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Faery Godlover

By:Lizzie Lynn Lee

One


There was nothing that pleased him more than to hear a woman’s cries while in throes of ecstasy. A stifled gasp escaped from her delicate throat as the prince’s hips thrust forward in a rhythmic, fluid force that drove him in and out of her ceaselessly, his energy seemingly boundless.

A curl of dark hair spilled over his face and his skin shone from perspiration, but it only served to make him look more ethereal, more hauntingly beautiful. His amethyst eyes gazed at her with haughty satisfaction as she gripped the silken bed sheets.

She was nearing her climax.

“Say it,” he cooed down at the woman as he slowed his rhythm, and she put a hand up on his chest, an unspoken plea for him to continue his ministration.

“I- I,” she gasped, face flushing.

She shivered when he tightened his hand over her breast and flicked his thumb over her sensitive nipple. With a smirk on his lips, he slipped his hand down to where he was penetrating her, stroking the sensitive nub. “I want to hear it from you, my sweet.”

“P-Prince Duada, please!” she gasped loudly, the sound filling the lavishly ornate, marble-floored chamber they were in, from the ancient masterpieces of art hanging on the walls to the tapestries of finely-woven embroidery.

“Good girl,” he whispered. He started to pound her more fiercely again, and as if on command, she came as she tossed and squirmed under him.

Energetic one, isn’t she? Duada mused silently. He licked his lips, letting his own pleasure start to climb higher and higher. He kept his machine-like rhythm until the tension became greater than he could control. The ferocity of his movements sent the poor woman spiraling into more climaxes as he drove himself forward.

Tossing his long hair back, he pulled himself out of her and pumped himself with his hand as he ejaculated, spilling his come on her bare breasts.

Duada never planted his seed in his partners’ wombs.

No female creature was worthy enough in his eyes. He dallied constantly since he reached his majority some three centuries back, filling his bed with a different female companion night after night and yet, he hadn’t met that special someone who satisfied him emotionally.

Love? He wanted to laugh. Love was some silly word humans invented.

Duada Ashvyrvalan Sidherhain didn’t love.

He did “fond.”

Though lately, he found it becoming harder and harder to harbor that special fondness for someone. His cousin Aodhe said it was the curse of immortality. Staying young and beautiful, with immense power at their disposal, made royal fae like him prone to boredom.

In order to fight boredom, the fae indulged in excesses.

Duada breathed heavily as his orgasm waned gradually. He rolled off of her, slowing his breath as he slipped off the bed, grabbing a cloth and tossing it to the noblewoman.

“Hmm, my prince,” she whispered as she took her time in cleaning off her chest, “that was... amazing. I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner.”

Prince Duada of the Summerland Court smiled affably as he climbed back into his trousers and shrugged on his bed robe. He tied it around his waist and ran a hand through his dark locks. He eyed his latest conquest with a smile on his face.

The noblewoman on the bed was lovely indeed, an ambassador from some neighboring minor fae court trying to suck up to his aunt, the Faery Queen, who ruled half the continents. As such, Prince Duada felt it his noble duty to make certain accommodations for their female guest while she waited on an audience with the Queen.

“Just one of the many pleasures we have to offer here in the capital, my sweet,” his voice lilted in response. “I wish your visit to Summerland to be memorable.”

“Memorable indeed.” She laughed coquettishly. “I might have to request an extension for my duties here,” she said as she stretched in one languorous sweep.

Duada gave a light chuckle as he made his way across the room, his walk a lazy saunter bred only from a life of ease and authority he exercised through his status.

“I think the powers-that-be might just be amenable to that,” he half-lied as he headed for the door. In truth, he had no direct authority over that kind of thing, but he’d come this far leading the lovely lady along, and he didn’t mind doing so a bit longer until the Queen dismissed her.

It was a guilty pleasure of his; giving into the lustful pursuits he could afford himself while idling about the court. In fact, he didn’t have any kind of personal attachment to the woman he’d just had fun with—and he knew that the feeling was mutual. To her, he was just a means to her ends, and to him, she was just a bit of fun. Such gallivanting was a deadly game for the lower-ranking courtiers, but as a prince, who could tell Duada to behave himself?

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