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“You want this? Fine. But I’m taking my time with you, Prince.”
I reach for the bottle of body oil I keep on the shelf and pour a generous amount into my palm. Gently turning him around, I press his chest against the foggy glass.
He rests his forehead against it and spreads his hands out for support.
I step up behind him, lining my chest up against his back, pressing a trail of kisses along the curve of his spine, avoiding the yellowing marks where his bruises are almost healed.
My hands glide down his ribs, tracing his waist, down to the back of his thighs.
I drop to my knees on the tiles behind him, the warm spray washing over my shoulders as I part his legs, lapping my tongue just once before pulling back.
“God… you’re torturing me.”
“Good.” I smile and take my time, tasting him, my tongue tracing a warm line up the inside of his thigh before moving to his center, tasting him thoroughly until he’s squirming against the glass.
Once he’s panting, I work the oil into his skin, sliding a slicked finger carefully inside him.
Cillian gasps, his fingers smudging the fog on the glass, and he moans.
“More, Knox… More.”
I slick my fingers with more oil, coaxing him open slowly, carefully, watching the way his body arches and yields to every stretch.
I add a second finger, then a third, pressing deep until his hips begin to push back against my hands, completely unraveled for me.
Fuck, he’s so damn beautiful.
Once I am sure he’s ready, I stand up, pull him by his lower back, and wrap one arm around his waist, pinning his hips against mine.
I align myself at his entrance and slowly push inside him, filling him inch by inch.
“Ahh…!” Cillian moans as his spine arches, throwing his head back against my shoulder. “You feel… incredible.”
“Hold on, my Prince.” I stay still for a moment, letting him adjust to the stretch before drawing back and sliding deep into him again in one long thrust.
“Yes!” he gasps, and I speed up the pace.
I thrust over and over, each time harder and deeper than the last, and Cillian accepts all of it.
I fist my fingers in his hair, pulling his head back and leaning close to his ear.
Cillian moans as I lick his earlobe.
“Tell me, Cil,” I demand, my hands gripping his hair tighter. “Who do you belong to?”
“I’m yours, Knox,” he pants, his head rolling back as I bury myself deep inside him again. “God, I’m yours.”
“Mine,” I growl, pulling his head close enough to reach his mouth, and we kiss as we both come apart.
After the shower, I wrap a towel around Cillian, dry him as carefully as I can, and carry him to bed.
I pull the blanket over him, and we lie together. Cillian rests his head against my chest, and I run my fingers through his hair.
It’s been ages since I’ve felt this comfortable.
This content.
This… glad.
