by Nikki Sloane
I’ll be back.
When he stood, the hands on me moved, along with the grip on my legs. As if I were lying on top of a giant clock, the men rotated clockwise, each moving into the next man’s spot. It meant Royce was now holding my right leg . . .
And Mr. Lynch was seated in the chair.
Panic locked me in place far more than the hands on me, but then—the hands weren’t confining me. They moved, gently stroking against my skin. I reeled around, gazing from one man to another, stunned at the expressions I found. It wasn’t lust, but reverence. Adoration. Like these men truly believed I was giving them a gift, and they were grateful.
Macalister flipped the hourglass, and the bottom bulb rapidly filled with a pile of red.
Mr. Lynch set his hands on my thighs and leaned in. His hot breath rolled over my damp skin just before his mouth replaced it. I jerked at the sudden contact, and all thought emptied from my brain.
I stared at Royce, and he gazed back with his unflinching eyes, the ones that saw all the way through me. I didn’t want him to watch as another man went down on me, and he didn’t seem to want that either. So, we held each other’s gazes and pretended it was just us.
But after the blinding shock faded enough that I could think again, it was much easier to convince my body I didn’t like what Mr. Lynch was doing. The man’s lips sealed around me and sucked so hard his cheeks hollowed out. I clenched my teeth and tried to shift away from the uncomfortable suction.
“Stop.”
It wasn’t clear who Macalister’s order was for, but he’d twisted the hourglass onto its side, cutting off the flow of sand and stopping the timer. Mr. Lynch paused.
“Do you not like what he’s doing?” Macalister asked me.
“Uh . . .” I blinked. Once again, inappropriate laughter threatened. Was I supposed to like any of this? An evil voice whispered in my head that I already did.
“Who is in control?” he demanded.
I didn’t believe the answer until I gave it. “I am.”
“You’re an equal. Your opinion matters, but only if you express it.”
I licked my dry lips and struggled to catch my breath. If I was an equal, why were my wrists pinned to the tabletop? I wanted to ask the question but thought better of it. If the men let go of me, I’d have no excuse about why I stayed and let this happen, accept that I wanted Royce.
Also, I didn’t feel restrained. The board members’ hands rested on me, but it was more about connection versus dominance. This tradition was supposed to bind us all together. I wondered though . . . was this initiation for Royce, or for me? Both of us?
Macalister was waiting for me to prove I would speak up.
“It’s just, um,” I stammered, “a little rough.”
“Oh.” Mr. Lynch straightened, and embarrassment darted in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
When he nodded, the hourglass was righted, and Mr. Lynch’s mouth returned to me. I bit my bottom lip as his tongue spun circles. It caressed and massaged, and all the heat that had dissipated when he’d sat down began anew.
“Time,” Macalister said.
I exhaled a long breath. I’d only endured two of the nine minutes and I was already fracturing. How was I going to last until the end?
Mr. Scoffield didn’t take a seat. He stood at the edge of the table, and when his time started, he placed his hands on my hips and dragged them upward. His thumbs splayed out while he caressed me. His touch was sensual . . . until his palms inched to my breasts and his gold wedding band caught the light.
I forced myself not to think about it. I had enough shit to deal with right now. I wasn’t going to feel guilty about his decision to cheat on his wife. Those were his actions, which he could stop at any time. Plus, how likely was it any of these men were faithful to their wives? Money and power could corrupt anyone.
I was fucking proof of that, wasn’t I?
My eyes drifted closed as he trailed fingertips over the curves of my breasts. I pictured Royce touching me this way. It was his fingers circling my nipple. It was his greedy mouth sucking at me and creating a knot of need deep between my legs.
“Time.”
It became a chant that I both dreaded and looked forward to. Each utterance of the word brought a new man before me, but one step closer to being done and Royce’s return.
As Macalister had said, they used their hands and mouths. I’d just been too naïve to understand at the time. Tongues teased. Fingers touched and stroked and squeezed. Their kisses never reached my mouth, but their lips and caresses always had the goal of pleasing me.
I knew their names and faces. Alice had given me backstories and details on each member, but sex hazed the room now. It descended on the table like a fog, making it impossible to distinguish one male from another. I hid behind closed eyelids most of the time anyway.
Close your eyes and it will be just us.
It became dangerous as the process wore on. My body could only be primed and left hanging so many times before it threatened revolt. The pleasure had left me trembling and breathless more than once, but I clamped down. Soon after this had started, I’d come to a decision. Seven other men could fuck me with their mouths and their hands, but Royce would be the only man who’d bring me to orgasm. So much of me was being shared, I’d do my best to keep that intimate experience between us.
He hadn’t asked me to wait for him specifically on this, but I would.
Mr. Shaunessy was the last board member to go before the cycle of men was over. He sat in the chair and brushed the pad of his thumb over my swollen clit before sliding it all the way inside me. I arched up at the intrusion, and when the other men gently nudged me back onto the table, Mr. Shaunessy set his lips where his thumb had just been.
His tongue flickered while his thumb thrust. Slow at first, then speeding along and the two working together felt . . .
Good.
Really, really good.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered. I’d tried to hold it back, but I was breaking down.
There were appreciative, encouraging chuckles from the board. “I think she likes that,” one of them said.
Shit, I did.
Instead of imagining Royce, now I pictured Mr. Shaunessy’s son, Richard. I used the humiliating memory to combat what was happening and control myself. The mental cold shower seemed to work, because—
“Time.” There was relief in Royce’s voice. Instead of watching me, he’d been fixated on the hourglass, beating his father to the announcement. Perhaps he’d silently pleaded for the sand to fall faster.
I sighed with contentment as Royce settled into the chair and surveyed the scene. He marveled at me, the sweaty, panting, and naked girl on the table in front of him. I was all for him now. Even without looking behind him, he sensed the turn of the hourglass. His gaze caressed across my body until it focused where he was most interested, and one of his long fingers pushed inside.
He pumped it leisurely, once . . . twice. The chair creaked as he shifted forward, and his mouth sought the bundle of nerves at the top of my slit that throbbed and ached. He found me hot and wet, and as his tongue cartwheeled across my sensitive skin, I groaned my approval through clenched teeth.
The candles in the candelabra in the alcove had become dripping, melting messes, and I could relate. Fire seared across my nerves from the insistent mouth lapping at me, and the finger that slid along, growing slicker with each pass. I was a melting, dripping mess too.
His tempo built, as did the urgency inside me.
I felt the sand cascade through the hourglass and pool at the bottom. Every single grain was one less fraction of a second that I’d have like this. As the pressure rose, so did the satisfaction Royce created.
Fuck, it felt good. His finger plunged deep and the tip of his tongue teased endlessly. My heart’s frantic rhythm matched his pace. I squirmed against the table, wanting to move, needing him just a fraction of an inch higher.
I moaned loudly.
&
nbsp; The sound was drenched with desire, and some of the men shifted. A few were aroused, their tuxedo pants bulging. It was fucked up and yet flattering. I, a nobody, was suddenly powerful enough to have this effect on them. Everyone was looking at me, not just Royce. I’d never liked it before, but this wasn’t me. Right now, I was the rebranded Marist Northcott, soon to be the Hale edition.
I shuddered as his tongue massaged my clit, working to coax the orgasm from me, and the pleasure in my center ramped up. Tingling crept over my legs, signaling my climax. It bared down on me, faster and faster—
“Time,” Macalister said.
The hand moving inside me froze.
“No,” I gasped. “I’m so close.” The words stumbled from my lips. “Please, Royce.”
That was all he needed to hear. A second finger pushed in to join the first, and it was a lot, but my body was ready for it. His urgent thrusts made me shake. I was vibrating against the table, writhing against his mouth, struggling in the hands holding onto me.
But he took it a step further. The hand he wasn’t using to fuck me crawled the length of my body. The wool of his coat sleeve grazed over my stomach as his fingers closed, grabbing a handful of my breast. He thumbed my nipple, brushing back and forth.
“That’s it, Marist. Yes.” He paused his tongue just long enough to issue the order. “Give it to me.”
The prince had wanted me all to himself, and I gave it willingly.
Bliss exploded in my core, firing outward and racing across my body. My cry pealed in the candlelight, announcing what was happening, and the contractions that wracked me from head to toe showed them.
There was no mistaking the pleasure gripping me more intensely than Royce’s hold on my breast. The board members murmured encouragement and praise, but I couldn’t discern it over the buzzing in my ears.
The orgasm lasted longer than any I’d ever had. It seemed to go on forever.
As the satisfaction crested and began to fade, I collapsed back onto the table, my shoulders slapping against the wood. I drew huge swallows in while Royce rose deliberately from his throne and cast his gaze down on me.
My stomach clenched as he slipped the fingers he’d used to fuck me with into his mouth, closed his lips, and sucked my taste from them. He watched me the whole time he did it, his eyes flaring with unsated desire.
Jesus.
It looked like he’d wasn’t quite done enjoying me and his carnal eyes made promises. Next time, he’d have me exactly the way he wanted, and without a time limit. He’d warned me in the back seat of my Porsche that once he got inside me, he might never leave, and I knew we were about to find out if it was true.
SEVENTEEN
ROYCE’S HURRIED FINGERS went to the black silk tied at his neck. He stared at me with the same hungry desire he shown in the department store mirror, only this was magnified a thousand percent.
I wanted him to hurry but didn’t need to say it out loud. He could tell. He practically ripped the silk tie off, jerking it through his collar before hurling it at the chair. Next came the jacket. He shrugged out of it, revealing black braces beneath, and tossed it in the general direction of his discarded bowtie. When it missed, one of the board members released me, moved to pick it up, and hung it neatly on the chair back.
Royce peeled off one suspender and then the other, and all his urgency fed into his stare. His deadly serious gaze pressed down on me, ensnaring me far more than the men surrounding me.
He moved with methodical precision to undo the line of black buttons down the front of his pleated white tuxedo shirt, untucking it from his pants as he went. I got flashes of his strong chest and trim waist as it opened, but then his fingers were at the button at his waistband, working to undo it, and my nerves took over.
It was almost laughable I was still nervous, given what I’d just been through, but I couldn’t control it. My heart beat out a skittering song as he tore down his zipper.
He abandoned his undone pants for a moment and scooped his hands under my thighs, dragging my body right to the edge of the table and forcing the men around us to adjust their grip.
There was electricity between us, strong and powerful. Did he feel it too? His crystal-clear eyes trapped mine, and my heart swelled. Oh, yes. He was right there with me.
He hooked his thumbs into the band of his underwear and bent slightly, dragging them and his pants down until they were stretched across his thighs, halfway down his legs. His dick was hard and ready, and now that it was in view, the realness of what was about to happen seized me.
If I could have picked any other way for my first time, I would have. But as I stared at his handsome face, his eyes struggling between guilt and lust, I felt confident I wouldn’t have picked anyone else to be with.
All the men seemed to be holding their breath. The room had gone so quiet and still, it felt like Royce and I were alone.
He leaned over and put a hand flat on the table beside my head, bringing him so he was only inches from my lips. Our warm, bare stomachs pressed together and—shit—that felt nice. His questioning gaze explored my face. It searched my eyes, caressed forehead, and landed on my lips. He studied them like he expected secrets to spill from them at any moment.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
I inhaled a deep, preparing breath.
And nodded.
He kept his hand beside my head but straightened, rising up on it. The guilt that had colored his expression was pushed out of the way and determination took over. His other hand slipped between our bodies, and the naked tip of his cock brushed over me.
It was a velvety stroke through my wetness, but it had me clenching so tight, my fingernails dug into my palms. If I opened my hands right now, there’d be little half-moon indentations there.
“Relax,” Macalister urged.
I jerked at the intrusion of his voice. He’d moved to stand at the side of the table, probably so he could have a better view.
I focused on the only man I wanted to be with. Royce’s chest lifted and fell with his uneven breaths, and it was so sexy. He looked classically beautiful, the way Hermes was often depicted in marble statues.
The second time he teased himself over me, I didn’t flinch. I held perfectly still as the head of his dick found my entrance and began to push inside.
My eyes widened, and I sucked in a breath through tight teeth. I was soaking wet, but no amount of preparation could truly make me ready. The stretch grew more uncomfortable the further he went. Deeper he invaded, not stopping, and my body did not want to surrender to him.
His steady, slow press into me was too much. I was too full.
It ached between my legs. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a throb of discomfort. My back bowed off of the wood, and I groaned. My face contorted with displeasure. I wanted to flee, but the men were there, and the words wouldn’t come from my tongue. My mind held them back, forcing me to just wait.
Wait for me.
Royce’s lips parted on a soft, pleasure filled sigh. His head dropped for a moment, as if regrouping, and his gaze found mine again. His intense stare centered me so the cautious withdraw of his body from mine was . . . different. Not unpleasant. I softened back into the table.
When he finished his retreat, he started his next advance. Still gentle, but this time, quicker. The stretch of him sliding into me was less uncomfortable.
“Okay?” he asked, hushed.
“Yeah,” I whispered back.
Tension had made his shoulders tight, but they relaxed a degree on my answer. The fullness of him moving inside me remained, but as he eased his hips into me, the ache dulled. It faded enough until it was merely noticeable.
As I became more pliable beneath him, Royce hesitantly loosened the restraint he’d put on himself. His movements became thrusts. They turned harder and went deeper.
The arm he’d been supporting himself with moved. His hand cupped my shoulder and slid up the curve of my neck, drawing goosebumps. I stretched as be
st I could into his touch, even as he continued to carve a path. His palm cradled the side of my face, tilting my head back and his thumb swept over my lips, where I pulled in ragged breaths.
As his thrusts increased, the atmosphere in the room rapidly degraded from composed and collected to frenzied and desperate.
He bent down, looming over me so his lips hovered just over my uplifted chin, teasing a kiss with his hot breath. His restless hand kept moving. He dragged it down until it rested on my throat, holding me back from receiving the kiss I wanted.
Maybe it wasn’t allowed.
Or perhaps he didn’t want anyone else to witness it.
Our choked breaths and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. He fucked me hard enough the table creaked and groaned in protest.
“You feel so . . . fucking . . . good.”
Royce’s comment set my face on fire and satisfaction clenched deep inside me. I moaned, long and loud, and something inside him seemed to break. He snapped upright, his palm sliding to the center of my chest, his fingers splayed between my breasts.
He’d told me he would make it quick, and I sensed that was now his goal. This version of him was raw and basic. He became a man fucking for his pleasure, a slave to satisfying his own instinctive, primal urge.
His furious tempo gave me a hint of what was in store for me later, and I liked it. I wasn’t going to follow him over the edge, but this? Watching and listening to him? It was deeply satisfying.
I’d never seen him come before, and he did not disappoint.
As his eyes slammed shut and his face contorted with pleasure, his movements went jerky and erratic. A great, satisfied groan burst from him. His fingers on my chest curled in, raking across my skin. And inside my body, there were rhythmic pulses, filling me with heat.
He gasped for air and stilled, letting the orgasm pass on long, labored breaths.
The board members’ hands released me and drew away, leaving only Royce touching me. His palm was on my chest and there was still the connection of our bodies, and I sighed in contentment, happy for it to be just us.