Elements of Ruin (Hijinks Harem Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  “Aye, so we should,” he grimaced, pushing himself up from the ground while still holding his ribs tightly. “That wee beasty packs a helluva punch when she actually tries.” He muttered the words to Joan, but his flashing green eyes held mine with a promise of revenge that made me shiver with desire.

  Damn it, why did I always go for the assholes? Maybe I just needed to spend more time with George and his big old stick.

  “'kay, don't wait for me or anything,” I muttered, stomping up to the house behind Joan as she fussed over Dustin like I'd just amputated his leg or something. It was maybe a couple of broken ribs at best, and I had no doubt a guy like this had encountered worse than that before.

  In the distance, the sky was just a shade lighter than the pitch black it had been, and I knew our time was running short. We needed to be at the Seelie Court by daybreak, or risk … death?

  Not really in need of freshening up, I spent my fifteen minute break browsing the oil painting of all the former Copthornes that lined the grand looking hallway. No way in hell was I voluntarily going into the dining room before I needed to. That was asking for more Joan-drama, and I'd had more than enough of that. The woman was like a damn platypus. Cute and lovely but with a poisonous barb in her ass.

  On about my tenth picture, I yawned. It had been a long damn night and sleep was still looking like it'd be a while away yet. My fifteen minutes was probably almost up too, so I should probably head into the dining room for an awkward as fuck family breakfast with the whole Copthorne crew.

  “Psst,” someone hissed and my face whipped around, looking for the owner of the voice. “Psst, Sugar Tits!”

  “Reg?” I frowned, looking around and seeing no one. “Where are you?”

  “Take about … three steps forward,” he chuckled in a stage whisper and I did as he asked. “Now come closer to the painting of the ugly ass dude with a 'stache.”

  Stepping forward, I frowned, still not understanding … until I saw the painting blink.

  “Reg?” I asked again, and heard him chuckle from behind the painting.

  “Is anyone looking?” he asked, and I checked both ways to ensure I was alone before shaking my head. “Good.” The wall panel that the painting was attached to clicked open and his hand snaked out, grabbing me by the waist and hauling me into the secret passage, before clicking the panel shut again.

  “Where are we?” I marveled, looking out of the eyeholes cut into the painting, which you could clearly spy on people from.

  “Secret passage,” he grinned, as if I hadn't figured that out for myself. “Wanna spy on my Mom and see what a bitch she's being when you're not in the room?”

  “Uh,” I looked at him like he was asking the dumbest question ever. “Of course! Let's do this!”

  His hand took mine and led me along the length of the wall, then turned a corner into the wall cavity behind the dining room. More eyeholes were cut out at various points around the room, and it was to one of these that he led me so I could peer out.

  Sure enough, there was Joan, already sitting at the table with Dustin, Dwayne, and all the rest of my husbands—except Reg of course—and her own husbands were bustling around laying out plates of food.

  “You know, I just don't know how intelligent she is,” Joan was saying to Dustin, who was grinning like the fucking cat that caught the mouse, “I mean, have you seen how much she drinks?”

  “Ugh, that fucking hypocrite,” I whispered, watching Joan sip from her own wine glass. Reg was behind me in the small space and as I peered out of the peephole, intent on the crap his mother was saying about me, his hands were slowly pushing my dress up and over my ass.

  “Reg,” I murmured, when his fingers slipped into the sides of my panties. His pipe sat hard against my ass and I couldn't help but grind back against him a little.

  “Shh, ST,” he breathed in my ear. “If you can hear them, they can hear you.”

  A little squeak of protest escaped my throat, but even I didn't believe it. The fight with Dustin had been some sort of cruel and unusual foreplay and I was more than ready for a quick fuck in the walls.

  Reg's long, tattooed fingers slid my panties down my legs, and let them drop to the floor before freeing himself from his own pants and pressing his tip to my opening.

  “I knew it,” he whispered in my ear, as his dick rubbed between my tender folds, wetting the length of his shaft with the proof of my arousal. “I could sense how much moisture was already in your panties; I knew you were hot as fuck.”

  “Shit yes,” I whispered back. “But be quick. Your mom already called me on it earlier for being a hussy.”

  “I can be quick, but can you be quiet?” he challenged, licking a long line up the side of my neck and making me shudder.

  Now that was a good question—one I was willing to research thoroughly.

  Reginald Bartholomew Copthorne put his foot on the crotch of my panties and kicked them away, leaving me bare and aching, biting my lower lip and trying not to cry out at the simple feel of his hands on my hips.

  If I couldn't get through some light and minimal foreplay then how was I going to react when he filled my pipe with a clog that didn't need plunging? Too gross of a metaphor? Yeah, I thought so, too.

  “Dirty talk to me,” I whispered, even though this was sort of the last place in the world we should be talking.

  Reg didn't seem to care, leaning forward and putting his lips to my ear.

  “I'm going to fuck you like the best kept secret,” he growled softly, kissing and sucking and nibbling on my ear. At the same time, I could feel him teasing my aching wet slit with the velvety warmth of his shaft. “I'm going to fuck you in here because I'm so ashamed of you,” he continued, grabbing my ass cheek and squeezing it hard.

  I put my palms flat against the backside of the picture and pushed, just to see how solid it was. Felt like the door was locked because it didn't budge. Good. I had a feeling Reg was going to screw me hard—I'd need the support.

  He paused a moment and voices filtered in from the dining room.

  “Where is that boy?” Joan asked, throwing her napkin down on the table with a sigh. “Probably bedding that hussy,” she continued, rising from her seat. “She's insatiable, really. The girl should be ashamed of herself.”

  “Now, Mama,” Shane growled from his spot two seats down. “Don't be talkin' about our spirit like that. She's our one and only woman, and you know that. Try to get along, would you? It'll be a long hundred years of retirement if you don't.”

  Hundred years?! Joan was going to be alive for a hundred more years?!

  Well, fuck, I should've let Bio Dad and the moms kill her when they had the chance …

  As Joan walked back, Reg smacked my ass as hard as he could, and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to hold back a groan. The actual sound of flesh on flesh was loud enough to give Joan pause though. She slowed her frantic pace, shook her head, and then continued on out of the dining room, presumably to look for the pair of us.

  “You like that? You dirty little secret,” Reg groaned as he put the head of his shaft to my opening and teased me with an inch or two, pulling back out and doing it again. I just about turned around and stabbed him. Then he slicked his shaft between my folds, teasing the length of me and making me bite my lip hard to stay quiet.

  Reg reached around and yanked the top of my dress down, causing my tits to tumble out the top of the built-in bra. The suckers were huge, hard as hell to contain. I couldn't blame them for straining to be free.

  “Oh, Sugar Tits,” he moaned, so quiet, his voice so low pitched. I had no idea how he did it. If I let out even a single sound, it was all over. Reg cupped and squeezed my tender breasts, paying extra special attention to my pebbled nipples. “My secret little liaison. You have no idea how much hotter you are because my mom hates you. Fuck, that turns me on.”

  “If it turns you on then prove it,” I whispered, as quietly as I could. I swear, Billy heard us because he stiffened u
p and curled his fingers around his wine glass like he was annoyed. But then, he didn't turn and look either, so maybe I was imagining it?

  “Oh, I intend to,” Reg said with a low chuckle, wetting his shaft and then replacing his dick with his fingers, wetting two inside my pussy. He teased my G-spot with a little flick of fingers and then bent down low. “Ready?” he asked, but I wasn't quite sure what he was going to do until he did it.

  Reg flicked the hot tip of his tongue against my asshole, and I almost screamed.

  Holy. Fuck.

  He licked me again and this time, he used the whole of his tongue to lick me from pussy to ass, teasing all those neglected nerve endings in my taint and ass. I'd been around the block a time or two sexually, but … I wasn't sure that I'd actually ever had a rim job. Because that's what I was getting right now—and it was fucking fabulous.

  “Mm,” I groaned, biting my own wrist to keep from crying out.

  Reg continued to tease me, and when I glanced back I saw he had one hand on his own shaft, pumping the wet, slick length with vigor. The other he used to finger my aching cunt, the perfect supplement to the soft but firm pressure of his tongue.

  Even though my poor clit was getting the least amount of attention in this scenario, I felt an orgasm building deep inside of me. The thing was, it felt completely different than my usual ones, a slower but more powerful build. I'd heard before from Britt and Siobhan (who I hoped weren't killing each other, staying at Aldrich's house tonight) that women could have different kinds of orgasms depending on what part of their body was stimulated.

  Vaginal only orgasms (yeah right! hah!), clitoral orgasms, anal orgasms … and … whatever this was.

  But oh, it felt nice.

  Reg dipped his tongue into my other hole and pleasure arced inside me, making me buck forward with the surprising force of ardor that spiraled through me.

  The painting/door opened suddenly and I went flying, tits and ass hanging out, and fell onto the marble floors near Joan's feet. I ended up on my back, legs spread, all my bits totally open and exposed for the whole world to see.

  “Really, Reginald?” Joan snapped as her son struggled to put his dick back in his pants.

  “Mom, what the fuck?!” he growled back, storming out of the hall and helping me to my feet, yanking the dress over my ass and turning to look at Dwayne. “Get your eyes off my spirit or I'll fucking tear your nuts out of your throat!” Reg roared and … wow, it was hot as hell.

  The look he gave Dwayne could've stripped paint. It was caustic.

  The weirdo healer man turned away as fast as he could and snatched his wine, tossing it back in one gulp.

  “Mom, you need to fuck off and leave my wife alone!” Reg continued, his usual playfulness subdued as he panted and put his hands on his hips, his pants still very clearly tented in the front.

  Joan sucked in an overly dramatic gasp and clutched at her imaginary pearls, like she was so offended. “Reginald Bartholomew Copthorne, how dare you speak to your mother in such a way?” she exclaimed in a well I never tone. Fucking drama queen. She should get some sort of prize for the performance she was putting on.

  “Oh, save it Mom,” Reg snarled. “We heard everything you were saying, and I've had enough. I won't tolerate you bad mouthing our spirit any longer, so you need to decide here and now. Are you going to cut the crap and support our love or will the boys and I be walking out and never coming back?”

  Joan gasped again, except this time I think it was genuine shock. Hell, even I was shocked, but I took advantage of everyone's attention on Reg to tuck my tits back into my dress and smooth the skirt down over my exposed … ah … bits. Where my panties had ended up, I had no idea. But I wasn't exactly going to go crawling around looking for them with my naked ass in the air for all of Reg's dads to see.

  Damn, maybe Joan had a point about my lack of underwear after all.

  “You wouldn't,” Joan breathed, narrowing her eyes at me in fury as Billy helped me back to my feet and snuggled my back into his chest.

  “Oh, believe me, Mom. I would. And you can kiss any option of grandkids goodbye while you're at it.” Reg folded his arms over his chest and didn't even seem the slightest bit concerned by the fact he still had a raging boner.

  Joan cast a panicked look at all of my other husbands, like she was expecting them to disagree, but none of them said a word. Not even Warden or Dustin.

  “Love, I think you owe our new daughter an apology,” Charlie suggested to his wife, nodding pointedly at me where I stood in Billy's arms.

  “But … I … what?” Joan babbled, looking at a total loss for how to handle this situation. Clearly she was not used to losing control for even a second.

  “Apologize to the girl, Jellybean,” one of her other husbands snapped. “The food is getting cold and we didn't work that hard preparing it all to have it ruined now.”

  Swinging her gaze from her husbands, to her sons, to me, then back again, Joan looked like she was about to have a system malfunction or something. But there was no way I was letting her off the hook on this. So what if I was a bit loose-legged around her sons. They were just as bad, if not worse! It took two to tango, after all. And … seven to … line dance? Okay, that metaphor needed tweaking for my little reverse harem of men but you got my point. I wasn't exactly just doing myself twenty-four seven, was I?

  “Well,” Joan huffed, pulling up her metaphorical big girl panties and giving me a look that could cause flowers to curl up and die in the ground. “Arizona, I apologize if you misinterpreted my words and took offense.”

  “Wow,” I coughed a laugh. “That's got to be the worst apology I've ever heard. Try again, Mumsey.”

  Joan's glare sparked dangerously, her eyes promising revenge for this, but I didn't fucking care. She damn well did owe me an apology and I intended to get it from her.

  Teeth grinding together, her lip curled in disgust, she spat out, “Arizona. Dear. I am so terribly sorry that I have not been kind or welcoming to you. You're not a slut, or a hussy, or a loose-legged jezebel, or a whore, or a trashy street hooker, or any of the other names I can't recall off the top of my head. Clearly, I had you all wrong and you're a …” she swallowed, like the words were tasting bad in her mouth. “… lovely girl.”

  “Aww,” I cooed in the most condescending tone I could muster. “See? That wasn't so hard to say, now was it?”

  “Good,” Charlie clapped his hands together with a crack, making us all jump with fright. “Let's eat then!”

  Now that he mentioned it, the food on the table really did smell incredible, and I happily took my seat, folding my dress beneath my thighs. The long table was laid beautifully, with a dramatic white tablecloth draped low on all sides, and matching crockery and silverware set out for everyone.

  “Um, why so many forks?” I whispered to Shane, and he twitched a grin at me.

  “Here,” he said, grabbing my chair and pulling me closer to him, so our legs were touching. “I'll help you work it all out as you go, darlin'.”

  “Thanks, Shane, that's very sweet of you.” I smiled back, and blushed when he caught my gaze. Shit. When did I start getting all girly around these penniless bums? And why is my belly erupting with butterflies right now?

  “My pleasure, honey bear,” he winked, and dished some food out onto both our plates while one of the dads opposite us cleared his throat.

  “So, Skeeter, have you and your spirit thought any more about what sort of wedding you'd like to have? You know how carried away Joan gets on these events.” He guffawed like this was an everyday occasion, his sons all marrying the same woman.

  “We haven't really discussed it yet, Dad,” Shane shrugged, pointing out the correct fork for me to use and picking one up himself. As he spoke, his other hand, the one not holding a fork, slipped underneath the table and began creeping up my thigh.

  Surely he didn't intend to actually—

  The piece of food I'd just placed in my mouth very suddenly wen
t down my windpipe as Shane's long fingers found my still wet and naked naughty bits, and I squeaked with surprise.

  “You okay there, Arizona?” The Dad, whose name I couldn't remember for the life of me, asked, looking very concerned.

  “Yup,” I nodded, taking a sip of my water. “Just had something slip in the wrong hole. I mean down. Down the wrong pipe. The food, I mean. In my throat.”

  Meanwhile, Shane's fingers had not let up for a second, and he was badly trying to contain laughter at my expense.

  Reg was giving him a sour look from across the table, and I imagined he was a little ticked off and sporting some azure balls right about now. By the way, azure is a synonym for the word blue, so … you get the reference.

  I slapped Shane's hand away and cleared my throat, trying to pretend like my husband wasn't trying to finger me in front of his many dads and psychotic mom and … a seriously pervy fae man with skin like tree bark, wrinkled hands, and beady eyes.

  Gross.

  I like, seriously wasn't a fan of Dwayne's.

  “A traditional wedding would be best,” Joan murmured from her spot at the head of the table—of course her spot was at the head of the table. She stabbed a bit of French toast that was folded into a very suspicious, vaginal looking shape, twisting her fork in its creases as she wrinkled her nose and glared at me.

  “We are not having a traditional wedding, Mom,” Reg said with a sigh, the lack of sex clearly interfering with his motor skills. He tried three times to stab a sausage and sent it pinging off into the middle of the table. “Not fucking happening.”

  “Honestly,” I said with a deep breath, smoothing my skirt down my thighs and slapping Shane's hand away again. “I wouldn't mind a traditional wedding. I mean, usually I find them sexist and ridiculously misogynistic, old-fashioned, outdated and …” I paused and looked up to find Joan glaring daggers at me. “What I mean to say is, I'm okay with a traditional wedding. I'll wear the white dress—”