Page 38 of His Summer Prince

“Fuck,” Wren muttered. “Look how wet you get.” He gripped Elior’s cock and circled his thumb across his glans, more liquid seeping from his slit. Cruelly, he let go, leaving Elior to throb in the air.

Building a steady rhythm, Wren fucked him until his mind swam. Finally, he canted his hips and snapped forward, slamming into Elior’s sweet spot head-on. His lips silenced Elior’s pleasured shriek as his tender love spot seized under the attack, pulsating ecstatically.

That fat glans squished against him, and Elior shook. Hewas so raw there, so vulnerable. Wren was with him, slick and hot and pushing into him. Elior keened, and Wren launched an assault on his gland, striking it with his cockhead, driving him out of his mind with the sheer force of his pleasure.

Elior’s fingers threaded into Wren’s hair and fisted it. He snarled with feral ecstasy, clawing at him with blunt nails, clinging to him as if his life depended on it.

Wren answered, drilling into him at full speed, hitting his prostate with terrifying precision. He plunged into it, over and over until Elior saw stars, helplessly whimpering. Wren rutted into him like an animal in heat, the ghost of the overwhelming friction shrouding Elior’s cock in a blissful embrace.

Every thump had Elior spilling another moan. Urgency mounted, and his balls drew to his taint, full and ready to unload. His dick flexed against his stomach, jerking and straightening as his body prepared for release.

“Damn, you’re getting so tight,” Wren groaned. He gritted his teeth, desperately holding onto his climax.

He withdrew, then struck again, hitting Elior’s prostate. Elior arched, the tension in his loins taut like a bow. Wren fucked into that little, helpless gland, and Elior exploded.

He came with a sharp grunt, clutching Wren with all his supernatural strength, pulling him closer, deeper, impaling himself on that magnificent cock, which pressed firmly into his prostate. Cum splattered between them, and Wren cursed as he swelled inside Elior. A hot, wet spot bloomed in his channel, and he clenched on Wren, every squeeze affirming his love for his soulmate.

They came as one, convulsing in orgasm, their senses blinded to everything but the waves of release rolling through them. Their hands gripping, their mouths devouring, they consumed each other, bodies fighting to fuse.

Wren collapsed, his ragged breath warm and damp againstElior’s ear. They bathed in the glow of their bond, two beings merged into one. Sweet aftershocks rolled through them, dragging out their joint climax.

They lay like this for a long while, sweaty bodies pressed together. Only when the first birds began their song, and the edge of the horizon shifted from black to dark blue, did they clean up and dress for fear of discovery.

They remained huddled together, breathing as one until the festivities resumed and it was time to greet the rising midsummer sun.

The villagers sang as the sun inched over the horizon. Following the humans in their ritual of washing their faces with morning dew, Elior spread his hands in the grass, shuffling them until they were wet, then ran them, cool and refreshing, over his face.

Once the sun had slid into full view, people spread woolen blankets near the ashes of the bonfire and laid out picnic breakfasts to share with family and friends. A heaviness settled over Elior. It was time for him to return to the Summer Court. Out of the corner of his eye, he regarded Wren, who was packing up—he needed to return to Toby and the flock. In the early morning light, he was more beautiful than ever, his skin luminous, the sun bringing his hair to a coppery shine. Elior couldn’t lose him. Not to marriage, and not to aging.

Wren caught him staring and gifted him a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Elior took him in his arms, inhaling deeply. He already missed that scent.

Wren tightened his embrace. “Be careful.”

“I will.” He kissed Wren’s cheek.

Pulling away was painful, his heart aching as he let go of Wren. With one last, sad smile, he turned and jogged across the field. When he looked over his shoulder, he caught Wren’s gaze.Biting his lip, he tore away. He yearned to linger, to steal another hour, but there was no time.

Elior crossed the fields and reached a place where the River Somer was shallow and fordable. From there, it wasn’t far to the faerie realm.

He passed the veil and was greeted by the overpowering scent of blooming flowers and recent rain. Elior followed the old path through the verdant greenery where the trees soon parted to reveal the turquoise facade of the Summer Palace with its pristine white pillars and neat rows of gold-framed windows.

Elior made his way past the guards and through the grand entrance. Inside the palace, ivy and flower garlands snaked up the central staircase. Hanging moss dangled from marble balconies, and glittering chandeliers lit every corner of the hall. Elior bee-lined down the corridors, making for the queen’s chambers. The courtiers he passed threw him curious glances. It was good that they saw him. They and the guards would later confirm his presence in the palace when the queen began to worry he hadn’t come for the betrothal ceremony.

Because in truth Elior had no intention of attending. It was a farce anyway, but the ceremony explained his presence in the palace, which would’ve otherwise stood out. Elior was never here during summer. The court would’ve noticed if he had visited without obvious reason, which was why he had waited until today. It would’ve been better to strike earlier, ensuring what he wanted was still there, but his showing up might have seemed suspicious and alerted his mother unnecessarily. No, today was perfect for his undertaking. He’d be gone by the time he was considered missing.

The guards posted in front of the queen’s chambers didn’t blink when he marched toward them, his head held high. Anyone but the queen’s children would’ve been apprehended. For once, Elior was glad to be a prince. The guards opened thedoors for him.

His mother was never in her rooms this time of day, but nevertheless, he combed the chambers carefully. The last thing he needed was to be caught red-handed by a maid loyal to the queen.

Elior snuck through the parlor, his fae nature permitting him to glide soundlessly over the wooden floor. He opened the door to the queen’s private greenhouse, where stifling heat and sickly-sweet smells greeted him. He rounded the garden, ensuring he was alone. When he was certain, he stepped onto the retaining wall that encased the summer faerie apple tree. There, high on a thick, gnarly branch, hung the golden apple, that fruit of immeasurable value.

Elior was lucky his mother hadn’t harvested it yet. It would’ve been the perfect bait to get the king of Vale on the Summer Court’s side. How could it not? It was a delicious fruit that prolonged a human’s lifespan to three hundred years, matching a fae’s. What the king of Vale might have done to get it? He’d never know. The king of Vale wouldn’t get the apple. Wren would.

Elior stood on his tip toes and stretched to reach the rare, golden fruit. His hand closed around the apple, and relief washed through him. The summer faerie fruit, a once-in-a-century occurrence, would grant him and Wren a long life together—though not in Vale or anywhere near the faerie realm.

They couldn’t have stayed either way. Elior had known for months, ever since the orc invasion. Orcs surpassed humans and fae in strength. Regardless whether the lords and ladies of Vale wanted to believe it, sooner or later, they would be overrun. A tactically-minded man like Lord James Aranin might hold them up for a while, throwing everything he had in the orcs’ way, but he wouldn’t be able to suspend the orcs’ progress north forever. The orcs were coming.

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