Page 42 of The Merman's Betrothal
He whipped his hand out of the water. At first glance there was nothing, but when he rubbed his thumb against his middle fingertip he encountered something more viscous than water. It reminded him of the consistency of lube.
‘The fuck?’ Rory grimaced, wondering if it meant he was ill. Or was this normal? He’d never tried to inspect the inside ofhis asshole before. Surely someone would have mentioned if this was a common experience. One of Graham’s friends would have turned it into an insult by now, at least.
He made a mental note to google the shit out of it later. As for right now, an insistent throb of desire dragged his hand back down.
Rory twisted for a better position and tentatively pushed his finger back in. It went in more easily this time—too easily. His finger glided in the weird slickness, encountering little resistance, and pushed in right up to his middle knuckle.
Rory stared up at the ceiling, waiting for air to return to his lungs.
Okay, maybe he could see it now, why some guys might like this. It was like there was a direct line between his ass and his cock; it pulsed in time with his heartbeat, held taut with the pressure exerted by his finger.
When Rory curled his finger he nearly crumpled. A strangled moan fought its way out of his throat. What the fuckwasthis?
His cock jumped against his belly when he did it again. And then again. He fell naturally into an insistent rhythm, pressing the pad of his finger against his inner flesh. Feeding that line of pleasure to his cock. Feeling it build inside him, until the pleasure forked and seemed to worm itself even deeper, connecting to the base of his spine. A type of pleasure Rory had never experienced before and knew he’d never be able to coherently explain.
Threading through all of this was the tugging sensation inside his chest. That fucking soul bond Fionn kept bringing up, like a bad itch Rory couldn’t get rid of. He could almost imagine Fionn on the other end of it, being equally tugged in his direction. Maybe watching while he got himself off.
And just like that Rory’s thoughts were firmly on the blue merman. Imagining his rugged shoulders covered in tattoos. The arrogant glint in his dark eyes. Fionn’s fingers fucking him.
‘God,’ Rory stuttered, squeezing his eyes shut. Somehow he’d got another finger in, could feel his muscles straining against the stretch of it. But both digits moved easily, sliding without friction despite the water.
Rory registered this hazily. He’d had shower sex once, and learned very quickly that water wasnota good lubricant. None of this should be feeling as gut-wrenchingly euphoric as it was.
His fingers were in up to hisknuckles, for Christ’s sake. He’d thrown his legs out over the sides of the bath, splaying himself open like he was inviting the faucet to come and get in on the action. All the while pleasure built up inside him, straining within his untouched cock and thudding at the base of his spine. Fucking fuck, he needed to come.
A groan dropped from his mouth as he contorted his body so that his fingers could plunge deeper, harder. Rory felt he was chasing the climax, desperately trying to catch up to it while his heartbeat drummed in his ears and the water sloshed all around him. And his chest, his chest was going to fucking burst under the pressure. He needed release. He needed help. He needed…
‘F-Fionn,’ he croaked, a dirty snarl underlying the moan.
The tension in his chest was going to snap him in half. It wound even tighter, like the bond itself was endeavouring to drag two souls together.
A chaotic clattering from beyond the bathroom reached Rory’s ears. Rather like a door being thrown off its hinges and someone racing up the stairs.
The bathroom door rattled—then burst open.
Naked except for his kilt, chest heaving and eyes wide, Fionn loomed large and beautiful in the doorway.
Chapter Fourteen
The last twenty minutes had beenwildfor Fionn.
When Neacel returned to the chamber with a basket of dressed seaweed salad, Fionn began by venturing something of an apology.
‘I did not mean to speak so fiercely,’ he said while accepting a portion of bladderwrack. ‘I hope you can forgive my passion on the matter of this soul bond, seeing as more than my own fate rests upon it.’
‘More than, Your Highness?’
‘The entire kingdom,’ Fionn pressed on boldly. ‘If I cannot escape my Redfolk betrothal, then I shall never be able to serve my people to my fullest potential.’
Surely Fionn imagined it, but he could’ve sworn that Neacel rolled his eyes. ‘Are you sure that’s your true motivation? There is no shame in admitting that you simply want a different future.’
‘I want what’s best for my people. There’s so much more that I can give—’
Fionn stopped, suddenly frozen.
Like an explosion in his rib cage, the soul bond boomed with panicked urgency. A wave of distress surged from Rory on the other end of it.
‘Fionn?’ Neacel asked, looking at him curiously.
