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My prick jerked when I had no choice but to follow, the leash gradually pulling taut. Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I crawled after him on my hands and knees, watching as he lazily swigged champagne, his thin, pale fingers holding the end of the leash in a loose grip.

He knew he didn’t need to tug or use any force. That technically, he didn’t even need the leash to get me to follow him—to crawl after him on my hands and knees just because he’d told me to. That confidence, bordering on arrogance, made me so unbearably aroused that I almost started to pant.

He glanced down with a smirk. “You look good down there, your highness.”

I bit back a whimper. Gods, what if a member of palace staff walked in on me like this?

Why did the idea make my prick even harder?

Vince got onto the bed and lounged back against the headboard, the bottle of champagne now resting on the bedside table. He tugged lightly on my leash until I climbed onto the mattress and knelt opposite, between his splayed legs, before he tugged again so I would lean forward and he could kiss me.

I moaned helplessly as his tongue slicked into my mouth, my prick throbbing from the way he kept my leash pulled taut so I couldn’t forget about it. Soon I was breathing faster against his lips, desperately kissing him back, too distracted to notice at first that he’d gathered my hands and pinned my wrists together behind my back until they were suddenly restrained.

I moaned in surprise, my eyes popping open as Vince drew back from the kiss and shot me a wicked grin. When I parted my lips to speak, he held something else up, making me freeze and stay completely silent.

A ball gag.

My wide eyes darted to his, seeing the question in his gaze. When I nodded quickly, he grinned again and gave me one last deep kiss before rasping, “Open.”

My heart pounding, I parted my lips wider until he could slot the rubber ball comfortably between my teeth. I had a brief moment of worrying about my fangs and the damage they might cause as he secured the gag in place, but all thoughts fled when Vince leaned back against the headboard and stared at me, almost slack-jawed, fisting his cock to give it a rough stroke.

“Jesus, you look good.” He reluctantly tore his gaze from my dripping cock to look me in the eyes. “If you want to stop at any point, just dig your knee into my side, okay?”

I nodded again, impatiently this time, wanting him to do whatever he was going to do. I was gagged, restrained and leashed.

I’d never been this turned on in my life.

My chest was heaving with my fast breaths, skin growing hot and damp as I stared at Vince, waiting. All he did at first was stare back, before reaching for the champagne bottle and taking another gulp as his gaze roamed over me.

When I’d ordered the food and champagne earlier, he’d also asked for cigarettes, saying he indulged occasionally. If he’d been anyone else, I would have told him to fuck off if he thought he could smoke in my bedroom, but it was Vince, so I’d simply obliged. Not that we had cigarettes here like he was used to, but some fae did smoke a similar herb that was dried and used to make hand-rolled cigarettes.

Now, he plucked one from the tin and lit it with a match, then lounged back against the headboard and smirked at me with it held between his lips.

“You’ll really let me do anything I want, won’t you?” he murmured, then exhaled a stream of aniseed-scented smoke as I nodded quickly. “You’re just a desperate, cock-hungry little slut, aren’t you?” I nodded again. “You just want to get fucked, don’t you?”

Another eager nod, my cock bucking and dripping pre-cum onto the bed. Vince tapped his cigarette against the ashtray and urged me to shift higher until I was straddling his hips, helping to steady me when I wobbled a little, my hands still securely fastened at my lower back.

A hoarse whimper escaped me when he grabbed the bottle of lube he’d brought and squirted some directly onto my cock. Then a louder, more ragged moan tore from my throat as he fisted me in his free hand and began to stroke, making every inch slippery.

“Don’t move,” he rasped, gaze focused on what he was doing to me as he continued to smoke his cigarette.

My lashes fluttered, eyes threatening to roll back as I tried to keep perfectly still. But my hips kept twitching, wanting to thrust into the tight grip of his fist. My fingers flexed at my lower back, making the muscles in my arms and shoulders bunch with tension. I was breathing fast and hard around the ball gag already, and the slick sound of his fist stroking my cock was making me light-headed with lust.

I realised I was moaning with every breath when Vince chuckled around his cigarette, looking completely relaxed as he lounged against the headboard and watched me try not to fall apart. I started to shake, my head falling back as I gave in and let my hips jerk forward, chasing his pumping fist.

He tutted and immediately let go, making me shudder with a whimper that turned into a choked breath when I felt slick fingers sliding between my legs, over my tight sac and taint to my hole. A guttural sound left me when Vince slowly pushed a finger inside, watching me hungrily through a cloud of smoke.

“Feel good?” he rasped, huffing in amusement when I nodded frantically. He carefully tunnelled a second finger inside and asked, “Wish it was my cock already?”

Another feverish nod as I panted around the gag and writhed back onto his fingers. Vince chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to my neck before his tongue emerged to snake down and flick one of my nipples. I jolted with a hoarse whimper, clenching around his fingers and making him groan.

Sitting back, he took one last long drag of his cigarette and grinned at me through the smoke as he stubbed it out, then had another swig of champagne, all while I writhed and whined breathlessly around the gag as he pumped his fingers inside me.

“Want my cock now?” he asked casually, laughing when I moaned and feverishly nodded. “Not yet. One more finger first.”

My eyes rolled back when he pushed three inside. I was aware that I was already making a decent amount of noise and we were in a palace full of keen-eared fae, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I wasn’t ashamed of my relationship—or whatever this was—with Vince.

I realised, in that moment, that I wasn’t ashamed of any of it. What I wanted, what I enjoyed, what I needed. I’d worn some form of shame like a second skin for so long now—shame over being the son my mother couldn’t stand, shame over fleeing from my title and responsibilities, shame over secretly longing for things I thought I shouldn’t want—that it felt almost too raw to shed it, like my skin had been scoured clean.