Honor’s Revenge: Masters’ Admiralty, book 4

by Mari Carr

  “But first…” She reached out to unfasten his jeans, a fruitless endeavor considering she only had one hand.

  He stepped away from her reach, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pushing them off. He kept his boxer briefs on. There was no way he was going to do anything more than lie next to her.

  “Shirt, too,” she prompted.

  He pulled it off, aware that she wasn’t the only one watching him undress. Lancelot was standing halfway between the bed and the door, clearly torn between where he felt he should be versus where he wanted to be.

  Hugo took care to climb beneath the sheets slowly, moving gently so as not to jostle her hand. He lay facing her, his hand sneaking beneath the T-shirt they’d put her in earlier to rest on her bare stomach.

  “Your turn,” she said to Lancelot.

  Their clever woman knew them both well enough to know exactly what effect her words would have on each of them. Hugo would always respond to her sweet requests, while the alpha in Lancelot would take her demands as a challenge.

  “Sylvia,” Lancelot said, his eyes narrowed in rebuke. “You aren’t going to get—”

  “My way,” she finished for him. “You’re wrong. I am.”

  Sylvia twisted to face Hugo, gingerly positioning her injured hand on his hip. “Still elevated. See?”

  Hugo shook his head, but didn’t attempt to leave the bed.

  The moon cast enough light that he could see her face, could see the pain that had etched lines in her face earlier was gone.

  “Kiss me?” she asked, taking him up on his offer to grant all her wishes.

  Hugo leaned close to her, intent on giving her a quick kiss.

  Sylvia had other plans. Her tongue darted out, stroking his lower lip.

  Unable to resist, he kissed her again and this one lingered…and lingered. He could lose himself in her kisses forever and never make any attempt to be found.

  Unfortunately, their time together was fleeting.

  No, it was already at the end.

  Lancelot had contacted Lorelei, and tomorrow they’d most likely be given new orders. Either to try to pick up Alicia’s trail again, or pack it in and return home having failed the society. Both commands meant leaving Sylvia. Something Hugo wasn’t entirely sure he could do.

  He kissed her once more, this time the touch tinged with desperation. And heartbreak.

  Hugo felt the bed shift. Breaking the kiss, he watched Lancelot lie down behind her, spooning her. “I should be standing guard by the door,” he murmured, even as he shifted closer to her.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “You can protect me here just as well. I need you. Both of you.”

  Lancelot placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Then this is where we’ll stay.”

  Hugo shot the knight a look. One that Sylvia caught.

  “I know you can’t stay forever. Just tonight,” she whispered.

  “Sylvia,” Hugo said, his chest growing tight. “I don’t think any of us realized…” He stopped mid-sentence.

  “Say it,” she urged. “Please.”

  He changed the pronoun, uncertain of Lancelot’s feelings. His gut told him the knight felt the same way he did, but they hadn’t said the words. Hugo had spent the better part of the past two days trying to not even think about the words fighting to be spoken.

  “I didn’t realize—”

  “We,” Lancelot corrected.

  Hugo shot his friend a sad smile. At least he wasn’t the only one who’d be returning home feeling as if he’d lost a piece of himself.

  “It is strange and wonderful how much a mind, a soul, can change in only a few days. And you have done that. You have changed me, made me a better man than I was.” Hugo smiled as he said, “It didn’t take you more than a matter of minutes to win our hearts.”

  She blinked a couple of times and sniffed.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve made you cry.” That certainly hadn’t been his intention.

  She shook her head as if to ward off his apology. “No. They’re happy tears. Well, happy and sad. I’m afraid I’ve fallen as well.”

  They were silent. None of them wanting to say the hardest part.

  In the end, it was Lancelot who found the courage first. “Hugo and I made promises when we joined the Masters’ Admiralty. We don’t have the choice, the freedom to be with you, or to even stay here.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Lancelot. “I know. We were fools to believe we could control anything as vexatious or volatile as the heart. Our heads and bodies will always be ruled by it, despite our laughable attempts to deny. I don’t regret a minute of it.”

  Lancelot raised a doubtful eyebrow, which caused Sylvia to giggle and reword her assertion.

  “Except, of course, the part where I got kidnapped. And got my hand smashed when I escaped. And almost drowning. I could have done without those few very uncomfortable minutes where Walt reset the bones in my hand. But apart from that, zero regrets.”

  By the time she’d finished her list, all three of them were laughing.

  “Thanks for the clarification,” Lancelot said, placing another quick kiss on her cheek.

  They lay quietly for a few minutes. Long enough that Hugo wondered if the others had fallen asleep.

  Lancelot broke the silence when he said, “Behave, Sylvie.”

  Hugo lifted his head from the pillow curiously.

  “She keeps pressing her ass against me.”

  “You have too many clothes on,” she complained.

  Hugo grinned. “She’s not wrong.”

  Lancelot growled. “Am I the only one with an ounce of self-control in this bed?” His hand flew to Sylvia’s hips, holding her in place. “Dammit, love. I mean it.”

  “Thought you had self-control. That hard-on seems to tell a different story,” she teased.

  “You’re hurt. There’s no way—”

  Sylvia cut Lancelot off. “Tonight might be all we have left.”

  Dropping a bomb in the middle of the room would have packed less of a punch than those words.

  “Merde,” Hugo murmured. “Sylvia.”

  “Please. If this is all we get, if this is our last night together, I want to make it count.”

  Lancelot looked at him, his expression grim.

  They’d be brutes to take her after everything she’d suffered in the past twenty-four hours, but like her, Hugo couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without…

  Her.

  He couldn’t stand the thought of a future that didn’t have Sylvia in it. Or Lancelot.

  Yet the truth remained…that was what lay ahead of him.

  While it wasn’t unheard of for members of the Masters’ Admiralty to be bound in marriage to people from other territories—in truth, the new fleet admiral had already done that twice in just a short time—it was actually quite rare. In all likelihood, the admiral of France would choose Hugo’s partners from within the territory. Just as Arthur, the admiral of England, would choose Lancelot’s partners.

  “Your brothers are upstairs,” Lancelot said, though Hugo could tell his resistance was fading.

  “That’s your worst argument yet,” Sylvia said, flipping to her back between them. She rested her injured hand on her stomach.

  “There are three of them. And two of us,” Hugo said, only half joking. “But you’re right. This could be our last night together.”

  As he spoke, he sat up, pulling the covers off her as he did so, kneeling next to her on the mattress. “Anything you want, Sylvia. I’ll give you anything you want.” Then he hastened to add, “Within reason,” recalling the dark fantasy the three of them had played out in her living room. “You’re injured, so I’m afraid we’ll all have to settle for nice.”

  She grinned at his joke. “Take off my panties.”

  He slid the silky scrap of material down, tossing the panties over his shoulder, making her giggle.

  Then she parted her legs. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  “Where?”
/>
  Her eyes darted downwards. “Here.” She gestured with her good hand, pointing to her sex. “Kiss me here.”

  Hugo moved between her legs, bending down. He ran his tongue along her slit, then glanced at her face, delighted when her eyes closed with a blissful sigh.

  As he continued to stroke her—inside and out—with his tongue, he caught glimpses of Lancelot, very slowly, very gently, pulling her T-shirt off.

  Once she was naked, he placed her broken hand back on her stomach, his arm snaking around her waist, so he could hold her as Hugo drove her crazy with hungry lips on her pussy.

  Sylvia lifted her legs, resting them on Hugo’s shoulders. He added more fuel to the flames, rubbing her clit with his thumb as he speared her pussy with his tongue. She was wet and hot, her hips gyrating as she sought more stimulation.

  Lancelot’s arm tightened, holding her against the mattress. Sylvia liked the idea of bondage, and while neither of them was about to tie her up in her current condition, there was no denying she enjoyed being held down by Lancelot, forced to take everything Hugo gave her without the ability to move. If only they had more time to explore those fantasies of hers. Fantasies that had fueled his own darker desires.

  She cried out, the sound louder than was prudent, given the warrior triplets sleeping just above their heads. Lancelot rose up slightly so he could kiss her, drowning out her groans and moans.

  She twisted her head after several minutes, sucking in a deep breath. “Please. Need you.”

  Lancelot looked down at him. Hugo lifted his head for a split second, just long enough to shake it. She was coming this way first. He wanted to taste her orgasm, know that he’d driven their woman out of her mind.

  Lancelot cupped her face with his large palm. “You’re going to come for us, love. Going to show Hugo exactly how much you like his kisses.”

  She was shaking her head almost mindlessly. “Him. Inside,” she demanded.

  “Beg,” Hugo demanded. “Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to keep kissing you.” Hugo turned his head and nipped her thigh. “This isn’t just a kiss, is it? I’m feasting on you.” He bent, taking the plump mound of flesh above her clit in his teeth and tugging, then releasing, only to dip lower and press his tongue into her. She tasted clean and salty. “I’m fucking you with my tongue.”

  Sylvia’s back was arched, her breath coming in uneven pants that synced with what he was doing to her body.

  “Gentle,” Lancelot told him.

  “Beg,” Hugo ordered Sylvia.

  “Please fuck me,” she breathed. “I want you to eat my pussy. I want to rub myself against your face and come all over you. I want you to fuck me with your tongue and bite my clit and then shove as many fingers as you can in my pussy while you suck my clit.” The words tumbled from her mouth. There was no artistry to it, yet it was poetry. The poetry of need, of unfiltered, raw desire.

  Hugo spread her labia, exposing her clit. Dipping his head, he sucked her clit and the surrounding flesh into his mouth. He drew hard on her, sucking rhythmically so her clit rubbed against the edge of his teeth. She shrieked in pleasure, and Lancelot sealed his mouth over hers.

  Hugo softened his mouth, his tongue finding a rhythm as he worked her clit. She was there, ready to break apart, to die the little death. He would take her there. He shifted, driving two fingers into her body to the hilt as he continued to work her clit with his tongue.

  She came loudly, Lancelot’s kisses doing little to mute her cries of delight.

  Hugo rose, ready to claim her, to fuck her so completely that she would never have sex again without thinking of this moment, of his and Lancelot’s hands and mouths on her.

  The sight of her splinted hand stopped him. He squeezed his eyes tight, fighting for control.

  Erotic need was replaced by a softer but no less powerful emotion. He returned to his side of the bed, drawing her toward him for a kiss. He lifted her hand, placing it on his hip once more as their lips touched.

  He felt Lancelot stirring, rising as he undressed. Hugo released her lips when the mattress dipped, Lancelot returning.

  Lancelot scooted closer to her, his chest flat against her back.

  The soft smile on Sylvia’s face told him she’d gotten her way.

  Hugo lifted her right leg, pulling it over his hip, holding her open so that Lancelot could enter her from behind.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “God.”

  Hugo cupped her breast, applying pressure, tweaking her hard nipple as Lancelot slowly thrust in and out. The tenor of their lovemaking was different tonight. The first two times had been an exploration, testing, pushing limits. This was something else entirely.

  Here, now, they were merely three people at the end of something none of them wanted to lose. It was as if they believed by going slow, by savoring every kiss, every touch, they could make this one night last a lifetime.

  It would have to.

  Lancelot reached around Sylvia’s hip and stroked her clit when he was close, the knight always determined to make sure she came first. Hugo admired the other man’s control, wondering what it would be like to test it, wishing they’d had the opportunity to explore their own attraction to each other.

  Sylvia distracted him from his thoughts, coming with a softer, sweeter sound of pleasure.

  Lancelot placed a kiss on her shoulder, then proved exactly how brave he truly was. “I love you, Sylvie. I will until the day I die.”

  She shifted to her back, lifting her good hand to his face. “Love at first sight?”

  Lancelot shrugged, looking almost boyish. “I know it’s only been a few days. And I promise you, I’m not the type to profess my feelings to every woman I meet, but—”

  “I love you, too,” she whispered. Then she looked over at Hugo. “Epistemic approach? Existential?”

  He recalled their first night together, when Sylvia had asked if he believed in love at first sight. Like an academic nitwit, he’d tried to answer her with reason.

  “‘Whoever loves, loves at first sight,’” he whispered in reply.

  “Shakespeare.”

  The fact that she picked up on the quote so quickly only proved what he knew. She was the perfect woman for him.

  “Sylvia. Ma cherie.”

  “I want you, Hugo. Need you.”

  He quickly shed his briefs, then moved, coming over her, making sure that softer feeling—love, he could use the word, as all confessions had been made—was in control. Her legs parted and he pushed into heaven. Sylvia’s legs wrapped around his waist as he slowly thrust in and out.

  Lancelot lay next to them, not idle. His hands caressing her breasts, then Hugo’s ass, then touching the place where the two of them were connected.

  All the walls between them had fallen.

  Sylvia came quickly, even though she’d already come twice. He could only assume her pussy was sensitive, still humming from her earlier orgasms.

  “Hugo,” she cried. “God. Yes!”

  Hearing his name on her lips was all he needed. All he would ever need.

  He came just two breaths behind her, his heart nearly exploding with love. And despair.

  Morning was here, upon them.

  Which meant their time was at an end.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Does anyone need anything? More coffee, a pastry?” Oscar bared his teeth, the non-smile a perfect match for his anger-laced sarcasm. “Or can we, finally, find out what the fuck is going on?”

  Sylvia looked at her brother, then slowly forked up her last bite of grits. Luckily she didn’t drop it onto her shirt—eating left-handed wasn’t her forte. Her right hand had been examined, scanned in preparation for the custom 3D-printed cast, then freshly splinted while Oscar and Langston took turns making breakfast—bacon, eggs, grits.

  It was just after ten in the morning, and her brothers must have been up for a while—getting groceries, bringing the 3D printer and scanner from their various houses. The smell of bacon had woken her up half an ho
ur ago.

  She’d tried to get out of bed without waking Hugo and Lancelot, but it had proven impossible with her bad right arm. In addition to that, she was sporting a variety of dark bruises. Lancelot had left their room and returned a moment later with kinetic tape and a plastic shopping bag, which he’d handed to her. In it were some of her clothes. She’d had a moment of panic that someone had gone to her house, and in doing so put themselves at risk of running into Alicia, but upon further examination, the clothes had been old ones she kept in the closet at her parents’ house for those occasions when she spent the night after a family gathering.

  Lancelot had expertly applied the tape to the worst of her bruises. Hugo had helped her into the yoga pants, tank top, and Northwestern sweatshirt from the bag. No underwear or bra, but she was grateful to have something comfortable and familiar to wear.

  She’d walked out of the bedroom with Hugo and Lancelot beside her. All three of her brothers had looked at her when she walked in, and she’d cursed her paler complexion because she was pretty sure they could see she was blushing. Parts of yesterday were a bit fuzzy, but she did remember telling her siblings she’d had a ménage with Lancelot and Hugo. Telling them that to shock them was very different than having them staring at her while she did a morning-after walk of shame to the dining room table with her lovers by her side.

  Walt had broken the tension somewhat when he’d started examining her arm. Oscar had glared at Hugo and Lancelot, but placed plates heaping with hot, home-cooked food in front of the men. Lancelot had eyed his plate until Sylvia reached over and took a bite, proving it wasn’t poisoned.

  Oscar had scowled so hard, she’d worried she was wrong, and her brother had decided to poison the food on those particular plates.

  Sylvia smiled at him after the first bite of grits. He’d made them the way she liked, with lots of butter and melted cheese, and his face softened when he looked at her.

  Breakfast had been eaten, her medical needs taken care of. The silence had started to thicken, becoming uneasy and strained, before Oscar asked his question.

  Sylvia looked at Lancelot and Hugo, realizing she didn’t know what to say. Yesterday they’d revealed secrets—some of which she found a little hard to swallow in the warm light of a new day, but still, they weren’t her secrets.