Page 7 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

“Yes, sir,” Adrien whispered, as Isiodore slid his still-gloved hand down and wrapped leather-clad fingers around Adrien’s cock.

“What a slut you are for me,” he whispered, as Adrien tried—and failed—not to fuck his fist. “Letting me bend you over the council table, spank you like the brat you are, fucking my fist before you even asked if you could. What would your nobles think of you if they saw you now?”

“That—they’re—jealous,” Adrien gasped, grabbing at Isiodore’s arms, which he immediately let go when Isiodore stilled and took his hand away. “Please, fuck, please, touch me, sir, please–”

“That’s good, my prince. You beg so well when you behave. Don’t you want to behave for me?”

“When you make me, yes,” Adrien gasped out, and whined when Isiodore took his hand away. “And I want you to make me.”

Isiodore bit him on the ear, stroking his cock again. “Stand still. You’ll act like a desperate slut when I tell you that you may. Should I fuck you here? I think I shall. Are you ready to apologize?”

“Y–Yes, sir, sorry, sir!” Adrien tripped over the words, since Isiodore was stroking him again, hard and fast just as he knew Adrien liked, thumb rubbing over the slit on his cock. “You’re ruining my gloves, you little slut. You’ll have to apologize for that, too.”

“I’m—dreadful, really–”

Isiodore hid his smile in another bite, this time above Adrien’s collar. He pulled back, shoved Adrien down over the table again, and reached into the pocket of his waistcoat. He pulled off his gloves again, enjoying every second of Adrien’s breathless pleas and eager begging, and uncorked the small vial, slicking up his fingers so he could do the same to his cock. He kicked Adrien’s legs apart and stepped smartly between them, and pressed the head of his slicked-up cock to Adrien’s hole.

“My poor brat, he’s gone without being fucked for far too long,” Isiodore murmured, resting one hand on the back of Adrien’s neck as he pushed in. He shuddered, because it had been too long for him too, and started fucking Adrien without teasing him. Time enough for that later. Besides, he had a plan. “Did you miss my cock, Adrien? Tell me how much.”

“So much,” Adrien said, fingers curling into his palms, his expression so close to blissful that Isiodore almost felt guilty for what he was going to do. Adrien would like it, of course, after he cursed Isiodore for it and earned himself another spanking later, in their rooms—over Isiodore’s knee this time, with the hairbrush.

“I’m going spend tomorrow in our rooms, making you come until you’re so worn out you don’t remember your name. You’re going to be quiet and good for me, kneel and serve my tea, but the first thing you’re going to do, Adrien de Mortain, is polish your boots.”

Adrien’s laugh was a short, choked thing, and it turned into a moan as Isiodore set about fucking him hard and fast, rattling the chairs and causing enough of a commotion that the poor guard could probably hear it. Good. Everyone should know that the prince’s consort knew how to take care of him when he acted up. Which Isiodore knew he would—was counting on it, really.

Emile hadn’t been the only one who’d gone cold after losing someone.

Isiodore’s fingers went tight on Adrien’s hips. Perhaps later, he’d tell Adrien that it mattered to him, to have someone who missed him, who noticed when he worked long hours or didn’t come home at all. It was a gift, and he wouldn’t be so foolish to waste it again. This had been a good reminder.

But for now…

“Who should come first, hmm? Tell me.”

“Me,” Adrien said, immediately. “I should, sir.”

Isiodore stilled, though it took almost a superhuman effort to do so. “Incorrect.”

“I’m the crown prince. This is my council room!”

“You’re a slut getting fucked by his dominant over a table, Adrien. I’ll ask again. Who should come first? Hand off your cock or you’re in a cage for a week.”

“Ah, fuck,” Adrien muttered, into the table. He took a shuddering breath, and then turned his head, face pressed against the slick wood. “You. I guess.”

Isiodore pulled his head up by the hair. “You guess?”

The dominance in voice was enough to do it—that and his cock, which was still buried to the hilt in Adrien’s ass, though it took all of his considerable control not to move. “You. You should, sir.”

“Why?” Isiodore demanded. “Tell me why I should come first.”

“You’re—I do what you want, sir. You’re my dominant.”

“Then let’s not forget that again.” Isiodore didn’t mean that, any more than Adrien meant the I won’t, sir, that he gasped out as Isiodore fucked him again, hard and fast, moving so he was covering Adrien’s body, pinning Adrien’s hands to the table. “You feel so good. I thought about this every night when I was gone. My hand doesn’t do your ass justice, no matter how tight I make my fist or when I leave my glove on, even if I’ve sucked on my own fingers to get the leather wet. It never feels like you do.”

Adrien gave a wordless cry and went boneless, and Isiodore pressed his face against Adrien’s shoulder as he came inside of him. His knees nearly went weak, but he stayed on his feet through the last shuddering pulse of pleasure. Adrien was sobbing and begging wordlessly to come, and Isiodore dropped one hand—his left one—and slipped it into his pocket. Instead of his watch, he’d grabbed something else that morning, and not on purpose.

“Adrien,” Isiodore whispered, removing it from his pocket. “I found what you left in my watch box this morning.” He drew back, and before Adrien could say anything or move away, he pressed the tip of the silver plug to Adrien’s hole and slid it easily in. “Thank you so much for your foresight. Up you go.” He straightened, and laughed when Adrien turned to him, a mess, cock hard and wet, face flushed and tear-streaked, hair damp and once again mussed.

“Izzy. You wouldn’t,” Adrien breathed, eyes wide.

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