Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

T hat’s a lot of food. All laid out on the table. Again. There is so much of it, I’m worried the table is going to collapse from the weight.

Several different cheeses. Grapes. Cold cuts, and three gently steaming tureens of soup. Presumably different flavours.

Tristan tugs on my leash. Pulling me towards it, but I dig my heels into the soft carpet and refuse to move. I’ve had enough of playing puppy for one day, thank you very much.

He stops yanking and turns to face me with a questioning look on his obnoxiously attractive face.

“You’ve already fed me today.” I remind him.

He lifts an eyebrow, but he is nowhere as good at it as his brother is.

“That was breakfast. This is lunch.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re giving me more food?”

It is so annoying that I can’t do the one eyebrow thing. Having to make do with glaring is frustrating.

“You are my pet. Of course I am going to take care of you. ”

Why does he sound so damn reasonable? That’s not a reasonable thing to say, at all. Abducting people and making pets out of them is not normal or respectable behaviour. Though, I suppose trying to assassinate people isn’t a decent way to behave either. So I can’t exactly take the moral high ground. As much as I would like to.

“Come, sit and eat,” he says.

“I’m not…” I start to snarl, but I’m rudely interrupted by my own stomach rumbling loudly.

Tristan chuckles and pulls out a chair. Fine. Whatever. I’ll eat. If he is going to be stupidly generous, that’s his fault, not mine. It doesn’t make me beholden to him or anything.

I stomp over to the table and plonk myself down on the chair Tristan pulled out for me. Then I start stuffing my face. Since I’m eating, I’m going to stuff myself silly.

A helpless little moan of pleasure escapes from somewhere deep inside of me. Oh my stars. This food is incredible. The flavours are so moreish. I’ve never had food like this before. Even before I was reduced to scavenging on the streets, I was poor. Granny never had much money, and bless her heart, she was a terrible cook. I grew up on fish fingers and Pot Noodles. So this is a food fantasy come true.

Except my dreams of getting to eat good food never included being watched by a freakishly tall man from another world. What a pervert. I glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Asshole.

Suddenly, an idea forms. It nearly makes me smile, but I manage to control myself. Instead of grinning, I begin eating in the most disgusting way possible. Mouth open. Loud chewing. Shoving too much in. Using my hands .

There, that should put him off. Any minute now, he’ll change his mind about keeping me as a pet.

My stomach groans in protest. I’ve eaten far too much, far too quickly. Damn it. Reluctantly, I stop my revolting display. I lean back in my chair, rest my hands on my bloated belly, and let out an impressive burp. That will show him.

I look up at him with a proud smile that quickly falters. What the fuck? This bastard isn’t looking horrified at all. He is still staring at me with that far too patient, almost fond smile. Jesus Christ. What do I need to do to this guy to piss him off? Nearly killing him wasn’t enough, but something has to work. He has buttons somewhere, everyone does. I’m going to find them, and press them. Every last one of them.

“Time to go,” he says cheerfully.

“What?” I splutter helplessly. “Go where?”

His infuriating grin spreads slowly across his face. It lights up his eyes. It makes him fucking glow . I can’t stand it.

“To show you off to the whole court,” he says, as if that’s a good thing.

“Oh hell no!” I snap. No way. Being dragged to the throne room was bad enough. I’m not being paraded around so a hoard of fey can ogle at me. Never going to happen.

He takes one step towards me. I jump to my feet and grab the nearest thing to use as a weapon. His eyes widen. I glance at my hand. It’s cheese. I’m brandishing cheese at him .

Oh well, it can’t be helped. I throw it with all my might. I have great aim but this cockwomble ducks the cheese with ease. Motherfucker.

He moves towards me. I snatch up a tureen of mushroom soup and inspiration strikes. I fling a ladle of hot soup at him, and then I lift the whole pot up and tip it over my head.

Ouch! That’s fucking hot! I drop the heavy tureen and hastily wipe burning hot soup out of my eyes. Then I glare at the stupid prince. My soup attack spattered him right on the chest. He is covered in soup. I’m drenched in it.

We aren’t going anywhere now. No one wants to swan around court while covered in soup and you can’t exactly show off your new pet if they are soaked in sticky, crusty white stuff. And boy am I sopping with soup. I can feel it clumping my hair together.

Suddenly, my feet are off the ground. I’ve been swooped up into a bridal carry and squished against his far too muscly chest. I didn’t even see the bastard move. Now I’m in his arms.

He strides along. I need to punch him. Kick him. Maybe bite if I can get a hold of him.

I clench my fists, but the next thing I know, I’m sailing through the air. I open my mouth to shriek, but I hit the water of the bath and sink like a stone. A few moments of frantic flailing has me on my feet, standing in the waist high water, coughing my guts up and trying to get my wet hair off my face.

“Take your clothes off.”

This absolute knob head just tried to drown me, and now he wants me to strip? Fat chance!

“Fuck off!” I snarl.

A splashing sound has me trying to scramble backwards, but he catches me before I have got very far. I growl in fury and try my best to scratch his eyes out.

The asswipe just calmly and methodically undresses me. Acting as if he can’t feel the blows and kicks that I’m landing. And then, just like that, it is over. I’m naked. He has won.

He is standing behind me, arms wrapped around my body, pinning my arms to my side. All trying to break free is achieving, is making me look like a wriggling fish. It is time to admit defeat.

I stop struggling and start panting instead. The heat of his chest is burning into my back. Wait? Oh my god. Is he naked too? When did he get undressed? My gaze flicks over to the side of the pool and the pile of red silks crumpled there. Motherfucker. He took the time to strip, and I still didn’t see him move.

Oh no. Something is pressing against the curve of my back. What the hell is it? This day can’t be getting any worse. Please don’t tell me that is his cock? It is far too big. Nobody, absolutely nobody, is that well endowed, and I’ve watched an unhealthy amount of porn.

This hot, hard thing pressing against my lower back has to be something else, and I’m going to laugh at how stupid I’m being when I figure out what it is.

“All this wriggling has made me hard,” he rumbles.

Oh fuck my life. It really is his cock, and he really is that tall that it is pressing into my back. This is awful. Terrible. It doesn’t feel nice at all. And…okay, I do want to see it, but only for science purposes. No other reason. I am not interested in evil fey princes and their enormous dongs. Not my thing at all .

And the only reason my cock is also getting hard, is like he said. All that wriggling. Warm wet bodies sliding against each other. It is bound to happen. Perfectly normal, healthy reaction.

“Did you know, nisny, that fey can’t masturbate. We always need someone else,” he whispers in my ear.

My body shudders. I did not know that. I did not want to know that. Ever. Except…maybe it explains a few things. Maybe I’m not defective. Just far more fey than I ever realised. Though, thinking about it, I think I’d prefer to be defective. Fuck being fey.

“Do you wish to use your hand on me, or shall I use your thighs?”

A god awful noise comes out of me. It sounds slutty. Down right needy . I hate it. I don’t want to want him, but apparently I do. My blood feels like it is on fire. Thanks to all that wriggling. Nothing at all to do with a stupidly tall man with flame red hair and a ridiculous grin.

It is just the wriggling. Not him. Not him at all. He does not have this effect on me. He does not have the power to shift reality like this.

The very air has changed. Gravity has rearranged. It’s hot in here now. Hot and heavy with the weight of anticipation. Time has? slowed. Everything has become acute. Intense and vibrant.

My awareness is consumed by him. Every one of my senses are utterly focused on the man behind me. The man holding me. The man craving me.

He has given me a choice. Of sorts. Doing nothing is not an option, that much is clear, despite being unspoken.

I am his pet. He claimed me. Put a collar on me. He owns me and I belong to him. This is what I am for .

At least, that’s what he believes. I know he is wrong. I know I am no one’s pet. I am not a thing for him to play with.

Yet... I also know I want this.

I can blame it on hormones or horniness or loneliness. Or all three, if it eases my conscience.

But the end result is clear. I’m not going to fight it. I’m going to take it.

Oh my stars. Well, at least choosing which option, is easy enough. I have never given anyone a hand job and I am not about to humiliate myself with my ineptitude. Mister man-whore here will know straight away how incompetent and inexperienced I am, and I’d rather die than suffer that.

“Thighs,” I croak in a far too shaky voice.

He half carries me over to the edge of the pool. He gently bends me over it until my naked chest is pressed against the warm tiles of the floor. Then he moves my legs until they are pressed together.

“Keep them tight,” he whispers.

I shudder.

His very hard, very hot, very large cock, slides between my thighs. Just below my balls. Flipping heck, why does that feel so good? He is only touching the wet skin of my legs. Nothing should be erogenous there. What the hell is going on?

He leans over me. Hands resting on the edge of the pool. Tendrils of his hair brushing over my back.

His hips move. A long lazy thrust. Then another. And another. Little grunts of pleasure start spilling out of him.

This should be terrifying. He is looming over me. Holding me down. I’m trapped. It should not feel safe. Like I’m protected. Wanted. Cherished. His small sounds of pleasure should not be making me tingle all over with delight. I am not thrilled that I am pleasing him. He is a dirty pervert. I have zero desire to make him feel good. None at all.

His hand moves. Hot and firm, it wraps around my straining cock under the water. He tugs on me in rhythm with his thrusts. One, two, three and I’m done for. Balls drawing up and cock spurting everywhere.

I moan as he groans his way through his own orgasm. We are cumming together, in perfect synchronicity. Clouding the water around our hips.

Fuck. That was good. Orgasms really are wonderful things. And apparently really fucking easy to obtain with help. Unlike the hours I usually struggle with solo.

Soft lips brush over my bare shoulder. “My beautiful pet.”

My eyes sting. What a bastard. Giving me orgasms and then being nice to me. How dare he?

Well, I’m going to show him. I’m going to be the worst pet that ever lived. By the time I’m done, he is going to regret ever meeting me.

I’m going to make his life hell.

And it’s going to be fantastic.