Page 25 of The Traitor's Curse
Closing my eyes made it worse. Now I only had pure sensation without the distraction of my vision. All of my concentration had narrowed down to my tongue, and on keeping it absolutely still.
I would absolutely not lick the head of his cock.
My mouth had started to water, and I’d need to swallow, and when I opened my eyes again and looked up—there was Benedict. For a long, long moment, he watched me watching him. I blinked first.
And then I couldn’t take it anymore, my heart beating in my throat precisely as Benedict had said, my wrists aching in his grip and the urge to writhe where I sat to try to relieve the need between my legs growing nearly overwhelming.
It was that or…I darted my tongue out and tasted him.
Salty, and faintly, sweetly bitter, and it always took me by surprise how something that felt so hard inside me could be so silky-smooth in my mouth.
Benedict’s eyes widened, his fingers dug into my scalp, and he thrust in, rubbing his cockhead over my tongue. “Lick, Lucian,” he growled, and I wriggled my tongue, my mouth already too stuffed for more.
But I tried, because the heat in his eyes had me pinned more surely than his weight leaning against my wrists, and I’d almost started writhing after all. If he would only let one of my arms go so I could reach down and take myself in hand, then I might have some relief from the pressure mounting in me, but my restlessness had no other outlet than my mouth: licking him, sucking him—gods help me, doing precisely what he’d told me to and showing him how much I wanted it.
I moaned around him, my eyes already starting to water from the pressure against the back of my throat. Saliva pooled in the corners of my mouth as he thrust deeper still, and then it dripped down to trickle over my neck and dampen my velvet robes.
He’d already wrecked me, and at any moment someone could enter the throne room. Yes, I’d ordered everyone out, but that wouldn’t stop Gerfred if I were urgently needed elsewhere.
Moaning a protest around Benedict’s thick cock only seemed to encourage him, and he grunted and thrust deeper, bruising the back of my throat, bruising my wrists with his iron grip, my scalp stinging as he pulled my hair.
Now I’d started writhing no matter how hard I tried to stay still, squirming in my seat with everything below the waist throbbing, arms aching with tension. Benedict fucked my mouth, gods, my pretty mouth, not so pretty now all stretched and wet and shiny, nothing but another hole for his cock to fill.
From this angle I couldn’t see much but the wool of his tunic, and rolling my eyes back in my head gave me his stubbled chin, the tanned column of his neck. Everything jolted and bounced as he used me to chase his pleasure, and I gave up, letting my eyes slide shut, letting the thrust and drag of his heavy cock on my tongue light up every nerve in my body, choking slightly on his cockhead, which only made me shudder and draw as taut as a bowstring, both his cock and mine straining—
Benedict groaned and pulled back, cock stiffening and twitching as he flooded my mouth with his come instead of pumping it down my throat. It overflowed no matter how I tried to swallow, coating my chin and neck, salty and rich and somehow effervescent on my tongue, like champagne—or magic. Tingling.
I stayed suspended there, trembling, his cockhead still filling my mouth all thick and hot and his come soaking the frontof my robes. It’d been a close-run thing, but thank the gods I hadn’t degraded myself by spending in my trousers and soaking the rest of me.
“Your mouth is even prettier when it’s dripping,” Benedict said.
That was it. My spine bowed, my eyes rolled back in my head, and I thrashed in Benedict’s grip as my balls pulled tight and I spent helplessly in my trousers, hot and wet.
Fuck. I’d need the whole no-doubt sleepless night to determine whom I hated more, Benedict or myself.
When he let go of my neck and my wrists at last, his cock slipping out of my slack mouth as he unwedged his knee from next to my leg, I slumped down into my throne, a damp, ruined mess. I swiped at my sloppy mouth and chin with one throbbing wrist, managing to smear Benedict’s come all over the rich embroidery on my sleeve in the process.
Damn it all.
“I wish I had some way to create an instant painting of you like this, but my magic doesn’t stretch that way,” Benedict said, and I glanced up to find him nearly put back together again, as infuriatingly quick to look not at all like he’d been fucking me a moment before as he had been earlier in the day. “I’d like to look at you longer, but I suppose I’ll need to clean you up a bit. We can’t have your robes of state all wet like that, and anyway, I don’t think there’s a laundress in the world who could get that much semen out of silk velvet. But my magic can.”
He leaned in and laid his hand on my knee, rubbing his fingers over the fabric there, and my robes—twitched slightly, as if they’d been given temporary life in the most disturbing way. I shuddered and shook him off, but his work was done: when I ran my hands over my robes, they’d been made pristine again.
Under them, however…
Benedict grinned down at me as I shifted uncomfortablyin my seat. “I didn’t clean anything under your robes,” he said, and tugged his sword belt into place in a sure, practiced motion that sent a tiny, horrible shiver into the pit of my stomach. Why did he need to be so effortlessly competent? In everything, even the smallest of actions? “You can take care of that the mundane way. And make sure you think about me while you do.”
“I’ll be thinking about how much I detest you,” I muttered, because I didn’t need the whole night to consider the matter after all, it turned out. I hated Benedict the most.
He shrugged, somehow elegantly settling his cloak around himself at the same time. “Up to you. The guards I selected are now waiting for you in your anteroom, by the way. I’ll escort you to them. If you please, Your Grace?”
“And if I prefer to remain here alone for a time?”
I really didn’t. I wanted a bath and the largest coffee tray in Calatria. But simply doing what he told me without any argument at all rankled unbearably.
“You’ll be alone with me if you do, because I’m not leaving you here where you could sneak off again or be murdered by someone sneaking in. And you never know, I might get hard again if I grow bored waiting for you.”
His light tone suggested a joke, but I knew better.
