Page 87 of The Hidden Fae Prince
“This still doesn’t always feel like me.” Seren’s knuckles shimmer faintly. His fingernails gleam, pearlescent. “Did you find me hideous in my human glamour?”
Nevander takes his time answering as he unbuckles Seren’s belt. “You were beautiful in that form, too. I found it wrong, like your face was a prison, yet strangely fascinating.”
Seren’s stomach shivers under warm, possessive fingertips. He doesn’t mind that answer. “How often did you watch me?”
Nevander sets the belt aside. “When I could.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Once a month, on average.”
Seren shivers, as much from the idea as from the too-slow, too-steady unlacing of his trousers. Each tug heightens the friction against his straining cock. Mundane memories surface with delicious uncertainty.
“A certain Lord Guardian was more idle than I thought,” Seren says, squirming. “I thought you were a stranger, but you knew everything about me.”
“On the contrary,” Nevander says. “I knew far too little.”
Before Nevander can strip off his trousers, Seren impulsively seizes his hands. “Wait,” he says—a request, not an order, but he never doubts that Nevander will oblige. Nevander is still fully dressed in gray and gold leather. Seren doesn’t want to be the only vulnerable one tonight. “Aren’t you getting in the bath with me?”
Nevander’s eyes flash. “I suppose I am. Let me start the water first.”
“Sensible,” Seren grumbles.
Water rattles from one of the faucets, billowing steam. That’s one of the runes Seren remembers from the initial tour. Then Nevander undoes the first clasp at the side of his breastplate, and Seren’s mouth truly waters. Nevander shucks his own clothing much faster than he unraveled Seren’s. Magic must be involved, because boots and armor pile unnaturally fast on the nearest marble bench. Nevander reserves the most care for setting aside his sword, then practically rips his belt and trousers away.
Seren stares, shamelessly entranced. From shoulders to sculpted thighs, every sinew is a marking on a map, leading Seren to Nevander’s cock. The impression through linen and leather didn’t prepare him for the sight—smooth, perfect, yet shockingly real. Arousal flushes Nevander’s blunt cockhead, and the skin tightens with the blood-filled weight.
“I don’t want to criticize,” Seren says, forcing his gaze upwards. “But you’re doing a poor job of helping me relax.”
Nevander laughs, closing in. “I won’t apologize for that.”
Statuesque perfection. Not a single scar. Seren touches the point beneath Nevander’s sternum. “Does it still hurt?”
“No, it’s all healed.” Nevander touches Seren’s shoulder, with its shining constellation of scars. Sensation is muted beneath the raised marks. “Unlike this.”
Seren isn’t appeased. “It still happened, even if it fades.”
Nevander just smiles. “That’s one thing I didn’t know—how deeply I would love your kindness.”
His touch falters. Like the word ‘love’ escaped his lips unbidden.
Seren isn’t ready to think about that. He seizes both Nevander’s hands. “Now that you’re naked, you should remove my trousers, before I do it myself.”
“Gladly,” Nevander says, and with barely a touch, the fine linen slides down Seren’s thighs.
And Seren feels gloriously perfect too, beneath Nevander’s gaze.
They move in a tangle of limbs, each pushing and pulling the other toward the bath. Steaming water nearly meets the rim. Nevander stops the faucets, then helps Seren up the steps.
Seren nearly protests that he can get into a bath by himself. He’s done it plenty, even in this massive lake of a tub. But tonight is about letting Nevander take care of him. About giving up control. Despite the fact, or because of the fact, that Nevander has barely ordered him to do anything.
Nevander’s always so careful with his words.
Heat embraces Seren from toes to knees, then to his chest as he sits on the marble bench. Water spills over the edge, disappearing through metal grates, as Nevander joins him.It’s just shy of too warm, and the fragrant heat makes Seren feel more sensitive.
“This one smells nice,” Seren says, reaching for one of the smaller faucet runes.
Nevander catches his hand and kisses his knuckles, lips cool against the steam. “There are seven different fragrances.”
