by Adora Crooks
It’s a cool day; the air is crisp, but the sun is hot. I hop up and sit on the edge of the stone fountain, letting the sun bake my skin. Oscar tilts his head into the sun as well and closes his eyes. He’s so pale, spotted with freckles, and I worry he’ll burn.
“What are you thinking?” Oscar asks as though he can hear my thoughts.
I shrug. “I’m thinking… what a weird fountain this is.”
Oscar snorts a laugh without opening his eyes. “It is weird. Why would angels be spitting at each other? Doesn’t seem very angelic of them.” He opens an eye and peeks at me. “You’re worrying.”
“Of course I am.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Okay,” I say. But I can’t. The pollen is out; I can feel it tickling my nose. We should go inside soon, before it gets into his frail lungs and he starts hacking—
“The guards inside are complete morons, by the way,” Oscar huffs.
I can’t help but grin. “Why’s that?”
“One of them tried to convince me a coat of arms was from the 1600s. It was eighteenth century at best.”
I chuckle and knock my leg against one of his wheels. “He probably didn’t know. Not everyone is a huge history geek.”
“I don’t see why not,” he sighs. He pauses a moment before he says, “This palace… it’s remarkable.”
“Yeah,” I say. There’s a bitter nagging nibbling the edge of my heart. “It’s not bad.”
“What’s that tone of voice?” Oscar says, twisting his chair back so he can face me properly.
“It’s nothing,” I say, but there’s no use hiding from Oscar. He sees right through me.
“You’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you?”
“You know me,” I say. “Itchy feet.”
Oscar’s eyebrows furrow together. I’ve spent so much of my life taking care of him, sometimes it’s hard to remember that he’s the older sibling. When he gets that serious look and pulls the big-brother card, however, I shut up. “Rory… seeing Buckingham Palace like this… it’s not something I ever thought I’d see for myself. I can touch these walls here. The fountain.” He reaches forward and sets his hand palm reverently down on the stone. “Rough edges. Sun-warm. It’s… wonderful.”
“Yeah. It is.”
His eyes lift to me. “You’ve shown me so much. I’ve seen the world through your eyes. I can’t thank you enough for that.”
A knot tangles up in my throat. “You would’ve done the same for me.”
“I do have one more thing to ask of you.”
“What is it?” I ask quickly. “Anything. Name it.”
“Put roots down, Ror,” he says. “Here. Home. Anywhere. Wherever you want to be. It’s time to stop living for me and start living for yourself.”
My vision blurs. I try to be strong for him, I don’t want him to see me cry, but it’s dangerously hard to hold back. “Otter… it’s not like that…”
“What is it like?” he asks. “You like them, don’t you? Roland and Ben.”
I nod. My head feels heavy on my neck. “I love them.”
“Good. They seem like good guys. Didn’t get much out of Ben—he’s something of a steel trap. Prince Roland, though… we had a lot to talk about. Hermit stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”
Despite my tears threatening to spill over, I bark a laugh at that. He always manages to make me laugh. It gives me a chance to move my hand to my face and wipe my eyes. “How do you do that?” I ask.
Oscar grins. “It’s the terrible March sense of humor, I imagine.”
“Make room, March.” I leap off the fountain. “I’m coming in.” I wind my arms around him, hugging him close. He wraps his arms around me and cradles me in his chair. We sit here for a moment, curled up together, just enjoying being close to each other.
Finally, he coughs lamely. “Pollen,” he says, which is his way of asking for space. He can only take too much touch. I climb back up to my feet. With that, he grabs his wheels and starts rolling himself backward up the walkway, forcing me to pick up my pace to keep up with him. “Come on. Let’s go back in. I’ve got tour guides to educate before tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe they’ll hire me. Tours on Wheels… it has a ring to it.”
Once we’re inside, Oscar makes good on his promise and detours to explore the rest of the palace. I walk beside him for a while, not really taking in the information he’s giving me, just soaking in the cadence of his voice.
When we get to the sitting room, we run into Roland and Ben. The lion and the wolf. They’re spread out on the pale, gold-rimmed chaise. Roland has his head in Ben’s lap, but they both turn their gazes up at us when we peek in the doorway.
“Would you mind watching over my sister for a bit?” Oscar says suddenly. “She’s slowing me down.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Roland says and salutes Oscar. “We’ll take good care of her.”
“I don’t doubt it.” And just like that, he jets off, leaving me in the predators’ den.
I step inside. “Close the doors behind you,” Ben says. His fingers sift through Roland’s long hair, petting. The tall doors clatter when I close them behind me.
The excitement from the day seems to have petered out, and everyone is lazy, like sated animals after a good hunt. Even the canaries hanging in their cage are sleeping, their small beaks tucked into their chests.
“Room for one more?” I motion to the chaise.
“Always,” Roland says and opens his arms.
I snuggle up against Roland. He kisses the top of my head. Suddenly, I understand what Oscar was saying about the stone fountain. Seeing is one thing, but living it, breathing it, smelling it… it’s another thing entirely. I lose myself in the tactile sensations of Roland—the softness of his long hair against my cheek, the hardness of his body underneath his coat, the expansion of his ribs with every precious breath. Ben trades heads and rakes his fingers through my hair instead. My chest clenches with emotion, and I grip the hard leather lapel of Roland’s coat. “What if…” I struggle with the words; my throat feels so tight that my voice is barely a whisper. “What if… I stayed here? Permanently.”
“Queen Rory,” Roland muses. “It has a good ring to it.”
Ben scoffs. “How many queens does it take to rule a monarchy?”
I reach up and smack his thigh. He grunts, but even from this angle, he can’t hide the hint of smile on his lips.
“Maybe not… queen,” I venture. “Doesn’t really sound like me. But something.”
“Royal pet,” Ben states.
“Mmm… royal pet,” I muse. “I like that.”
“Me too,” Roland agrees. He parts my lips with his tongue and tastes me. I open my mouth for him easily, giving him full access. He takes it, cupping my jaw and swiping his tongue over mine, licking every inch of my mouth.
Ben’s fingers tighten in my hair and tug the roots. I gasp as the sensation jolts down the center of my body and pulses between my legs. I try to clench my thighs together, but Roland nudges them apart and fits his knee between my legs. I don’t mean to be this desperate, but the pressure makes me whimper and rut against his thigh.
Roland adjusts on the couch, pushing me underneath him. Now his knee is squarely against my sex, and it’s impossible to hide how badly I need him. I’m sure he can feel the heat from between my legs. He kisses me for a while, working his tongue against mine until I’m a panting wreck.
“Someone could walk in,” I whisper.
“Good,” Roland says. He sits up, unbuttons his heavy coat, and tosses it to the ground, revealing the white cotton shirt underneath. “Give them something to say about this room on the tour. And here, Prince Roland and Ben Tolle licked their royal pet until she screamed…”
I giggle and shiver. The thought alone makes me tingle all over.
I reach up and grab Ben’s leg for something to hold on to. I’m not the only one who likes Roland’s suggestion. I can feel Ben’s erection brush against the back of my ha
nd. I bite my lip. I want it inside of me so badly; my thoughts scatter.
“You heard your prince,” Ben says suddenly. “Take off your trousers.”
I unbutton my pants, draw down the zipper, and shove them down my legs awkwardly. Roland tugs my shoes, socks, and pants off my ankles, discarding them all in a pile on the ground. Now, I’m in nothing but my loose shirt and white panties.
Roland splays my legs and gets comfortable between them. He looks at me, and then a grin slices across his mouth.
“Ben, it seems our kitten has soaked right through her knickers.” Ben slips off the couch to join Roland at my feet. When his fingertips trail my bare legs… it makes me weak. My throat goes dry, and I swallow. “Do you think she wants this?” Roland asks.
“Not nearly enough,” Ben replies.
They launch an assault of kisses on my body then. Each takes a leg and licks and nibbles his way up my bare skin, over my thighs, and to my hips. When Roland gets to my knife scar at my hip, he brushes his lips very softly, lovingly against it. I whimper when they get close to my aching need and push my hips up toward the warmth of their breath, but they only pull out of reach. They’re kissing me everywhere except where I need it the most. I’m so pent up, I dig my fingers into my own hair.
Finally, I feel a pair of hands tug my panties down. I let my legs fall open, lewdly exposed for them. Roland puts two fingers on either side of my pussy, spreading me wide. The cool air hits my slick, wet skin. Again, my hips flex themselves forward, needing something inside, but Ben pins my thighs down, trapping me in place. I’m helpless to their teasing.
“What a beautiful pussy,” Roland says reverently.
“The most beautiful,” Ben agrees.
My sex trembles with desire. I’m sure I’m dripping right onto the velvet-soft fabric of the couch, but I’m beyond caring.
Suddenly, Ben climbs to his hands and knees over me. He replaces his hands on my thighs, holding them down, and drops his head between my legs. I feel his long tongue twist slowly around my sensitive nub. His stubble grazes my inner thighs. I gasp. I want to jerk up toward his mouth, but he’s keeping me in place. Instead, I suffer deliciously through the excruciatingly slow circles he paints around my exposed clit.
I barely have time to ease into Ben’s ministrations before Roland’s head lays on my thigh. A second tongue laps between my legs, teasing my folds and tracing my slit.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “Oh my God, oh my God… that feels good… so, so good…”
I’m babbling. I’ve always felt lucky enough to have one mouth between my legs, but two? Nothing can compare to the way these two talented alpha men work their tongues over my slippery sex. They lavish me in affection, their tongues crossing, bumping, working me. The two flexible muscles find my clit and flick the small nub back and forth like they’re playing tennis with it. I nearly hit the ceiling. I shout with sensory overload, and my legs begin to shake hard. I’m going to cum. I’m on the screaming edge. And then…
They stop. I nearly cry out and beg for more, until I hear it. Sloppy kisses. They’re making out over my pussy. My blood feels like lighter fuel, and that sucking sound paired with Ben’s soft moan sets me on fire.
“I don’t know what I like more,” Roland muses. “Eating our pet’s cunt or tasting her on your lips.”
“Fuck,” Ben groans. His cock clearly refuses to be contained, and I see him shift as he unbuttons his pants to give the swollen monster a little breathing room.
“How are you holding up, kitten?” Roland asks.
“More,” I beg. “Please, sir. I need it.”
“Good girl,” Ben breathes. They dip between my legs again. They work in perfect tandem now, and I can’t keep track of who goes where. One tongue presses inside of me, greedily lapping at my want, while the other goes to town on my sensitive button.
My climax hits me hard. I cry out loudly. My legs tremble and quake, my body writhing as best it can under Ben’s strong grip. I’m clenching, throbbing around one tongue as the other beats against my bundle of nerves mercilessly. Even after my pulses start to ebb, he continues sucking my poor clit until another orgasm breaks free. It feels so good, my eyes water, and I repeat both their names, over and over, in a lustful babble.
Two tongues. Two orgasms. One satisfied and shaky Rory.
They lick me clean before pulling back. Ben falls ungracefully off the couch, and Roland sits back.
“Good?” Roland asks.
I’m buzzing and I twirl my fingers through my hair in a daze. “The best,” I respond.
“Good.” Roland climbs over me and kisses me hard. I taste myself on his mouth, salty sex lips. His erection presses against my hip, and I moan.
“I want to be inside of you,” Roland murmurs heatedly.
My pussy clenches painfully. I gasp and let out a breath of a laugh. “I don’t know if I can…” I reach between us block my sex with my hand. “I’m waaaay too sensitive now.”
“Poor pussy,” Roland coos and kisses my lips. “But I wasn’t talking to you anyway.”
Roland’s hand trails off the couch and twists in Ben’s hair, giving it a tug. Ben and Roland lock eyes. In that insane, unspoken way of theirs, they make a decision.
“I’ll need lube,” Ben says, with all the practicality of a den mother.
Are they going to—?
Oh. Yes. Oh my God, yes. And I get to be a part of it.
“I have some!” I pipe up, and when they shoot me a weird look, I shrug a shoulder. “My bag is full of… useful items.”
“Fetch, kitten,” Roland says.
Which sounds like something you’d say to a dog, not a cat, but I’m also too aroused to point out technicalities.
I have to squirm to get out from under Roland. I don’t realize until I stand up how incredibly slippery I am between my legs. I feel so messy that I half walk, half hop over to my backpack. Everything is disorganized inside, nothing folded, all items shoved as tightly together as possible, and it takes a moment of hunting to find what I’m looking for.
Eventually, I pull out a small tube of lubricant and a sheet of condoms. I carry them back to my boys. They’ve mostly disrobed, down to their briefs, and they’re making out on the couch. I don’t want to interrupt; there’s part of me that could just stay here, watching. They’re horizontal, Roland on top, and they’ve locked lips and grind their hips together. Roland must be doing something incredible with his tongue, because it makes Ben groan audibly and he shudders underneath the other man, pelvis twitching upward.
God. It makes my mouth water to watch these two gorgeous, strong alpha men turn shaky and desperate under each other’s touches. There’s love in the way they look at each other, touch each other, and kiss each other. As though their very fingers are saying I’ve got you, I trust you, I’m not letting you go.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, kitten,” Ben says when he catches sight of me and extends a hand.
I know my place. I drop my knees, lube in my hand, condom packets gently between my teeth, and I crawl over to them.
Ben nudges his elbow against Roland’s chest, pushing the other man off so he can sit up. Then Ben scratches the top of my head and coos in his low, faraway-thunder voice, “Good girl.”
It makes me shiver. He takes the condoms from between my teeth, takes the lube, and inspects it. “This’ll do,” he says and tosses it to Roland.
With that, Ben stands, drops his briefs, and steps out of them. And—God. I can’t stop staring. I want to fall to my knees in front of him. Worship at the V-line of his slim hips. Trace every stacked muscle of his abdomen with my tongue. Praise whatever god had the imaginative genius to craft such a gorgeous, proud cock.
“Let’s do it here,” Ben says and bends at his hips, his hands clasping the arm of the chaise. Come and get it, the arch of his body seems to challenge.
“Perfect,” Roland replies. He kicks out of his briefs like he’s in a locker room instead of one of the lavish palace sp
reads. My body hums at the sight of him. I want to nuzzle against that blond thatch of hair between his legs. Roland positions himself behind Ben, slips on the condom, and shoots the lube into his hand.
“You’ve got such a nice arse,” Roland comments, the man who is never afraid to say exactly what’s on his mind. “How did I not notice before?”
Ben, on the other hand, goes sunset red. How can such a sculpted man be so unused to compliments?
“You were too busy admiring your own jawline in the mirror,” Ben deflects.
Roland lets out a noise that’s nearly a laugh. “Perhaps. Not anymore.” I watch as his finger disappears between Ben’s cheeks, and Ben swallows.
“Just…” Ben starts, but his words trail off. If we’ve learned anything, it’s that Ben has trouble asking for what he needs. “I’m usually… on the other end. So.”
“I’ll be gentle,” Roland reassures him, filling in the blanks without hesitation.
“Right,” Ben says in a small sigh of relief.
Roland speaks Ben-language. Ben speaks Rory-language. I’m fluent in both dialects. We understand each other. Know each other. That they let me into their relationship like this… it’s so sweet, so tender, so full of trust. It makes me want to cry.
Home, I think. I’m home, I’m home.
I scramble up onto the chaise to be closer to them. I press my lips to Ben’s and murmur, “I’ve got you.”
Ben seems to regain his footing with me. He pulls my hair, and he shoves his tongue in my mouth. Me, he can still control. I open for him, purring as he greedily tastes the inside of my mouth. I reach down to run the silky-smooth skin of his cock through my fingers, and he stiffens.
Ben breaks the kiss abruptly to gasp, and his forehead rests against mine. If possible, his face burns redder. “Oh, fuck,” he swears between gritted teeth, and I know Roland must be inside of him now.
“Is that okay?” Roland murmurs. It strikes me suddenly how compassionate he is. When I first met him, Roland was the selfish, spoiled-brat prince who took what he wanted, when he wanted, with little thought to the consequences. The Roland standing behind Ben now… he’s a man. He’s strong, controlled, and respectful. It makes my heart pitter-patter in my chest.