17. Climbing the Ladder
Chapter 17
Climbing the Ladder
CINDER
P rince Charming is naked. Tied to my bed.
Have I entered some alternate— alternate universe?
After a day of being forced to learn Midnight's history until my eyes bled from boredom, I was grateful for a night off. But no, I’ve come back to my room to a very nude Charming, rubbing his ass on my fluffy duvet.
It's been weeks since our kiss in my apartment. Since I backed off hard and fast, unable to shake the heebie jeebies at having his fangs near my flesh. In that time, my faux fiancé has been the picture of respectful gentlemanly distance.
Until now.
“Hi there.” Kaison's words are strangely muffled, something white and fluffy pushing under his lips.
“Are those. . . marshmallows on your canines?” Disbelief colors my voice.
“I've been thinking,” he says around the sugary lumps, “you don't do fangs. So I figured these little buffers might make you more comfortable.”
Comfortable. Comfortable?
Is that how I’m supposed to feel right now?
Are fever dreams comfortable?
Despite my knee-jerk reaction to recoil, I take in the nude prince. I follow the lines of his tattoos, terminating at his groin. Of course, he doesn't have any pubic hair. Everything is exposed, fully on display.
Kaison is half-erect, giving me a glimpse of the horizontal barbells climbing up his shaft. A Jacob's ladder. And crowning the top is a reverse Prince Albert, a ring piercing that curves over the head.
The very idea of what that hardware could do makes me dizzy.
My skin flushes hot, my pulse quickening. My clothes are suddenly too tight, my palms tingle with the desire to touch his skin.
Moonlight plays over his sculpted body, making it glisten like carved marble. Each ridge of his abs is on display, the ink complementing his musculature. Even his thighs show striations that beg to be traced with fingers or tongue.
Even strapped down, he manages a shrug. “You can do whatever you want.” His eyes darken, cock jumping as if he already has ideas in mind.
The truth is, having Prince Charming tied up and naked with his little fang bumpers is so indescribably perfect, any resistance inside me dissolves.
I cross over to him. “How did you manage to tie yourself up like this?” My voice is thick.
“A semi-willing servant helped out. Didn't seem very interested in knowing why.”
I walk around him, fingers grazing his shoulders, dragging along inked skin and rough rope.
“So Cinder,” Charming says, “What would you like to do while I’m in my current condition? Shall we talk about the weather? Discuss politics?”
He's giving me an out. Taking the pressure off while literally offering himself on a silver platter.
We sure as fae fucks won't be discussing the weather.
I take note of his tattoos. Where they begin, where they end, which are instantly my favorite. The one that strikes me most is front and center on his pelvic bone—the silver and jeweled crown of Midnight. It must have hurt like a bitch to get.
Whoever did the work is a pro, and I have high standards for ink.
I don't say a word, simply drink him in.
Kaison shifts in discomfort under my open assessment.
There are so many things I want to touch, maybe even taste. I give in to tracing my thumb over his bottom lip, sliding over the piercing. His brows scrunch, thrown by my choice.
I don't change course. I revel in memorizing the textures of his lip and the cold slide of metal.
His Adam's apple bobs as he stares at me in awe. A strange sight with marshmallows on his fangs.
I brush my lips over his cheekbones, trail them down his neck. Hot tingles race through me as I explore.
I've never felt this free. Never this. . . safe. It brings out a dark sensuality I've been suppressing for years.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I've stripped him of his mask, his certainty.
“Whatever I want.” My fingers skim his chest, tracing cold contours.
Under my hands, Kaison shivers, cock stiffening despite the reservation in his expression. I go lower until he gasps.
I lean in, drinking in his scent. The heat of my lips bounces off his cold ones.
Then I kiss him.
The pressure starts light, experimental. He lets me set the pace, and opens his mouth when my tongue asks for entry. I gingerly sweep against his, keeping the marshmallows in place.
The kiss deepens, grows urgent. I tangle my tongue with his, the sweet bite of the marshmallows mixing with his intoxicating taste.
Cold meets hot, hard meets soft, and I'm drowning in the intensity of it.
I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his thick length. He bucks into my hand, a strangled curse falling from his lips. The metal of his piercings is a delicious shock to my palm. He rocks as much as he can as we both build a rhythm for me to jack him off.
He’s panting and straining. When his tip weeps with precum, I know he’s close.
I release him.
A frustrated groan escapes him.
“Whatever I want,” I remind him.
He nods, expression drawn. The Prince of Midnight is putting himself in discomfort to let me decide how to proceed. It's a hard scenario to swallow.
“But if you're feeling kind, I'm dying to see your perfect breasts,” he begs, words distorted.
“How do you know they're perfect if you haven't seen them?”
“Let's just say I'm a connoisseur.” His lids lower. “I recognize the signs.”
“Not a great time to bring up what a whore you are.” Venom sneaks into my voice. I don't want to think of him with anyone else.
Why? This is a fake relationship.
Still, it lands heavy and ugly in my stomach. Maybe that Lord Vamp Douchebury who accused humans of jealousy was onto something.
Kaison rears back. “I believe my whoring lends itself to this moment. If I've seen so many and yours surpass them all, isn't that more validating?”
He's got me there.
The corset is too difficult to untie, so I push it down, drawing out my breasts until pierced nipples hold the neckline. I reach under my skirts, pull my panties off, and throw them across the room.
I straddle him. In this position, he's eye-level with the cobweb tattoo encircling my nipple, webbing outward to engulf my right breast.
“Fucking fae lords, I was wrong.”
I'm about to move away when he cuts off the motion.
“I've never seen a pair even close to this perfection.”
“Boobs aren't that great,” I weakly protest. “More than half the population has them.”
His eyes meet mine. “That's like saying a piece of art isn't great because there are a million other works.”
Well, fuck me. That hits.
A fissure forms in the armor around my heart.
“Please let me taste you.” A husky plea.
One I should deny. Fangs. A flash of him biting into me sends a quiver of fear through me.
Still, I nod. Kaison drops his head and flicks my nipple with his tongue.
The shock is immediate, electric. He didn't avoid my hardware. It must hurt.
“You'll burn yourself,” I point out.
“I don't give a fuck .” He says it with such intensity, I believe him. Then he takes as much of my breast into his mouth as he can, sucking and moaning.
My head falls back as he lavishes attention on one bud, then the other. Desire gathers between my thighs in thick, swirling heat. If he's in pain, he doesn't show it.
Kaison groans and suckles, feasting on my breasts while I work through the nervous knots in my stomach.
This is a test. His lips on my skin.
If I push too fast, I might freak out like last time.
That's why he did this. He tied himself up, put himself at my mercy. It's all me now. My pace, my control.
This is just about getting comfortable with sex with my fake fiancé who is incredibly bangable. Nothing lasting or permanent.
Something in my gut twists painfully, but I ignore it.
I brush my pussy lips over the cold metal of his ring and slightly warmer head.
Oh. Oh.
I slide over his length. Each press of his piercings is an electric kiss against my sensitive nerve endings. His dick slips between my lips as I fuck along his shaft. Heat sweeps through me until I'm an inferno.
The cool temperature of his body makes it all the more shocking and stimulating.
Kaison shuts his eyes. “Oh, sweet witchtits.” Muffled between marshmallows and my tit.
I grind at a frenzied rhythm. My brain blanks, replaced by delicious fuzziness. Still, everything in me pulses, demanding more.
The friction of frigid balls has me riding harder, faster, dragging my clit over the bumpy terrain. I claw at his chest, trembling with want.
The scent of sex fills the air, mixed with a metallic tang and the musk of our mingling arousal.
“Oh fuck, are you going to come just from rubbing those pretty pussy lips over my cock?” Kaison sounds pained. As if the truth might kill him.
It might kill me.
My mouth waters, orgasm approaching.
“Fuck yeah, Cinder. Ride it, baby girl. I'm so hard for you.” He licks his lips, one of the only movements he can make while restrained.
Then sharp pebbles of pleasure crash across every nerve ending. I scream and break on him.
Reality eventually cuts through the warm haze soaking my brain. “Have you had the birth control shot?”
“Naturally,” he says, strained.
Thankfully, venereal diseases aren't a thing vampires contract or give. Another way they're superior to beaters. Not that I'd say that out loud.
Well, that's enough foreplay.
I'm so slick, his tip slides in easier and faster than expected.
We both curse, my nails digging into his shoulders. My thighs quiver. Perspiration breaks out over my skin. There's a rushing in my ears, drowning out most sounds as my senses focus on that spot between us.
“Holy fae fucks,” Charming says. “You—you feel?—”
He's at a loss for words.
Oh gods, this is unlike anything I've known.
It's incredible, foreign, cold, and impossible to ignore. I slide down further, inch by inch, allowing each piercing to rasp along my sensitive inner muscles.
Strange, animalistic sounds escape me.
The guys I fuck aren't usually pierced, certainly not like this. The sensation of that ring is out of this world as I slowly envelop his head.
The guys I fuck also don't look at me like he does. Like I'm a goddess. Like he'd happily let me save or slay him.
My feelings of fullness, want, and need are compounded by emotion. Sex has never felt like this. Is this how it's supposed to feel? It's almost too much.
I avoid his intensity, staring over his shoulder.
“Just like that,” he urges breathlessly. When I settle at the hilt, my clit piercing is trapped against his pelvic bone, sending spikes of sensation into clenching inner muscles.
“Fuck,” he hisses. I jerk back.
“Oh shit, sorry.” I remember too late that my silver likely burned him.
“No. Give it to me. Grind on me exactly how you need.” Despite not needing to breathe, he sounds breathless. “I can take it. Please.”
Unsure, I slide down, rocking back and forth, letting him stretch me, light up my every pleasure center.
“Oh, Cinder,” he moans. My name becomes a prayer.
Liquid slides between us. I want to look, see if it's my desire or if I'm making him bleed.
“Don't you dare fucking stop,” he warns.
That intensity again. Unexpected, bone-rattling.
I've brought a prince of bloodsucking fairies to the brink. It almost makes me believe I might matter. That I'm special. That this connection could be real, lasting.
Come on, Cinder. This is just another Tuesday for him. Take it for what it is.
Gripping his torso, I ride away the intrusive thoughts. Pleasure riots through me, assaulting my senses until I'm gasping, clawing, rocking myself on his massive cock, testing all the sensations.
Then I come.
I come so hard, head dropping, baring my neck. Eyes shut tight.
Later, I might realize I only feel safe enough to do this because of the marshmallows.
Who does that, by the way?
He's made himself completely vulnerable, put himself at my mercy with no real expectation. I know what he wants, but somehow, I know if I decided to leave, he wouldn't stop me. If I wanted to stop, he wouldn't force me to continue.
Not that I can think of stopping. Not when I'm connecting to things inside myself I've never had the luxury to explore before. I ride my way from orgasm to overly sensitized fullness, rolling right into building tension again.
Each drag of his piercings against my sensitive flesh is exquisite torment, pushing me higher, harder. The physical ache expands beyond the space between my legs, permeating my entire being. My hips slam down, wet sounds echoing.
I can't get him deep enough, close enough. It's both utter satisfaction and unchained desire for all of Kaison—his blood, his bones, his soul.
I want to paint it. Sketch his eyes, replicate that intensity when his mask falls away and the real him shines through. So I can look anytime, shiver under his scrutiny.
“So hot,” Kaison grits out, “like fire around my ice.”
His hips surge up to meet mine, his control slipping with every thrust.
“Let go,” I whisper, “give it to me.”
A snarl rips from his throat and he slams up into me, the force of it stealing my breath. His release is a cool flood in my womb, and I nearly lose my mind.
Pleasure spirals tighter, sharper, until I'm balanced on a knife's edge, ready to shatter.
“Come for me,” he demands, his gaze searing into mine.
I come apart with a scream, my nails raking down his chest as I shake and shudder around him. I vaguely register my name, a broken prayer on his lips.
In the aftermath, I collapse, my heart racing, running so hot I fear I might combust. His cool body calms me, though. He drops a kiss on the top of my head before he relaxes under me.
I should say something lighthearted.
This was fun.
It was an interesting experience.
Thanks for the safety bang.
But something has shifted, some fundamental piece of me slotting into place. I can’t let any of those insipid nothings escape my mouth. So after a time, I get up, untie him, and then disappear into the attached bathroom, locking the door behind me.
There may not be electricity but thankfully there’s running water. I turn on the bathtub.
Even as I pretend not to hear Kaison moving around before a door closes, I reassure myself.
Thank the fae lords I’m immune to his charms. Otherwise, I might be in some serious trouble.