three-story-high ceiling with its gilded ceiling plates and tried to calm himself. Didn’t work, though. Yeah, that heat was now gone, but his cock was still stiff as a board and there was no way she’d missed that when she’d opened her eyes.
Fuck it. She was being professional about this, and that meant he should be too. After all, there was nothing left between them, right? He pushed up with his elbows.
He shifted to find a more comfortable position—as if there were one. She had her back turned to him and she didn’t look up, not even when she crossed the floor, grabbed his shirt from the couch and tossed it his way. “Everything seems fine. I’ll tell the king you’re able to…” She stopped herself. Seemed to think twice. Then finally said, “That you’re healthy. So long as the sample comes back normal, there’s nothing else you need from me.”
“Sample?” he asked, catching his shirt in his lap and shifting it to hide his still-raging hard-on. “What sample?”
She recrossed the floor, reached into her bag and handed him a small plastic cup and lid. “You’ll need to provide a sperm sample for lab analysis.” She set a brown paper bag beside him on the desk. “Leave it in the bag on the desk when you’re done.” Then she lifted her bag and headed for the door.
Too stunned to move, he only stared at the plastic cup inhis hand as she reached the door. She wanted him to…? With her waiting outside this door while he…? Right now ?
His gaze shot to her, and though he most definitely wasn’t a prude, something about this felt wrong. Really freaking twisted wrong.
She stopped with one hand on the knob, but she didn’t turn. And there was no way he could read her expression when she said, “I wish you and Isadora…much happiness, Zander. Yeah, I…May you and yours flourish in the tradition of the great heroes.”
The congratulatory words traditionally offered to an ándras and his bride wedged their way into his head, then slinked down to his chest. Where they settled. Cold. Heavy. Dark. The arousal he’d been fighting since he’d stepped into the room slid out the door right along with her, leaving him unsatisfied and edgy. And irrational as it was, his temper flared as the door clicked shut behind her and silence settled over the room.
He didn’t want her good wishes. He and Isadora didn’t need her approval. Growing more pissed off at her words, his reaction and what had and hadn’t happened in this room, he glanced down at his lap, where his cock was now fairly shriveled.
He was over her, dammit. He didn’t need her. And he knew one very clear way to prove that fact once and for all.
Except…before he went looking for Isadora to do just that, he apparently had to jerk off on command. Or stay locked in this room for the rest of his immortal life.
Shhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttt.
Muttering curses at Callia, the king, this whole damn situation, he grabbed the cup and his shirt, tossed both on the couch, then sank down into the cushions. It took several minutes for his heart to stop racing and his thoughts to quit swirling, and when both did, he let his head fall back against the headrest, closed his eyes and pictured Isadora. Pale, petite, pretty, perfect. It was no great secret she was one of the most attractive gynaíkes in all the land. Andwouldn’t you know it? His cock didn’t even twitch at the thought.
He blew out a long breath. Tried again. This time palmed his groin. He could do this, dammit .
Except…nothing happened.
Frustrated, he mentally undressed Isadora in his mind as he stroked himself, hoping that would do the trick. He pictured her in a long flowing skirt and a sleeveless top. Her pale hair fell all the way to her hips. She skimmed her fingers over her throat, slid them lower, around the outside swell of her breasts, down her sleek rib cage, to finally land at the hem of her coral top. Her milky white hands crossed in front of her, tugged at the fabric,
Fuck it. She was being professional about this, and that meant he should be too. After all, there was nothing left between them, right? He pushed up with his elbows.
He shifted to find a more comfortable position—as if there were one. She had her back turned to him and she didn’t look up, not even when she crossed the floor, grabbed his shirt from the couch and tossed it his way. “Everything seems fine. I’ll tell the king you’re able to…” She stopped herself. Seemed to think twice. Then finally said, “That you’re healthy. So long as the sample comes back normal, there’s nothing else you need from me.”
“Sample?” he asked, catching his shirt in his lap and shifting it to hide his still-raging hard-on. “What sample?”
She recrossed the floor, reached into her bag and handed him a small plastic cup and lid. “You’ll need to provide a sperm sample for lab analysis.” She set a brown paper bag beside him on the desk. “Leave it in the bag on the desk when you’re done.” Then she lifted her bag and headed for the door.
Too stunned to move, he only stared at the plastic cup inhis hand as she reached the door. She wanted him to…? With her waiting outside this door while he…? Right now ?
His gaze shot to her, and though he most definitely wasn’t a prude, something about this felt wrong. Really freaking twisted wrong.
She stopped with one hand on the knob, but she didn’t turn. And there was no way he could read her expression when she said, “I wish you and Isadora…much happiness, Zander. Yeah, I…May you and yours flourish in the tradition of the great heroes.”
The congratulatory words traditionally offered to an ándras and his bride wedged their way into his head, then slinked down to his chest. Where they settled. Cold. Heavy. Dark. The arousal he’d been fighting since he’d stepped into the room slid out the door right along with her, leaving him unsatisfied and edgy. And irrational as it was, his temper flared as the door clicked shut behind her and silence settled over the room.
He didn’t want her good wishes. He and Isadora didn’t need her approval. Growing more pissed off at her words, his reaction and what had and hadn’t happened in this room, he glanced down at his lap, where his cock was now fairly shriveled.
He was over her, dammit. He didn’t need her. And he knew one very clear way to prove that fact once and for all.
Except…before he went looking for Isadora to do just that, he apparently had to jerk off on command. Or stay locked in this room for the rest of his immortal life.
Shhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttt.
Muttering curses at Callia, the king, this whole damn situation, he grabbed the cup and his shirt, tossed both on the couch, then sank down into the cushions. It took several minutes for his heart to stop racing and his thoughts to quit swirling, and when both did, he let his head fall back against the headrest, closed his eyes and pictured Isadora. Pale, petite, pretty, perfect. It was no great secret she was one of the most attractive gynaíkes in all the land. Andwouldn’t you know it? His cock didn’t even twitch at the thought.
He blew out a long breath. Tried again. This time palmed his groin. He could do this, dammit .
Except…nothing happened.
Frustrated, he mentally undressed Isadora in his mind as he stroked himself, hoping that would do the trick. He pictured her in a long flowing skirt and a sleeveless top. Her pale hair fell all the way to her hips. She skimmed her fingers over her throat, slid them lower, around the outside swell of her breasts, down her sleek rib cage, to finally land at the hem of her coral top. Her milky white hands crossed in front of her, tugged at the fabric,
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