He holds me tight as he pumps once, twice more, and then plants himself deep and fills me just as he’d promised.
Rhys clings to me until he catches his breath. He pulls back from where his cheek is pressed against mine and crushes his mouth to my lips, licking into me and making me lose my breath. He releases me back to the bed, caressing my breasts as he sits back on his heels, and I feel some of his cum slip free as I lose him.
He pushes me up the bed a few inches so there’s a little slack on my arms and says, “Hold on, hen.”
I don’t have a second to prepare as he grabs the bar between my feet and flips me over to my belly, making me gasp. He slides my knees and arms underneath me and I rest my cheek on the smooth fabric of the sheets, feeling sated and relaxed after the longest orgasm of my life.
Until I hear a faint buzzing sound…
I gasp and move to rear up but the restraints and a firm hand placed at the center of my back keep me down when Rhys reaches around my hip and touches the vibrator to my already sensitive clit. Moisture pools between my thighs, and I feel his hard length at my opening just before he drives deep inside me.
He guides me up to my knees, my arms stretched out in front of me. I’m firmly impaled on his heavy cock with one of his arms banded low around my hips, the vibrator pressed to my clit, and the other lodged between my breasts. He pinches my nipple, driving me closer and closer to another climax.
“Rhys…” I bounce on him as much as my tethers will allow me, needing any friction I can get. “I’m so close.”
“I know,” he chuckles. “I feel your tight cunt milking my cock.”
“Please let me come. Please, please, please…”
He clicks a button on the vibrator ratcheting up the intensity as he pinches my nipple one more time, throwing me over the edge. I scream as I come. Rhys tosses the toy to the floor and drops me back down so that my knees are under me, but my cheek and chest are pressed flat to the bed. He drives deep within me, setting a punishing rhythm as he fucks me through another climax before thrusting deep one last time and calling out my name.
When we’ve caught our breath, he pulls out of me and gently turns me to lay on my back. He carefully unties each arm take time to rub the pins and needles out of each one. Then he unwraps each ankle, tossing the bar and cuffs aside. The clatter when they hit the floor fills the heavy silence. What he doesn’t do is take off my blindfold. Instead, he turns his body to face in the same direction as me and grasps my knees, wrenchingthem apart. “Here’s your proof.”
My body stiffens and every warm and fuzzy feeling I was having after so many orgasms is long gone. It’s as if a bucket of ice water has been dumped over me. His arctic tone is so cold, so angry. I know it’s not directed at me, it’s for the room full of people who required more proof that I’ve been bred.
I hear fabric rustling as he grabs some clothes, and then the silk sheet is wrapped gently around me before he lifts me into his arms like a bride and carries me out of the room.
“Rhys,” I whisper.
“No’ yet,” he says as he moves quickly through the castle.
“But honey—” I start.
“No’ yet, hen.”
I hear a door open and close behind us as he continues to stride through the castle, but this space feels familiar, safe even. He sets me on my feet, and I hear a shower turn on. Rhys pulls the tie from over my eyes and I have to blink against the sudden bright light.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” he says. He’s got his dress pants barely done up and that’s it. His shirt must have been left behind.
He kicks them off and pulls me into the shower. Soaping me up from head to toe and scrubbing me even harder.
“Rhys.” I try to stop his movements. “I’m okay.”
He doesn’t say anything but turns his ministrationson himself and scrubs his body like he’s angry, only this time, at himself and I can’t have that. It slays me to watch him hurt like this, to blame himself. He didn’t do anything wrong. We’re in this together.
“Rhys, honey, stop,” I plead.
“No’ yet, hen,” he says, shutting off the water. “I’m hanging on by a thread.”
He reaches for a towel and gently dries me off before roughly turning the towel on himself. I pull his hands into mine and still them. Instead, I take the towel and step in front of him, watching him as he stares at me, and I dry him off with the same care and attention he used on me.
“Are you done yet?” he asks, taking the towel from my hand.
“I think so,” I answer honestly. “Are you done being angry at yourself for something you did not orchestrate?”
“Just because I didn’t write the old as fuck laws does no’ mean that I’m no’ angry about them,” he says. “But to answer your question, I’m no’ mad at myself, I’m mad that they saw you like that. I fucking hate that you were to be publicly bred like a prize horse and that something private between us that should have been beautiful was made to be dirty.”
“And now you’ve made us clean again.”