Page 50 of The Beauty and His Beast

Camdyn’s spent cock twitched. It was so—he loved this, the almost primal look on Everild’s face, the noises he made—and it was always so intimate. His husband watched him with eyes half-closed from pleasure, mouth open and gasping as he stroked himself. Camdyn only looked away to stare between Everild’s legs, to watch how his hips moved when he fucked his fist, to look at how wet his fingers were gripped firmly around his leaking cock.

Then Camdyn recognized it—when Everild’s thrusts became shorter and quicker, when he started panting like a dog—he was close. Camdyn sat up on his elbows, eager and flushed and waiting.

Everild groaned. His eyes closed, his body shook—he was lost in ecstasy. Ropes of thick, hot cum burst from the tip of his cock and hit Camdyn’s chest and stomach. This was what he did to Everild, he thought, pleased. His husband wanted him that badly—got such pleasure from Camdyn that when he finished, his seed covered Camdyn’s body.

When Everild’s orgasm tapered off and his breathing returned to normal, he asked, “Did you like that, Camdyn?”

“I loved it. I love feeling your pleasure on me.” He squirmed on the bed, suddenly feeling shy. “Will you kiss me, Everild?”

“You think there’s a chance I wouldn’t?” His husband pulled Camdyn into his lap and pressed a border of kisses alongCamdyn’s jaw. “We’ve been apart for longer than I thought. You’ve forgotten that I always want to kiss you.”

“Everild, I could never forget that,” Camdyn murmured.

“Good. But I’ll have to keep reminding you. Just in case.” His hand fell to Camdyn’s chest, his fingers running through streaks of his drying spend, and pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Camdyn yelped. “Everild!” Brushing the offending hand away, he said, “I love you very much. But surely we have to prepare for the coronation?”

His husband grumbled, “I am the king. It’s my coronation. We can postpone it if I want to enjoy my prince consort.”

It was so shocking to hear the petulance in that deep, rough voice that Camdyn burst out laughing. “No, you’ll do no such thing! We’ll have your coronation, and then you can enjoy me as much as you’d like.”

“Yes, my lord,” Everild teased.

They sat there for a time, comfortable in their embrace. Then Camdyn shifted in Everild’s arms and noticed the sorry state of his tunic, ripped down the middle and sodden with sweat and cum. There would be no mending it—it would be nothing more than a very large, expensive rag.

He said, with a little bit of wonder and a great deal of arousal, “You tore it right off me, Everild.”

His husband looked embarrassed. “Forgive me, Camdyn. I was too eager. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”

“I didn’t mind that,” Camdyn quickly replied. “I really liked it. But my clothes—“

Everild kissed him. “I’ll have another one made for you to replace it. Something better.”

“That’s fine, but I don't have anything to wear now.”

“I’ll have someone bring you another outfit,” Everild said. Something mischievous flickered in his expression. “We’ll have to wait a bit for them to get it ready, though, won’t we?”

Camdyn couldn’t help but giggle.

???

By evening, both he and his husband were thoroughly sated, and Camdyn was modestly dressed in another tunic and breeches. The officials and advisors were aflutter with activity and nerves. They carefully explained the morning’s schedule to Camdyn as he sipped at a bit of warm, mulled wine, watered down at Everild’s order with fresh water and honey.

It wasn’t as ostentatious or complicated an event as he had thought it would be, especially since Everild had insisted that the ceremony be over and done with as soon as possible. For one, Everild hated being the center of attention. And more importantly, there was little to celebrate in his opinion. Not with him coming to power at the expense of his cousin’s murder.

Camdyn would accompany Everild the entire way. His husband had insisted that they would walk together side-by-side from the palace to the Capital’s church. Camdyn simply needed to hold his husband’s arm on their way to the church. It was when they got to the altar that Camdyn worried.

“His Majesty will bow before the priest and humble himself before God. Your Royal Highness will wait by His Majesty’s side and receive his tunic. Then the priest will anoint His Majesty with oil, bless him and his reign—may it be long and bountiful—and then you will redress His Majesty, the priest will place the crown upon his head, and he will rise. Have you any questions, Your Royal Highness?”

Camdyn set his cup down and carefully asked, “When Everild names me his prince consort—will I be—um—humbledbefore God as well?” He didn’t mind God seeing him stripped to the waist and bare-chested, but a room full of other people, on the other hand…

The advisors suddenly grew flustered; they coughed and turned red and cleared their throats. Some avoided his gaze while others suddenly stared at him as if considering the image.

Everild cupped his cheek and shook his head. “No, Camdyn. I’ll remove your cloak and the priest will anoint your head, and neck, and shoulders. That’s all.”

One of the advisors murmured, “A lucky man,” and Everild growled in warning, his dark eyes flashing.

Camdyn sighed in relief. “Thank goodness.” He didn’t want anyone but Everild ever seeing him in such a state. The threatening, protective expression on his husband’s face softened. He brushed Camdyn’s bottom lip with his thumb.

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