And part of him wanted nothing more.
“I do.”
The officiant spread her hands, palms up. A snowflake tumbled down, and she enclosed it. Cool, bright light exploded, and when she parted her hands, two thin silver plates in the shapes of snowflakes rested in her palms.
“May your souls unite and your marriage be blissful,” the officiant said and pressed the silver snowflakes into the backs of William and Iver’s hands, cupping them with her own.
Searing cold cut into William, a sensation he hadn’t felt since he’d consumed the winter faerie fruit.
The silver was freezing against his skin, but as icy as it was, it didn’t hurt.
The snowflake sank into the back of his hand, and when the officiant withdrew, he was unharmed.
The silver lines on his skin glistened in the low light as he moved his hand, examining it.
The wedding mark sat flat in the back of his hand, not even raised.
He trailed a finger over it, finding his skin soft and smooth.
An unfamiliar happiness bloomed in his chest. He looked at Iver, finding a frown on his face.
Something warm and welcome pulled William’s soul into its embrace, a bliss so great it threatened to overwhelm him.
The bond! But just as his soul opened to accept it, the shutters fell, yanking it out of his reach.