Treachery’s Devotion: Masters’ Admiralty, book 1

by Dubois, Lila

  Giovanni Starabba sank into his chair. Expression flickered across his face—the rage that had suffused him when she’d announced she was married draining away to leave him looking pale and shocked. Then anger started to return, and he looked like he was about to yell at her.

  “Kacper Kujakski is dead.” This time she spoke English. She felt James nodding in confirmation.

  Giovanni’s face paled again, and he sank deeper into his chair. Sophia’s heart clenched, because in that moment, her father looked like an old man.

  The quartiere Monti was a quiet spot within Rome. Though it wasn’t far from the Colosseum or the central train station, it retained the lazy pace of the Italy of old that was almost lost. Rome, like any major European city, was full of hustle and bustle. But there were places where the age-old Italian pastime of doing sweet nothing, dolce far niente, could still be found. Monti was one of those places.

  Sophia’s flat was on the second floor of a three-story building facing into the Piazza della Madonna dei Monti. They’d had to turn in their borrowed car on the outskirts of the city and take a cab, since Rome’s parking situation made London’s look benign.

  It was nearly three A.M. before they trooped up two flights of stairs. The piazza was quiet at this time of night, though the smell of yeast and flour scented the air. The small bakery on the ground floor of the building was awake and preparing for its day.

  Sophia, Tristan, and James had yet to end their day. It had been twelve hours since the announcement of the fleet admiral’s death, and the Masters’ Admiralty was reeling in shock.

  There was a small elevator in Sophia’s building, but James had refused to get in it. It didn’t look like it would take his weight. He didn’t argue when Tristan took his suitcase, the knight jogging lightly up the steps to set it by Sophia’s front door before quick-stepping it back down to where James had been forced to pause and flex his knee on the first-floor landing.

  “Almost there,” Tristan assured him.

  James made it to the second floor, his bad leg throbbing in pain. The door in the stairwell opened to reveal a small foyer-like room. The gilt door to the elevator was on his left. Directly across from that was a single front door. It stood open.

  James limped inside. Tristan closed the door behind them.

  The room that lay before them was bathed in silver moonlight and indigo shadows. The wall facing the piazza had three sets of tall, narrow balcony doors. The doors were open, letting in the cool night air, and he could see the wrought iron railings beyond.

  For a moment, the place felt almost familiar—the open, airy feel to it. Then he realized it reminded him somewhat of the fleet admiral’s private quarters.

  That thought made James grimace. Right now, their whole organization was in an uproar. James had spent much of the afternoon on the phone with various members of his family. His mother had been the first to call, to tell him what had happened. That had been at three o’clock Rome time, meaning only two hours after the announcement was official, the news had filtered down to members like his parents, who didn’t hold offices or positions of authority within the society.

  It had started with the admirals at noon, who in turn would have told their vice admirals and security ministers. From there, the information would have gone to the finance ministers, knights, and security officers. James had figured it would take a day for the information to reach his parents. He’d forgotten that while good news travels fast, bad news travels faster.

  He’d decided to suck it up and tell his mother that he’d been there. That he was in Rome because he’d been called in to help with the situation. There had been some freaking out. Some yelling. Some demands for him to come home right now, I need you to be safe.

  He’d decided not to tell his mother he was also married. He was worried she’d be on the first flight to Rome.

  After the call with his mother, he’d ended up speaking with almost every member of his family. He’d told the same story, answered the same questions, again and again.

  And that had been nothing compared to what Sophia had put up with. Once news was out, people started calling and then showing up at the villa. Her father left her to deal with it. She went from person to person, calm and reassuring, wearing a headset so she could answer the phone while remaining mobile.

  At one point, he’d gone back to the bedroom he’d slept in, changed his voice mail to, “Yes, I was there. I will call you back,” and then lay down for an hour, relishing the silence.

  They’d finally managed to escape the villa at two A.M. It had been Tristan who’d informed the admiral of Rome they were leaving, and that they were needed elsewhere. Giovanni’s eyes had flashed with anger, but Tristan had hustled them upstairs to change and pack, then they’d piled into the car and headed back to Rome, to Sophia’s place.

  This is your wife’s home.

  He looked around again, not with the vague curiosity used when entering any strange place, but with sharp inquiry. He didn’t really know much about her. What would he find here? What would he learn about his new wife?

  The apartment was massive by any standards, with an incredible location and view. The beautiful piazza and the dome of the Church of Santa Maria ai Monti were both visible through the open balcony doors.

  The open concept living space was filled with soft things—a wide, deep couch covered in cream velvet, a plush throw rug before a small fireplace. A sweater was draped carelessly over one corner of an antique side table. Pillows that appeared blue, silver, and lavender in the moonlight were clustered between the arms of antique wooden chairs.

  Columns supported the ceiling above, and indicated where the walls would have been before this place had been remodeled, turning the entire floor of the building into a single dwelling.

  Opposite from the living area was a small kitchen, mostly open to the living room, and a large dining area. The long table had delicate wrought iron feet and a glossy white top. The table was set for ten, each place setting complete with an upside-down wine glass and simple white china placed on top of yellow-gold placemats.

  She appeared from the shadows, moving into a stream of moonlight. From where he stood, her body was a dark silhouette, her hair painted with silver light. Then she moved into a patch of shadow, disappearing.

  Beside him, Tristan inhaled heavily, as if he were drawing a breath before diving into the ocean.

  Sophia walked into the next stream of light, and it was James’s turn to draw in a breath. She’d changed out of the formal gown back at the villa, sliding into a tailored business-style dress for the drive to Rome. Now she wore nothing but a black robe, and as he watched, she untied the belt.

  She let the satin belt slide from between her fingers to pool on the floor. The robe opened as she kept walking, revealing the black lingerie she wore beneath.

  She paused there in the shaft of moonlight.

  “Mariti,” she murmured. “Husbands.”

  She held out her hands, one to each of them, and as one, James and Tristan went to her.

  This time, Tristan dropped to his knees, while James slid his hand into her hair. She arched, pressing the back of her head firmly into his palm and thrusting her breasts up.

  James groaned, his cock hardening and lengthening in his pants. The weariness he’d felt faded as lust suffused every cell in his body. He wanted to consume her. To mark her and claim her.

  And to be claimed in return.

  James rubbed his palm against her breasts, keeping the touch light. Her nipples hardened under the black lace and he smiled.

  Her balance wobbled, and James grabbed her waist, steadying her. Tristan had lifted her right foot off the floor and hooked her leg over his shoulder. James had the perfect overhead view as Tristan started to lick and nibble his way up her inner thigh.

  James remembered the way she’d tasted—sweet and tart on his tongue. He wanted to taste her again.

  But this time, maybe he would taste her from Tristan’s lips.<
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  It wasn’t just Sophia’s body he needed to learn and explore. He had a husband too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sophia startled when Tristan drew her thong to one side, his lips closing around her clit, sucking it roughly. He was a dominant lover, one who would take, claim, make demands.

  She responded to it in ways she wasn’t used to, but enjoyed just the same.

  Her hand gripped Tristan’s hair tightly. If she was hurting him, he gave no indication. Instead, he continued to play with her, using his teeth and tongue to drive her arousal higher.

  She was grateful for James’s support. Without him, she would have fallen, her legs giving way under their relentless, beautiful sensual assault.

  Sophia loved this feeling of being completely desired, worshipped. Perhaps too many years being referred to as the principessa had worked their way into her subconscious, given her delusions of grandeur.

  Tristan lifted her leg higher, his breath hot against her core. James tightened his hold on her.

  “I’ve got you, Princess,” James murmured in her ear. His fingers found her nipples and he squeezed them, the lace adding to the sensation. “Give yourself over to us.”

  That was the easiest request in the world—and maybe the hardest. Sophia wasn’t used to bending her will to anyone, and while there was no denying Tristan and James were accomplished lovers who would give her endless pleasure, handing over all the control left her feeling vulnerable.

  Her fingers pressed against Tristan’s head in an attempt to pull him even closer, to direct his movements.

  She should have known better.

  Her knight may have played the game by her rules on the plane, but tonight, everything had changed.

  He shifted back onto his heels, causing her to lose her grip. When he looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust and need, she shivered.

  “We’re moving to the bedroom,” Tristan said, his tone making it clear that was not up for discussion or debate.

  James appeared to agree, as he turned her, guiding her down the corridor to her bedroom with a supportive arm at her waist. She could hear Tristan’s heavy footsteps behind them.

  She’d changed into the lingerie, intent on seducing them. Now she was nearly naked, while her husbands were both fully dressed. Once again, that tiny thread of vulnerability had her hesitating.

  None of them bothered to turn on the lights when they reached her room. A bright, full moon ensured the room was bathed in a soft white light that allowed them to see everything.

  “Lay on the bed, Sophia,” Tristan said. “On your back. In the center.”

  She paused for only a moment, just long enough to let Tristan know she wouldn’t blindly follow his commands. Rather, she would consider them, then make her own decision about whether or not to obey.

  He raised one eyebrow at her delay and James chuckled.

  “Sex shouldn’t be a game of chess,” he said. “Lay down, love. And Tristan, ease up on the alpha-male routine.”

  Both Sophia and Tristan laughed. While James wasn’t lacking the alpha gene either, he always found a way to defuse the tension before it evolved into something too big.

  Sophia slid the sheer robe off her shoulders, then climbed onto the bed. Half her breasts were visible from the demi-cups. James knelt next to her on the bed, tugging her thong off, leaving her naked from the waist down.

  Neither man bothered to hide their perusal of her body. She parted her legs, enhancing the view. She was hot and ready and perilously close to begging, something she suspected she would be doing quite a lot of before the night was over.

  Tristan didn’t appear to be in any hurry to move them to the next part.

  She lifted her hand, gesturing to their clothing. “Undress.”

  James didn’t hesitate for a moment, his hands moving to undo the top button of his dress shirt. He didn’t manage to pop more than one before Tristan covered his hand, halting his actions.

  Sophia frowned—until Tristan stepped closer to their husband and took over the task of unbuttoning James’s shirt. He tugged the shirttail from his pants before unfastening the last two, then he left the shirt open, hanging off James’s large shoulders. When he was finished, he leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on James’s lips. It was more brush than touch, but it turned Sophia on more than if she’d received the kiss herself.

  Sophia rose up, resting her weight on her elbows as she watched James return the favor, unbuttoning Tristan’s shirt. When he finished, they both turned to face her. She twisted to her side, holding herself up on one elbow as her other hand slid slowly along her hip before moving inward.

  She lightly toyed with her clit as she studied their bare chests. Both men appeared to be chiseled from marble, and she was reminded of the statue in her father’s garden all those years ago.

  Tristan watched her play with herself as James stepped behind their knight, pulling his shirt off and dropping it on the floor. Then he reached around and unfastened Tristan’s pants before tugging them and his briefs over his hips and letting them fall as well.

  Tristan kicked them off along with his shoes, then stepped to stand beside James again.

  Sophia watched it all, stroking her clit harder before letting her fingers slide lower. Dipping two inside, she groaned with relief. She was on fire and hurting.

  James stepped back to the bed, gripping her wrist firmly and pulling it toward him. She struggled briefly, but her strength was no match for his. When he took her two wet fingers into his mouth, sucking off her juices, her pussy clenched.

  “Merda,” she gasped, her body aching with need. “Per favore.”

  And there it was—the begging. That hadn’t taken long at all.

  “That pretty pussy is ours,” James murmured as he replaced her fingers with two of his. Her hips jerked toward him, seeking out more stimulation, preferring his thick digits to her own. He filled her deliciously.

  Even so…she wanted more.

  “James,” she whispered, trying desperately to move against him. “Di più.”

  “I do like to hear you beg in Italian, Princess.”

  “Take off your pants.”

  She glanced over his shoulder, searching for Tristan. He had moved to the foot of the bed, clearly seeking to see them better.

  He had something in his hands, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Until he crossed to the opposite side of the bed.

  Tristan had found one of her scarves somewhere. She opened her mouth to question him about it until James, who’d been moving his fingers inside her frustratingly slow, decided to curl them, his fingertips finding her G-spot.

  “Ancora una volta!” Again. She wanted more.

  She was trembling, so very close to coming when Tristan grasped her arms, tugging them above her head. He looped her scarf around her wrists, tying them securely together before slipping the end around a slat in her headboard. There was some slack in the bondage so she could bend her arms slightly, though not much.

  “Tristan,” she whispered.

  “Ours,” he said, his voice deep and sure.

  James withdrew his fingers, drawing even more Italian curses from her. Though neither man was fluent in the language, they were adept at reading her tone, inferring the meaning behind her words simply by the way she said them.

  “Take off your pants, James,” Tristan said, his gaze sliding over James’s bare chest. Sophia recognized the appreciation she saw there because she felt the same.

  James stripped off his pants, boxers, and shoes, then stood next to the bed, facing Tristan. If Sophia weren’t on the verge of exploding into a million pieces, she’d probably find the interplay between her lovers interesting. Both had dominant tendencies, yet James seemed content to let Tristan call the shots tonight. She wondered if he’d always be so willing to do so or if he would take control of the reins the next time.

  Sophia twisted, trying to free herself from the bindings.

  “Sophia,” Tristan warned.


  She shook her head like a recalcitrant child. “Touch me or let me do it myself. This is agony.”

  James lay down next to her and ran his hand along her chest, his fingers stroking through the valley of her breasts. The bra still there, in the way. At least, it was.

  James reached into the cups and pulled her breasts out, over the demi-cups, then bent his head to suck one of her nipples into his mouth.

  While she enjoyed the sensation, they’d pushed her too close to the brink. She needed one of them inside her. Now.

  Tristan chuckled, and she realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

  “You need to learn patience, Princess.”

  She narrowed her eyes at her sexy knight and opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his advice.

  However, James—ever the peacemaker—kissed her deeply, thoroughly. He managed to distract her enough that she hadn’t noticed Tristan climbing onto the bed. That fact changed when he parted her legs and gave her a much more intimate kiss than the one she’d just engaged in with James.

  He drove his tongue inside her as he played with her clit with his thumbs. James continued to kiss her, his hands cupping her breasts, pinching the nipples.

  It was overwhelming and perfect.

  Sophia splintered, shattered, screamed, but neither man ceased. They kept up their delicious torment until she came again.

  “Troppo.” It was too much, yet still not enough.

  Tristan rose as her second climax started to fade.

  “Come inside me,” she whispered.

  Tristan glanced at James, who lifted his head from her breasts and smiled.

  “Do you want us to take turns?” James asked. “Or take you together?”

  Sophia’s breathing was still labored and she felt lightheaded, dizzy. His question didn’t help either situation.

  Both men were well-endowed, large. The idea of being so completely taken was heady, exciting.

  “Together,” she whispered. “Sempre.” Always.

  She gestured with her head to the nightstand since her hands were still bound. “There.”