by Adora Crooks
Oh God. He feels so, so good. He’s thick and fills me completely. He doesn’t need any more foreplay, and neither do I. He starts to pound into me, and I can hear his hips slap mine. It’s exactly what I need, and I grip and twist the blankets.
And then it stops. Ben pulls out of me. I whine at the empty sensation.
“I wonder,” Roland says. “Can you guess which of us inside of you?”
I’m not empty for long—Roland fills me. I shudder at the sensation. He’s not as thick as Ben, but he hits me deeper, and I decide it’s completely unfair that they both have perfect cocks.
“You love the way I shag you, don’t you?” Roland says as he rolls his hips.
“I love it,” I whimper. I do. I really, really do. My pleasure builds and burns to a near peak.
His cock leaves me, and I feel myself stretch again to fit the other meaty organ.
“Ben,” I gasp. “Ben, Ben, Ben.”
Ben is on me again, in me, pounding me. They go back and forth like this again and again until I lose all track of who’s inside me. I shout Roland’s name, and then Ben’s name, and then it’s just a mantra: Roland-Ben, Roland-Ben!
All I know is that I love the way they feel. I love being a victim to their desires. I love the ebb and flow of their bodies against mine. These men know how to fuck, and they know how to work together to make me squirm. Roland calls me a good girl over and over and makes me tell him how much I enjoy it. Ben grunts, growls, and kisses my back. Before I know it, I’m tight, shivering, sweat soaked, and I’m reaching my edge again. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cum.
“Wait,” I say suddenly and reach back to press my palm against a chest. Whose chest, I’m not sure.
“Are you okay?” That’s Ben, all worry on top of me.
“Yes… I’m good. I just want to look at you.”
Ben pulls out of me, flips me to my back, and then presses himself inside of me again. “Better?” he asks.
I wrap my thighs around his hips. “Yes.”
Both of my men look as lust-drunk as I feel, their bodies hot and shimmering with sweat. I hook my ankles behind Ben, holding him deep inside of me, and I shift up, propping myself on my elbows.
Roland waits, his cock hard as steel and pointing skyward. I reach out and take it in my hand. He groans, forever the vocal one. His skin is velvety smooth and pulled tight over his swollen erection.
This is what I crave. Both men aching. We’re all in that intense, sex-wild moment where anything is permitted. It’s now or never.
I wet my lips, flicker my eyes between the two of them, and make a single request that I know will change things forever. “Kiss each other.”
21
Ben
I must have heard her wrong.
I’m balls-deep in Rory, throbbing, and savoring each breathy whimper. Surely, she didn’t say what I thought she said.
Roland lets out a low chuckle beside me. She’s jerking him off, slowly, and I’m trying not to focus too hard on that. “What?” he asks. Clearly, he must have heard her wrong, too.
“Kiss each other,” she repeats. It’s clear, that’s definitely what she wants. Those doe eyes look so damn innocent, and she bites her lip. “Please? It would… really turn me on.”
My eyes connect briefly with Roland’s violet blues. Bad idea. I stare at Rory instead. I’m panting. I can’t look hopeful. I can’t look anything.
Then Roland—careless, conceited, and consequence-free Roland—says, “Sod it.” With that, he lifts his head and catches my mouth in his own.
My bones practically turn to stone. I’m tense and stiff as a brick. For a second, I feel paralyzed. His lips are cloud soft and full on mine. And he’s not pulling away.
Me? I can barely breathe, let alone kiss him back.
Do it! my subconscious screams at me. Quit being such a coward!
I know why Rory suggested this now. I know she’s trying to help. But this isn’t helping. This feels like a blow to the chest. There’s a moment there when I think about bolting. I can still shove Roland away, run off, and hide in my lair, my cave, where things are safe and orderly and emotions are best kept repressed. But then—
I go for it.
I grab Prince Roland’s silky mane of hair, and I yank the other man close. I part his lips with my tongue and drink him in deeply. A small, surprised noise escapes Roland, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans into it. He swipes his tongue against mine and invades my mouth. I’ve dreamed of this moment. I imagined it would be hot. But I didn’t think it would be like this. A dam breaks inside of me, and untethered passion comes spilling out.
I can’t get enough of my prince.
I’m hungry and ferocious. Rory’s pussy clutches me in butterflying pulses. Shit. She’s getting off on this.
Shit. I’m getting off on this. My gasp breaks the kiss. “Oh fuck!” I pull out of Rory and rip off the condom just in time to shoot all over her stomach and thighs.
Fuck is right. Not only have I lost our bet, but I’d hoped I could savor the prince’s lips a little longer. Now, the spell is broken in pearly white drops spilling down Rory’s curves.
I pant for breath. Roland smirks.
“Looks like that sweet mouth is mine.” Roland winks in that cheeky way of his. “Next time, mate.”
If he calls me mate one more time…
No. No if. I’m not letting the brat prince get away with this.
Seven years of military training make it easy to grab Roland’s arms and twist them behind his back. He lets out a surprised yelp. He wriggles, but his wrists are stuck fast in my grip. His back is to my front, and I growl in his ear, “What did I tell you about calling me mate?”
Roland chokes on a laugh. But I can hear the nervousness in his chuckle. His mouth has gotten him into trouble and, finally, he has to pay the toll. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” he complains.
When I look over his shoulder, I see Rory has gone still and wide-eyed. She’s probably trying to figure out whether we’re going to shag or kill each other.
Honestly? I’m not sure myself, until I say, “You want to suck your prince’s prick, don’t you?”
Her cheeks are flushed. She nods eagerly. “Yes.”
“On your knees, then.”
Rory lowers to her knees in front of Roland and opens her mouth, ready. Those sweet eyes will be the death of me. I adjust both of Roland’s wrists into one of my hands. With my free hand, I roll Roland’s condom off his cock. His beautiful cock. It’s hard as polished marble under my fingers, and I find it difficult not to linger there, especially when I hear him draw in a sharp breath. I flick the condom to the floor and then cup the back of Rory’s head. I guide her lips over his cock so she sucks him down.
Roland’s head falls back. He moans. “God, yes. Just like that, love…”
I bunch Rory’s ginger hair in my fist and use my grip to direct her pace. I feel her neck tense when I’ve pushed her down too far. I’m quick to learn her limits, and I find a pace suitable for the both of us. Soon, she’s sucking, slurping him like a woman starved. Little mewling noises leave her every now and then, and before I know it, I’m hard again, the stubborn organ bumping on Roland’s ass.
Roland’s eyes pinch shut, and his mouth falls open. His breath comes in short, rapid pants. I’ve seen this before in him. When he finally shuts the fuck up and gets quiet—there. He’s close. I know it. I just never thought I’d be the one to get him there.
Roland groans and shakily confirms what I already know. “I’m going to blow.”
“Beg,” I growl in the spoiled prince’s ear.
“Bugger off,” he hisses.
That won’t do. Someone has to train the brat. I tug Rory’s hair back. His angry cock pops out of her mouth and twitches in the empty air. She licks her lips.
That does it. “Please,” the prince gasps, his voice thick and strained. Goddamn. That sound sends shivers through me. I reward him. I push Rory down
so she deep-throats his cock. Then I fasten my teeth on his neck and bite.
Prince Roland howls as he cums down her throat. His body jerks, muscles contracting and twitching, and he moans and lets out a string of swears as I make sure she sucks every drop from him. Not that she needs much encouraging—Rory is positively thirsty for it.
Finally, the prince goes limp in my arms and pants for breath. “Bloody hell,” he breathes.
Rory stands and kisses him. Then she leans over his shoulder and kisses me. I taste her peach lips and his sweet salt on her tongue.
For the first time that night—no, for the first time in a long time—I don’t feel anxious, pent up, or self-loathing. Instead, a bizarre, cooling peace falls between the three of us.
Just then the lights flicker on overhead. The room bursts into a bright, clean light. Like that, our dark, wicked little ménage is over. It’s back to reality for us.
Almost immediately, there’s a knock on the door. Rory’s eyes fly open wide. “Shit,” she squeals.
“Loo,” Roland whispers to her, motioning to his wash closet. She scampers out of bed, snatches up her dress, and hides in the bathroom. Meanwhile, Roland and I hastily throw on our trousers and button up our shirts. Nothing to do about Roland’s wild sex hair or the stench of sweat.
“Sir?” Tanner’s voice comes muffled through the other side of the door. My heart drops. What would he think if he saw me now? Not very knightly of you, Tolle.
Roland gives me a once-over. I nod. “Come in!” Roland shouts as he finishes up the last button on his shirt.
Tanner cracks the door open and peeks in. “Electricity is back on,” he announces and then taps the door. “We got the lock reset.”
“We noticed.” Roland points up. “How’s it out there?”
“Party’s over. Your mum is retiring in the sitting room. All’s clear.”
“Good.”
I have a bad poker face. I feel a red heat crawl up the side of my neck under Tanner’s scrutiny, and I’m trying to keep cool. Tanner’s eyes move to Roland, then me, then back to Roland. “Everything’s all right here?” the older man asks.
“Fine,” I say, perhaps too forcibly.
“Right.” It’s clean, crisp, Tanner’s way of saying I don’t want to know. “Carry on,” he says and closes the door behind him.
As soon as the door clicks closed, Rory stumbles out of the wash closet. She’s not so much wearing her dress as she is holding it to the front of her body like a shield.
All at once, the three of us burst into laughter. We’re a ragtag sight, and it’s impossible not to see the comedy in it. I laugh until my lungs hurt. It’s a good release. As good as my orgasm earlier. I don’t remember the last time I’ve laughed like this.
“I’m knackered,” the prince says to no one in particular once he’s caught his breath. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Should I… leave?” Rory asks. My heart goes out to her. Like me, she always anticipates the worst.
“You should stay,” I inform her. “Just to be safe.”
“And,” Roland says, hooking an arm around her and scooping her tight against him, “there’s no one to kiss you good morning at the hostel.”
A smile breaks over Rory’s lips. “Mmm, you two make a hard case,” she says.
Roland kisses her. Then I kiss her. Then I kiss Roland. We’re lazy and high off endorphins when we pile into the prince’s bed.
My internal alarm clock wakes me up before either Rory or Roland. I blink unmoving and stare up at the circular light fixture that looms over our heads. I haven’t had a nightmare, nor can I recall hearing anything strange in the night, but when I wake up, my heart is quietly pounding in my chest. A single thought cleaves through the fog of sleep.
I don’t belong here.
It’s the jolt of panic that wakes me up night after night in the palace. No matter how long I’ve been here or how much I’ve done for the royal family, nothing will erase that nagging doubt. The dirty, scrappy little punk from Limehouse has no place in Buckingham Palace.
But then I tilt my head and see the two of them sleeping soundly beside me. Rory is nestled in the middle like a small kitten, and Roland clutches her. I watch their chests rise and fall in deep sleep, and, slowly my anxiety turns into a dull tingle and then evaporates completely.
I replace my morning terror mantra with another thought: I’m exactly where I should be.
Rory’s body is soft and warm. Her hair smells like autumn leaves. It’s soothing, but now that I’m awake, I can’t go back to sleep.
I can’t bear to wake them. Quietly, I get up. I pick my clothes off of the floor and slip them on. I sit at the foot of the bed to lace up my shoes.
“Ben.”
I glance over my shoulder. The prince is awake. He looks insane, his hair sex-wild, his eyes sleepy, blinking heavily. I resist the sudden urge to pet his hair back and kiss his pillowy, warm lips.
“Yes?”
“You’re leaving.” It’s said plainly, no judgment, just mild confusion.
“I’ll be back,” I reassure him. “I have to check in with Tanner.”
“Good. Right-o.” Another couple of tired blinks. “Ben, you’d tell me if I crossed any lines last night, wouldn’t you?”
For a second, my throat contracts and I can’t get any words out. Roland is the one covered in teeth marks and an embarrassingly vicious welt on his throat. I’m the one who restrained him, bit him, and claimed him like a wolf in heat. Yet he’s the one checking in on me?
I recover with a curt nod. “Yes, sir.” After a second, I add, “And, no. You didn’t cross any lines.”
His sky-blue eyes brighten at that. “Good.” And that’s it. Band-Aid ripped. He yawns and flops back in bed. “Steal some scones from the kitchen, if you wouldn’t mind. And a pot of tea. Since you’re up and all.”
“Yes, sir.”
Relief washes through me. We shared a kiss and the world didn’t implode. I had a million nightmares about how this could go. I thought it’d be awkward the next day, strange, or the prince would look at me with some painful mix of revulsion and regret.
Instead, it’s business as usual. If anything, Roland is kinder than normal. All the worry I’ve been carrying falls off my shoulders like a porcupine shedding its quills. I’m weightless and euphoria-high. I could shout. Dance. Fly.
Rory, who has her eyes shut and is supposed to be sleeping, can’t hide her smile. Cheeky girl. I refocus, tighten my shoelaces, and exit the bedroom before I can make an idiot of myself.
The halls are mostly empty, save for a couple of familiar housemaids milling around. I nod to them as they pass, hoping I don’t look too conspicuous. I shouldn’t. I walk these halls every day without trouble. Of course, I’ve never spent the night with Roland before. So. That’s new.
I dip through the dining room and into the kitchen. The chef is gone, probably in the back cleaning the pots and pans. A spread of the royal family’s breakfast sits waiting to go out on the table. I don’t realize how famished I am until the smell of freshly baked bread hits me. I pluck a scone from one of the plates (no one will notice it’s missing) and bite into it as I make my way to the back. I open a silver, metal door that should lead to a meat freezer, but instead opens into a spiraling staircase. I close the door behind me and take the shortcut down to the tunnel.
The scone is reduced to crumbs by time I reach my “lair.” I’m not alone. Tanner is there already, sitting in my chair, screens flickering above him. My chest tightens—did he witness my walk of shame out of the prince’s room?
Unlikely. He’s nose-deep in his laptop, fingers clicking over the keyboard. If he did see me, at least he says nothing, just a “Gracing us with your presence this morning?”
“What’s on the docket?” I wipe the crumbs on my trousers and look up at the monitors.
“I’ve been digging around about last night.” Tanner doesn’t look up, his fingers continuing their crablike skitter across his keyb
oard. “It’s strange.”
“What, sir?”
“The electricity went out, the generator botched, and then it all miraculously came back. As though it were set on a timer. It appears someone rigged it up from the inside.”
My heartbeat quickens and my blood responds to the infusion of adrenaline by turning to steel. “You think this was an inside job.”
“But an inside job for what?” Tanner lets out a short, exasperated sigh. “Nothing went missing. Royal jewels intact. No one was hurt.”
“To scare us, perhaps.”
Tanner twists around in his chair and turns to face me full on now. “If it is someone on the inside… it could be a guard. One of the staff. Even a lord. You need to keep a closer eye on the prince than ever. Don’t let him run off on you.”
“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, and one more thing.” Tanner reaches under the desk and lifts a masquerade mask. “We found this by the switchboard. Does this mean anything to you?”
My pulse picks up. I recognize it immediately. It’s Rory’s. “No,” I lie.
“No matter, we’ll scan the footage.” Tanner gives one of his big, gaping yawns. I want to buy him a Keurig. Is it strange for one grown man to get another grown man a coffee maker? Tanner waves his hand. “As you were.”
22
Roland
I’ve never had a woman spend the night before. Maybe that sort of thing would’ve been easier before my father’s death, certainly. Before Buckingham Palace went on complete lockdown.
Now, I can’t imagine the palace without Rory in it.
When Ben leaves the room, the door clicking shut softly behind him, I tug Rory up against me. She’s noodle limp and her bare skin is warm as a tea cozy. She squeaks and nuzzles against my chest.
“When I was seven,” I murmur against the shell of her ear, “my parents got me a bunny rabbit.”