Page 86 of The Hidden Fae Prince
Seren presses his forehead to Nevander’s shoulder. “I won’t be good company tonight. How do you stay in control all the time?”
“My friends would say that being a controlling, no-fun bastard comes naturally to me.” Nevander’s gaze is steady, inescapable, even as his hands wander. He traces Seren’s arms, caressing the bones of his wrists. “Let go if you’re tired, my prince. I don’t want a performance. Just you.”
Seren tenses, almost scared of how much he wants to believe. “I’m not used to that.”
“And that is a great injustice.” Nevander touches the shell of Seren’s right ear. “I would like to take care of you tonight. Will you let me?”
He rubs the pointed tip of Seren’s ear, and Seren’s knees weaken. Gods and spirits, ears aren’t supposed to tingle like that. Something awakens, deeper and more primal than exhaustion. Seren feels vulnerable. Needy.
Reckless.
“Please,” Seren begs, but that’s not enough. He needs to give more, and he trusts Nevander to safeguard what he offers. “I’ll do whatever you say for the next three hours.”
Nevander’s eyes widen as the promise locks between them. Then they narrow, the shock subsumed by exactly what Seren wants. A ravenous greed. “That’s a dangerous gift, my prince.”
The endearment feels just as treacherous. Seren lifts his chin, maybe in defiance, maybe baring his throat. “Am I in danger?”
After a moment of resistance, Nevander hoists Seren into the air. “I’ll take one hour.” His grasp is firm under Seren’s ass. “You’re not in danger, unless you’re afraid of long, leisurely baths.”
“Actually, I’m a little scared of that bathtub,” Seren confesses. “There are so many runes. I have no idea what they do.”
Nevander’s laugh melts through him. “Then I’ll assuage your fears.”
Seren clutches Nevander’s shoulders for balance. Not that there’s a chance of Nevander dropping him. Seren trusted Nevander to carry him off a balcony, into the sky. Walking upstairs is easy. Except the dizzying rush rivals that of flight. Seren’s pulse crashes like wingbeats. He can’t stop touching Nevander’s hair.
The bathing chamber illuminates at their entry. All creamy white marble and gold fixtures, softened by avine-woven lattice overhead. The fragrant space is larger than Seren’s bedroom in Wymond. The raised pond of a tub is large enough for a dozen bathers. Faucets of all different metals loom over the edge, surrounded by runes.
It feels less intimidating with company. Nevander sets Seren down beside the counter. One hand winds into his hair, holding him gently, firmly in place.
Soft lips blaze down Seren’s throat. He arches into the sensation. “Gods, that feels incredible.”
Nevander pauses briefly. Then he tugs Seren’s shirt aside to kiss farther down his neck. Something unspoken hums between them.
“What is it?” Seren asks.
“Only foolishness,” Nevander says, straightening.
Seren feels safer than ever pushing for answers, when Nevander could force him to stop. Not that Nevander ever would. “Tell me this foolishness.”
Nevander traces the kiss-marks to Seren’s collar bone. “Don’t call out to any gods tonight.”
The first true order since Seren surrendered control. Easy enough, but why… “Are you jealous? They’re not even real.”
Nevander twists a shirt lace. “May I undress you?”
“Changing the subject, I see.” Seren spreads his arms. “I’ll allow it.”
As Nevander unlaces his shirt, Seren tries to swear by the gods. Just to see what happens. No sound reaches his lips. His throat simply tenses, obedient to Seren’s promise. The restraint jolts to his cock.
Yes. Releasing control is what Seren needs. Just as much as the contrast between cool silk and Nevander’s warm hands.The calluses skimming Seren’s shoulders aren’t coarse. Just sword-hardened. The shirt falls away, and Nevander drops to his knees.
Seren clutches the marble edge as his own knees weaken. Nevander kneels so naturally, without any sense of submission. He lifts Seren’s left foot and braces it against his thigh.
An hour of obedience is nothing in exchange for this fealty. Seren wants to swear again. He can’t call on the gods, so instead he breathes, “Nevander.”
Nevander growls. Soft leather pulls against Seren’s calf as Nevander unlaces the boot. The sensation sings through Seren’s veins until Nevander slides the boot away, then moves to the next.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nevander says, rising to his feet. He takes Seren’s hands next, removing each ring. Then his own.
