Page 132 of The Prince and the Ice King

“Well then….” Reardon cleared his throat.

“And the thief cried on,

Swallowed up by greed,

But the hungry maw

Had enough.

“So, beware the vice that will feed the story’s end,

for the next year comes again too soon….”

Jack pulled Reardon out in front of him and sang the end,“And the Ice King sings the final tune.”

Reardon laughed. “I suppose we’ll need to change the words, since only that last line is true.”

“I’m sure you and Nigel are up to the task. Now come—” Jack backed them toward his private chambers. “—let’s see if we can fit on that throne.”

Reardon didn’t think Jack was being serious—Reardon hadn’t been serious when he suggested it—but once they entered the chambers, Jack led them straight to his desk and to the ornate throne behind it.

Which afforded Reardon a clear view into the bedroom.

“You don’t have a bed!” he exclaimed.

“I’ve been sleeping on yours. We’ll have to end there all the same tonight, but first….” Jack sat Reardon down, which confused him, until Jack squeezed in between the desk and Reardon’s legs and dropped to his knees in front of him. “We can worry about fitting in that chair in a moment.”

Seeing Jack in the dark of Reardon’s bedroom their last night together couldn’t compare with seeing him now, in a room fully lit, as his beautiful hands untied Reardon’s trousers and pulled him out right there on Jack’s throne. There was reverence in the act but also want, deep and fully focused on Reardon with Jack’s eyes on him.

Blue eyes in a sea of white.

The white was more a frame around his handsomely tanned face now. The truth of Barclay’s vision had been what Reardon chose for himself to save his love.

A love whose soft lips parted now, drawing Reardon in between them, a king on his knees for Reardon, licking and sucking on Reardon’s length and spurring him to hardness.

Reardon’s instinct was to flutter his eyes closed at the warmth, but he didn’t want to look away now that he could truly, fully see Jack.

He watched his handsome king swallow him down until Jack’s nose touched the base of Reardon’s curls. Reardon reached with his own reverence to run his fingers through Jack’s hair. A crown of white gold and sapphires sat upon Jack’s head, glittering from the many lamps in the room.

“Perhaps it should sit upon your head, my little prince,” Jack husked with warm breath on Reardon’s tip, and then licked slowly up his length to make him shiver.

Reardon felt likehecould melt. Neither of them had enjoyed more than a few sips of wine, the flush inside him building from something far better.

He plucked the crown from Jack’s head and set it upon his own, heavier than the gold diadem he sometimes wore at home. This freed him to dig his fingers that much deeper into Jack’s hair, soft as silk and white as the winter snow, encouraging Jack in his careful work bobbing up and down Reardon’s cock.

It had been too long, Reardon wound as tight as an artisan’s clock about to burst its gears. He’d been nothing but a bundle of anxiety, and now, finally, here was salvation.

But he didn’t want to be saved too soon.

“Jack,” Reardon panted, feeling Jack’s warm hands at his hips, holding him steady.

Jack seemed to understand and pulled away, but continued to lightly lick at Reardon between words, while also undoing the ties of Reardon’s doublet and sliding his hands up beneath his undershirt as if desperate to touch him. “I am going to worship you as you deserve. You kept your word.” Jack kissed Reardon’s belly, Reardon’s doublet falling open and his shirt drawn up by slow, precise hands. “You saved me, came back to me, even sewed and sang for me.” Jack rumbled a laugh before licking up between Reardon’s pecs, and then leaned in to kiss his lips.

He soon dropped back to his knees, returning to Reardon’s trousers to pull them down his legs. Reardon lifted his hips to allow it, watching his boots get removed, then the trousers, but not expecting Jack’s sudden return to swallow Reardon down—once, twice. Then Jack slowed to gentle sucking, as he brought his fingers to Reardon’s lips and prodded for entrance.

Reardon opened his mouth to pull in Jack’s fingers, rolling them across his tongue. He coated them wetly, enjoying the feel of them in his mouth, while simultaneously being sucked on with slower and slower bobs.

“Jack,” Reardon whined with a plaintive drop of his head against the throne when the fingers fell from his lips.

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