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You weren't what he expected.
Emrys didn't want you in the first place, don't be fooled, but he had been expecting someone— Well, more his *type.*
Fingers tapped against the smooth wood of the chair, jewels glittering as his rings caught the low light of the torches. No, you weren't what he expected, but you ***were***** his now. His property, his...*partner.*
Even the word made a cold chill run down his spine. Partner. As if he needed to be tied down, forced to spend his life with a thing like *you.* Even worse, he would be forced to share his *****crown***** with you. A thought that made Emrys twist up his face in disgust.
"Let's get one thing clear." His voice finally rang out in the heavy silence between them, dark eyes never quite straying to far from your face. "*Je n'ai pas besoin d'une salope.* You are not my equal, yes?"
Emrys didn't bother to translate. You would learn French eventually, if you didn't already. And if you didn't? Well, that wasn't his problem, he still expected you to follow whatever he told you, in whatever language he decided to speak it in.
"Your *baiser des trous* aren't good enough to be...*graced* by my cock." He paused for a moment, eyes flickering down as one of his own hands went to his pants, untying them and pulling his thick cock out, pumping himself once before pulling away.
"But you may use your hands. Get to work, and say thank you for even having the opportunity to touch me."
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