Page 77 of His Prince
And yet I do it anyway, sinking into the warm water just as Angel rounds the corner, his footsteps faltering. He hesitates, almost unsure of what to do.
And while he contemplates, I find myself feeling ridiculous, the large tub almost too small as Angel’s lips turn up into a small smile.
“I see how it is, husband,” he says as he moves toward me. I can’t take my eyes off him, his lean, tight body, the pink of his pebblednipples, the dusting of hair on his legs and around his soft cock. “Can’t stay away, hm? You aren’t ready for this to be over.”
“I just saw an opportunity to save water.”
“I’m sure you’re so concerned with that,” he replies with a small laugh as he steps in between my spread legs and sits down opposite me. Our thighs brush, his toes digging into my sides as he leans back and rests his head on the edge of the tub.
“My ass is so sore,” he says softly as his eyes close.
I preen as I sit there. Yes, his ass should be sore. I took him. I fucking took what’s mine.
“Don’t get a big head, though. Any dick could do that.”
My chest deflates and I glower at him, my eyes boring into him.
“I can feel you staring,” he adds and then lifts his right leg and sets it on my lap. “Since you’re just sitting there doing nothing, you can wash me.”
“So now I can touch you?” I ask, almost indignant.
“Mhm, just this once. I’ll make an exception.”
I continue to send him angry glares, but he doesn’t look over at me, just sits there like a fucking prince, asking me to wash him. Like I’m his servant. Well, fine. I can do that. I’ll wash the hell out of him.
I grab his foot and press it against my chest, dragging his body down a little more, his chin now submerged in the water, but he doesn’t complain. So I lather up my palms with the bar of soap and get to work, dragging my hands up and down his leg, massaging it as I go, making his eyelashes flutter and his lips part in a breathy moan.
He likes that. He likes me touching him.
Leaning forward, I drag my hands across his ass and he lifts his hips slightly, allowing me to cup those round globes. I squeeze them and he lets out a contented mewl before I drag my hands down his left leg, repeating the process. He has long legs, the perfect shape, the perfect feel. I should be more perturbed by the hair that tickles my palms, but I’m oddly unbothered by it.
In fact, I seem to like it.
When I’m done washing his legs, both now in the water, his eyelids flutter open.
Our gazes meet, and Angel has the gall to arch an eyebrow at me.
“You’re not done.”
“I can’t reach any other part of you.”
“And that’s my problem?”
My eye twitches, but so does my dick, apparently loving his sass.
I push myself up, water sluicing down my body as I go. Angel watches it all, his cheeks reddening and his tongue peeking out to wet his lips as I kneel right between his spread legs.
“Is this better, my prince?”
“Yes,” he breathes. I gently take his arm from the water and drag my hand up it, moving to his shoulder and tickling his armpit before dragging my hands to the other side and repeating the process, making sure every part of him is washed and touched by me.
Angel trembles beneath my touch, and I feel a power in this that I haven’t felt in ages. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way.
I tug on his fingertips and gingerly link my hand with his, loving the way our hands look entwined, before pulling away. I drag my hands down his chest, plucking at hisnipples as his body arches up into mine. I can’t help but pull him in further, my palms sprawling across his back and tugging him onto my thighs, his ass now firmly on my lap.
His face tucks into my neck, and I feel his breath against my wet skin.
I can’t let him in, and yet I don’t let go.