SWNOVELS Lords of Mercy: Chapter 27
“Do you want to stop for something to eat?” Marcus asks, driving away from campus. Cars are pulling in, cars are pulling out. The sidewalks are full of co-eds and administration, going for drinks, going for dinner, going home. The sun is slumbering its way toward the horizon, painting the sky with warm, amber hues.
So strange that the world keeps on turning, even when it’s been knocked off its axis.
“No, I’m fine,” I answer, watching life happen as we pass by. “I’m ready to get home. It’s been a long day.”
What it’s been is a long week. I’ve known dead people before, but yesterday was my first funeral. It took Killian and my mother—separately; myself acting as an in-between—two days to plan it. I’d like to say it was sparsely attended and exceedingly dull; the exact kind of sending off Daniel deserved. In reality, it was a tense, crowded affair, full of important people and too many accolades. My stomach is still sour at the memory of all those people—business leaders, politicians, anyone who’s anyone—speaking of Daniel as if he were god’s gift to humanity.
Through it all, I sat between Killian and my mother, both my hands wound with theirs, trying to be their strength despite all my weaknesses. My mom’s tiny, agonizingly controlled sobs still ring in my ear, but the sound that burrowed its way inside my chest was Killian’s pointed silence. He stared directly ahead the whole time, still as stone, even as people bent to give him condolences. There was a moment I almost considered telling him to try to act sad, but in the end, I didn’t.
Let people see Daniel’s real legacy: A son so apathetic about his death that he seemed more annoyed at the obligation than anything.
Sometimes, people would give our linked hands a lingering glance, and I’d occupy myself by putting them into categories. The old society ladies would smile sadly at the sight, because they saw a brother and a sister, unified in their grief. Other people’s eyebrows would twitch, because they saw us for what we were.
If Killian noticed or cared, he didn’t show it. At one point even resting his arm against the pew behind my shoulders. Seeing as how he spent the rest of the day with the lawyers and the estate people, it was the last stretch of time I got to really exist beside him.
In other words, I’m anxious to get home. Ready for a touch that isn’t full of unnecessary pity. Ready to climb into someone’s lap and feel their arms around me, anchoring me down to this new reality. Ready to feel life instead of death.
If only Marcus, my escort to and from campus, would stop dawdling.
From the driver’s seat, he gives me a couple of quick glances. “Pizza? Sushi? Oh, how about that new salad place? You like salads, don’t you?”
My nose wrinkles, but I don’t tell him the truth, which is that the reason he sees me eating so many salads is owed to Tristian; a man handsome enough that Marcus himself would probably understand. “I’m alright.”
“Hm.” His fingers tap on the steering wheel as he turns right, toward the strip of eateries north of campus. This path will tack another five minutes on our drive. Marcus acts as though he doesn’t see my glare. “What about coffee, then? Coffee and pastries?”
I side-eye him, wondering if there’s a specific reason he doesn’t want to take me straight back to the house. The look he gives me in return is suspiciously innocent. “Seriously. I’m good. Someone ordered pizza at the study session. I had a piece.” Flippantly, I add, “Don’t tell Tristian.”
He holds up his fingers. “Scout’s honor, Lady.”
I can’t imagine the scouts approve of the Lords and their activities, but it’s hard to be annoyed with Marcus. “You were told to keep me away from the house,” I guess, knowing from the flash of alarm in his eyes that I’ve hit the nail on the head. He’s a good guy, and I know he’s just following orders. Unfortunately for him, I’m not great at following them. “Take me home, Marcus. I’ll deal with the fallout.”
For a moment, he seems to weigh who’s the bigger threat, me or the guys, but he ultimately sighs and mutters a string of curses under his breath. Ten minutes later, he pulls right up to the front door of the brownstone, and then cuts the engine. He starts for his seatbelt, but I stop him, holding up my hand. “I can walk the twenty feet to the house by myself.”
He looks at the front door, and then at me. “I don’t know, Story. If the guys find out I didn’t take you all the way home, there will be hell to pay.”
“No, there won’t,” I say, opening the door. “Because I will kick every single one of their asses if they do.” I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for driving me home and being such a good bodyguard.”
“No problem, Lady,” he smiles, blushing a little. “Wave to me when you get inside.”
I promise him that I will and hitch my backpack over my shoulder on the way up the front steps. I’d had a study session after class, but the guys had some kind of important meeting they couldn’t miss. Hence, the bodyguard. In a way, I’m grateful for the time away. We’ve spent so long shut up in this house that the walls felt closer and closer by the day. Despite that, I enter the house with a sigh of relief.
This is home.
“Guys?” I call, dropping my bag in the foyer. “I’m home.”
I strain my ears, listening for footsteps, but all I hear is the distant hum of muffled voices, floating down the hall toward the parlor. I toe off my shoes before following the sounds, approaching the end of the main hallway.
When I hear Killian’s voice, something inside of me unwinds. “And signing these papers? That makes it official?”
Peering inside, the first person I see is Martin, standing quietly by the edge of the desk. He’s not the one who responds.
“Signing those papers transfers your father’s estate to you. It has nothing to do with you becoming a King. That contract is signed in blood—which has already been spilled. You’re his blood, Killian. You know how this works. That passes his kingdom down to you.”
That voice is familiar, but unexpected. I sneak closer, angling myself for a more expansive view of the room. Killian is standing behind the desk, and Mr. Mercer—Tristian’s dad—is sitting across from him. But it’s not just him. There are four other men, along with Dimitri and Tristian. There’s a crackle of tension in the air that immediately sets my teeth on edge, and it takes me a second to understand why. None of these strange men are standing stiffly. There’s not a hostile expression among them. Hell, three of them are nursing glasses of whiskey, looking as comfortable in this room as they might in their own home.
That’s what it is.
They’re too comfortable.
“Someone must fill the role of running South Side, Mr. Payne,” one of the men says. “You’ve positioned yourself to take over by becoming a Lord. Is that not what you want?”
Martin clears his throat and says, “What the Mayor is trying to say—’
“I know what the fuck he’s saying,” Killian growls, resting his weight against the fists he has pressed into the desk. “I just don’t like you all coming in here and telling me what my role is. I don’t need your approval. I’ve earned this title, and if my father hadn’t been tragically murdered, then I would have taken it from him directly.” My stepbrother speaks in even, clear tones. “Everything in South Side belongs to me. The properties, the Hideaway, the police, the hard-working, the junkies and whores. What I do with those things is up to me.”
“There’s the minor matter of Mrs. Payne,” Martin says, mouth pinching tightly. “She was his wife, which means—”
“Nothing,” another man says. I don’t recognize him, but he has a strong, distinctive face. I’ve only heard one word come out of his mouth, but I already hate him. He flicks his hand dismissively. “Widows gunk up the works, son. Shove some pills down her throat, make it look nice and clean, and rid yourself of the headache.” To the mayor and Mr. Mercer, he says, “It’s not like she mothered his children. Wasn’t she Avenue trash?” The man lets out a scoffing laugh. “If you think widows gunk up the works, then let me tell you about whores.”
My jaw drops in outrage, but a swift, cutting reply makes me freeze.
“If you want to leave this house with a beating heart,” Dimitri’s sprawled in a chair, looking for all the world like he has a million bigger cares than this particular discussion, “you’ll watch how you talk about whores under our roof.” His dark eyes rise from the knife he’s cleaning his nail beds with, leveling the man with a long, deadly look.
Even experiencing it secondhand, I shiver.
Beside him, Tristian shifts forward menacingly. “That whore is our Lady’s mother, Lionel. She’s under our protection from this day forward. You can go ahead and spread the word on that.” Leaning back in his seat, he casually adds, “And she’s quite nice, actually.”
Dimitri lowers his eyes again, muttering, “To you.”
“Posey will get half of his liquid estate, and more, if she needs it.” Killian looks at Lionel, voice dropping to a low, cold tone. “And just so we’re clear, Lucia. That’s the last time you call me ‘son’. I’m fully aware of how you treat your spawn. Can’t say I care for it.”
My backpack slides off my shoulder, thumping softly against the wall. I jump back out of sight, holding my breath, but the silence in the room is a clear enough signal that they’ve noticed me. A moment later, Dimitri appears in the doorway, eyes darting down the hall.
They land on me and immediately soften. “Baby,” he says, looking cagily over his shoulder, into the room. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”
I jab my thumb in the foyer’s direction. “My study group let out early, so I strong-armed Marcus into bringing me home.”
Dimitri snorts. “Fucking pushover.”
“Rath…” A shadow moves behind him, and Killian fills the doorway, nudging him aside. “I’ve got this.”
Dimitri gives him a nod and slinks back through the door, pushing it partially closed behind him
“Sorry,” I tell Killian, mouth twisting as he reaches out to touch my hip. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Killian gives me an odd look, ushering me a few feet down the hall. “This is your home. You don’t need to be sorry.” Even though the words sound genuine enough, I see a certain strain in his eyes when he glances back toward the parlor. “I didn’t want to do this here, but since Daniel’s office is nothing more than a charred ember and we had to meet on my territory, this was all I had.”
I tug at the hem of his shirt, searching his eyes. “Is there a reason you didn’t invite me? I thought we made an agreement to—”
Killian cuts me off. “That was before Daniel died. Before…”
Comprehension washes over me. “Before you became a King.”
He nods, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Things are different now. How I operate and present myself…it’s important. Those pricks in there are nothing but posturing and ego. It’s a part of the game I have to play.”
It’s a part of the game I told him he was born to play. Regardless, an insecurity scrapes its way through my chest. “You don’t want your fucktoy around.”
His reaction is so fast that I feel his hands before I see them, framing my face in a hard grip. “Never think that.” There’s an angry furl to his brow that I know isn’t meant for me, but still makes my stomach clench nervously. “Everything I do is to protect what’s mine—foremost, you.”
There’s a ferocity to his words. An unmistakable intent. This isn’t about keeping me out of things. It’s about keeping me safe.
“This is new,” he continues, eyes pinging back forth between mine, “and I need to get a feel of things before I make my moves.” He tips forward to press our foreheads together, all that hardness draining from his eyes. “But one thing is for certain, you are part of this. Part of me. Part of us. Just give me time to find my footing here. Give me time to make sure I can protect you.”
I let out an airy laugh, hooking my hands over his powerful forearms. “Patience isn’t my virtue.”
“We’re LDZ royalty, little sister.” His mouth tilts up into a smirk. “We can’t afford virtue. I’ll settle for some trust.”
Well, geez.
When he says it like that…
“Okay,” I sigh, fingertips dragging against his arm as my grip falls away. “Go back to your meeting. You can tell me about it later, can’t you?”
“Of course,” is his answer, followed by the brush of his thumb against my bottom lip. He stares at it there for a long moment, but doesn’t dip down for the kiss I’m waiting for with bated breath. It might have something to do with the question forming in his eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you still love me?” The rest of the question is unspoken, but I hear it anyway. Like this. As a man that deals with these people. As a King.
I push to the tip of my toes, erasing the distance between us. “Yes.”
The kiss is short, but it takes my breath away. In all this time, I never would have thought I’d get Killian like this. Tender and slow and so sweet that it lingers into an ache.
Satisfied, he slips back into the room, leaving me in the hallway. I feel lost for a moment, all of my men inside while I stand out here, waiting to be invited. I want to think that I’m necessary—part of what’s happening behind that door—but the hard truth is that I’m not. The Lords have been setting up these chess pieces long before I even thought to see the checkerboard beneath my feet.
I hear something behind me and realize Ms. Crane is in the kitchen. Because apparently I’m a glutton for punishment and insist on doing all the wrong things today, I enter the kitchen.
When she turns, making eye contact, she asks, “They kick you out of their little circle jerk?”
“No.” I say, a little too defensively. “Things are complicated.”
“You got that right,” she mutters, walking over and opening the cabinet over the stove. She pushes up on her toes and grabs an ornate bottle of something I suspect is alcoholic. “Shit’s gonna get worse before it gets better. That’s always the way, little fucktoy.”
“Do you know who those men are?” I ask, looking over my shoulder. “I don’t recognize all of them.”
“You see one asshole, you’ve seen them all,” she answers, casting a glare toward the hall. “You can tell by their shoes. You know the difference between good and evil, don’t you?” She gives me a meaningful look. “Fashion sense.”
Snorting, I suppose, “Tristian is a snappy dresser.”
She raises the bottle in a salute. “Exactly.”
Perching on a stool at the island, my shoulders slump. “Why is he in there talking to those monsters, anyway? He doesn’t need their approval.”
“He’s not looking for approval. He’s just lookin’.” She snags two glasses out of a different cabinet and sets them on the island in front of me. “All of this is theatrics. No King can rule without allies, can he?” She tips the bottle, filling the two glasses. The writing on the label is Japanese, but one word stands out in English: Sake. “I’m cultured,” she says, seeing my expression. “You should see me fuck in a kimono.”
I take the glass, giving it a dubious sniff. “Thanks for that nightmare.”
“You’re welcome.”
Together, we toss the shots back; me shuddering delicately at the potency, while Ms. Crane swallows unflinchingly.
“I guess this is what the King’s fucktoy does.” The thought comes to me abruptly as I’m inspecting the bottom of my empty shot glass. “I guess it’s what my mom did.”
Ms. Crane barks a harsh, raspy laugh. “Don’t let that thundercunt fool you. She had her hands in more stews than you realize.”
Nodding, I note, “The Velvet Hideaway,” and rest my temple on my fist, spinning the glass. “But that was before, and this is…now. What’s a queen without her King?”
Ms. Crane pours us another shot. “A lot more powerful, historically speaking.” She taps her glass against mine and throws it back.
“Do you miss it?” I wonder, not missing the sneer on her mouth when she speaks of my mother. “Your girls, the business?”
“My girls,” she answers, sliding onto the stool beside me. There’s an uncharacteristic, soft sentimentality in her eyes, and it startles me to see it. It’s gone before I have a chance to dig into it. “But the business is business. Dicks come in hard and go out soft. Nothing there to miss.” She fills my shot glass and nudges it toward my hand. “Do you miss it?”
I give her a puzzled look. “Miss what?”
She nods towards the hallway. “Not being shackled to three insufferable jackasses.”
I pick up the glass, testing the weight in my hand. “I can’t remember a time I wasn’t shackled to one insufferable jackass or another,” I confess, thinking of being a child. Probably even then, some asshole had sway over my mother and quality of life. “But these three…they’re different.”
“I know they are.” She nods, eyes fixed to the far wall, as if lost in a memory. “My husband ran girls for Daniel sometimes, but he never did like him much. Used to tell me Daniel Payne would take his slice of South Side’s pie over his dead body.” She raises her glass in a casual toast. “But he’d come in a lot, you know. Daniel. It wasn’t always for business.” Her eyes slide to mine, brow arching. “A lot of men prefer ‘em young and dumb, but he always liked the most desperate girls best. The ones who’d do anything for a bag of dope. The girls with three kids and no boundaries. Then one day, he dumped this little shithead in my office. Asked me to look after him for a spell. Angry…” Her face contorts, head shaking. “Such an angry little shit, that Killian. I didn’t think someone so young could be so pissed off at the world. But there he was, barely eight years old, trying to punch a hole in my wall because his daddy was off nailing some dope-sick, lost cause.” There’s a tiredness in her eyes that’s probably older than I am. “I thought to myself, ‘well, here’s one more’. One more boy who’s going to grow up and throw his hurt around, because no one ever taught him otherwise.” She meets my gaze, dipping her chin. “So I taught him otherwise.”
I wince, just imagining Killian as a tiny ball of fury. “What did you do?”
She shrugs. “Well, first, I slapped the absolute piss out of him.”
My jaw drops. “Ms. Crane!”
She flaps a hand dismissively. “Eh, you would have slapped him, too. Should have seen the look on his face when I did it. He was stunned stupid.” She lets out a little snicker, looking way too pleased at the memory. “But then I sat his spoiled ass down and asked him what the fuss was all about. And you know what he did?”
Wryly, I guess, “Talked back like a little jerk?”
But Ms. Crane shakes her head, frowning into her empty glass. “He cried.” My chest clenches at the words, but just as much as the way they’re spoken—gentle and hushed, as if it’s not something she ever wants to ridicule him for. “Oh, he tried really hard to be a man about it. His little lip was quivering. He tried so hard to hold it in. I put my arms around him and he couldn’t hold on to it anymore. I don’t think he’d been hugged in a long time.” She pours us each another shot, ignoring the shine of wetness in my eyes. “After that, he came every few days. He’d sit in my office and do his homework. He never was much of a talker, but he’d listen to me blather on about this and that. If he wasn’t being such a little fuckhead, I’d bring him cookies and milk.” She lets out a raspy laugh. “A few years later, he started bringing this other little shithead with him. Skin and bones, that one. He was angry, too, but it was a different kind of angry. Real quiet. The kind that makes you wonder if maybe he’s not quite right.”
“Dimitri,” I realize, imagining what they were like as boys.
Ms. Crane tells me, “Mean little fucker. Almost told Killian not to bring him around anymore. But then they came one day, and the night before, my old man had gone on a tear. Left me black and blue something awful. Wasn’t anything new to me, but Rath—Dimitri—took one look at me, got real quiet in that way he does, and you know what he said?” She laughs at the memory, downing her shot. “He offered to shoot him.” Her fingers come together in a sharp snap. “Just like that, real adult-like.”
I smile, thinking of a little Dimitri offering to murder someone. “When did you meet Tristian?”
“Oh, I met that shit-for-brains later on down the line, right after I shanked my old man.” She flashes me a dark smirk, winking. “Still working on breaking that one.”
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “That’s why you’re so hard on him?”
She scoffs. “I’m hard on him because he deserves it. When the day comes he doesn’t, I won’t be.”
“He’s right,” I say, head shaking. “You really are diabolical.”
The wicked delight drains from her smile, flattening her smile into a hard line. “It’s hard to make a mark on this world—you know that as well as I do. But those little shits were the hill I planned to die on. I swore to myself twelve years ago, crouched down on that grimy motel carpet, that I wouldn’t let him become another monster.” She jabs the tip of her forefinger into the counter. “Not this one. Not this boy. Not if I could help it.”
I cover her hand with mine, feeling the rough, papery texture of her skin. “You’re a good woman, Ms. Crane.”
She shifts uncomfortably, eyes sliding away. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it get around. I’ll deny it.” She waits until my hand falls away to go on. “Anyway, that’s your job now. I’ve done what I can do. To save him.” She levels me with a long, significant look. “To save the girl he ends up falling for.”
I put all this together, and the big picture is a rich tapestry bearing more than an obligation. “You love him,” I realize, keeping my voice low.
“If you want the truth?” She tips her head close, eyes glassy with the liquor, and quietly confesses, “I love them all. Even that steaming tower of blond excrement.”
I give her a sad, understanding smile. “So do I.”
“Good.” She straightens, capping the bottle of sake. “That’s what it’ll take.”
I’m in Killian’s room when the men leave, watching their departure from the window. They file down the front steps in their dark suits and expensive haircuts. Killian’s among them, shaking their hands as they descend the steps. These are the men behind the machinations steering Forsyth, and now Killian is a part of their circle of thorns. Ms. Crane is right. He’s going to need someone who loves him just as much as they’ve once hated him. He’s going to need someone that strong. Someone who doesn’t flinch away from the hard reality of what he is. Someone who, even if he’s down, can rise up and carry on.
“It’s weird for us, too.” I turn and see Tristian leaning against the doorjamb, his blond hair glinting in the light of the lamp.
I smile feebly. “You also get kicked out?”
He shrugs, looking around the tidy space. “They were learning the secret handshake and fitting ring sizes.” It’s a joke, but there’s a truth hidden in the lackadaisical tone that he’s missed the mark at hiding. There’s a reason Killian and Daniel were the only ones with the LDZ skull rings.
Kingdoms are passed through blood.
He gives me a dry, weary grin. “We’ve always been equals. I mean, we always fought to best one another, but it’s always been evenly matched.”
“And now he’s the King.”
“That, he is.” He pushes off and approaches me, plucking the drawstring from my hoodie off my chest. “Are you mad he didn’t let you in the meeting?”
“Not mad,” I insist, watching him wind the string around his forefinger. “More like…hurt. Excluded.”
He kisses the tip of my nose, and then my cheeks, working his lips to my mouth. “He’s worried about you. We all are. If anything happened to you—”
“Nothing is going to happen,” I say, trying not to melt under his touch. “I appreciate the concern, but Daniel is gone. Ted is through. Killian has a top position.”
“A top position,” Tristan agrees, taking my bottom lip between his own. “A position that other people are going to want, and a Lady he’d kill for. That makes you a target.”
“Sounds like a Tuesday,” I sigh, running my fingers through his soft hair. “I don’t want to worry right now, Tristian. I’m so goddamn tired of worrying. Can’t I just enjoy this for once?”
“Enjoy what?” Dimitri asks, stopping at the door. He pauses to take us in, eyebrow rising as Tristian’s kisses trail down my jaw. “Oh, we’re enjoying that.” He leans back, checking the hall before entering, but Tristian spins us so I can’t see Dimitri’s approach.
I can feel it, though, hard and eager against my backside as Dimitri’s mouth finds my shoulder. “You want something, baby?” The words are quiet and enticing, but beneath them, I can still find that ring of threat I’d heard in the parlor before. This one isn’t malicious—he’s just drawing me out, making me ask for it. But the memory of his coolly violent promise still rattles against my spine like lava. The hands that are tucking themselves beneath my shirt, sweeping up my ribs…
These are hands that could kill people.
Maybe they’re hands that have already killed people.
I’ve never asked.
And it wouldn’t change a fucking thing if I had.
“I want you.” My response is very clear, even though it’s spoken through a ragged sigh. “Both of you. All of you.”
Tristian rumbles, wedging his hands between me and Dimitri to take two big handfuls of my ass. “You want us inside you, sweetheart? Like last time?”
I barely complete a nod before he’s spinning me around. Dimitri catches me against his chest, hands grabbing my jaw to take my mouth in a searing kiss. His fingers move to unzip the hoodie and I feel Tristian push it off my shoulders in an impressively coordinated series of movements. He lifts my hair off my neck next, kissing the warm skin back there.
Shoving my fingers up Dimitri’s shirt, I push it over his head to reveal his lean, cut torso. I love the sharpness of his muscles. The efficient wiriness of him. There’s strength here, my palms descending to his hard abs, but it’s tightly contained. I can’t help but duck down, pressing a kiss to my mark on this chest. When I slide back up, Tristian’s fingers replace my mouth, tracing the ‘S’ in Dimitri’s chest.
“Couldn’t help but notice Killer has one of these now, too.” Tristian speaks into my cheek, curled around me as he inspects Dimitri’s scar. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I detect a hint of jealousy in his voice. The dark and possessive flicker in Dimitri’s eyes makes it clear he hears it, too.
“Your body is your temple,” I tell him, turning to kiss the curve of his jaw. “I wouldn’t expect you to deface it.”
“Hm.” His eyes tighten, but just as quickly as the topic was raised, it’s forgotten by the warmth of his palms sliding up my ribs, catching my shirt as it ascends. Dimitri makes a hungry sound when the hem clears my breasts, tipping down to mouth at my nipple. Into my ear, Tristian says, “I can’t wait to bury my dick into you.”
Tossing my shirt aside, his hand dips down the back of my leggings and yanks at my thong. I feel the sharp sting against my ass. I know what he wants and how he wants it. I also know what it feels like to give it to them, to feel two of my Lords inside me at the same time, and I’m ready to feel it again.
So damn ready.
The clink of Dimitri’s belt buckle draws my attention back to him, but I’m already pushing him back into the bed, soaking in the surprised flash in his eyes when he lands on the mattress, hard and off-kilter. “Oh, really?” he says, smirking, but then I’m grabbing his jeans and yanking them down his thighs.
I grin. “Really.” My mouth waters as I take in the curve of his cock. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to taste him, to suck him until he’s gasping and begging for release. I push my ass against Tristian’s crotch, feeling the hardness in his pants, and he pulls me against him, flattening his hand across my belly.
“Look how hard he gets for you,” Tristian says, breath hot in my ear as Dimitri strokes his cock. “I bet he misses jacking off into all your pretty little panties since you asked us to save it for you.”
Dimitri looks up at me through thick, dark lashes, fingers fanning up my ribs, below my breasts. “Nah. The real thing is better.” His thumbs roll over my nipples, rising them to peaks, then licks and sucks them until I’m curled over his head, panting.
“Jesus, your ass,” Tristian says, pushing down my leggings. His fingers are cool against my overheated skin, squeezing my cheeks and then spreading them. “I’m still pissed Rath got to you first.”
Dimitri smirks around my nipple. “Sorry, brother. Fair is fair.”
“But that just means he loosened you up for me.” I hear his zipper lower as I kick my clothes away, but he doesn’t come closer. “I won’t have to fuss around so much to get you warmed up.”
Tristian, god help me, knows exactly what he’s doing. All this talk, the jokes, the teasing, the mind games. He’s just trying to rile me up, and I’m irritated that it’s working. My pussy is drenched and aching.
“You know what’s not fair?” I say, snapping upright. “You two being pussy-teases all the time. It’s been a really stressful week and sometimes a girl just wants to get her brains fucked out by two of the men she loves.”
“Uh.” Tristian goes still behind me, trying to process what I just said.
I don’t wait for him to figure it out, climbing right into Dimitri’s lap. He startles, eyes glued to the tits in his face. “Should we wait for Killer?”
“No,” I answer, reaching between us to guide his cock where I want it. “He can find me after both of you have fucked me into unconsciousness.” Without waiting for a response, I sink down.
“Shit,” Dimitri spits, hands clasping my hips. “Goddamn, girl. Give a guy some warning.” The words may chastise, but they’re spoken in a low, reverent tone as he pushes me down, impaling me on his cock.
“God, that feels so good.” I gulp in a few overwhelmed breaths before forcing his chin up, making him look at me. “You feel so good.”
Dimitri has this way of looking at me that makes it feel as though the whole world is falling away, darkening at the corners until my awareness is teetering on the point of his pupils. If I had the privilege of whimsy, I might call his stare enchanting, even though it wouldn’t fit. It’s too demanding and wicked, a chasm I’d fear falling into if I hadn’t already surveyed the depths and made a home of them. It’s why I can’t hold it against Auggy, the fact that she wants him. I remember the bitterness in her voice that night Dimitri had come for me in the pit, and she was right to feel it, because being under the heavy weight of that dark stare is even better than she could imagine.
As if hearing my thoughts, he takes my hand, pressing it to the scar on his chest. “Remember?” he asks, pressing his palm against the scars on mine. Nodding, I rock against him, hearing what’s left unsaid.
But these are the days of Kings and corpses.
We can’t afford to leave things unsaid.
“I love you.” I speak the words against his lips, barely touching, and watch as his eyes slide closed.
“I love you, too.” It’s a tickle against my mouth, metal against skin, breath colliding with breath, and when I wind my fingers into his hair, I have this notion that I’m lucky to have him inside me. In more ways than one.
I could be luckier, though.
I glance back at Tristian, who’s just standing there with his dick in his hand. Literally. “You going to put that in me sometime this year?”
“Just enjoying the show.” A slow, crooked grin spreads across his face. “But if you insist…”
Dimitri grabs my hips and rocks me against him, falling back onto the bed as I seat myself, preparing. I feel the soft touch of Tristian’s hands as they run down my back, pushing me down onto Dimitri’s chest, and then his fingertips dragging down my ass, spreading my cheeks. The shock of his mouth thrusts me forward and Dimitri grunts in response. For all his talk about not warming me up, he does it anyway, getting me good and slippery with his tongue. Dimitri teases me through it, tongue tracing the seam of my mouth, teeth nipping at my jaw, hands palming my breasts.
I get so lost in it—so impatient to feel Dimitri moving inside of me—that I almost miss the sudden absence of Tristian’s mouth, the head of his cock brushing against me. I look back over my shoulder just in time to see a glob of spit fall from his lips to the head of his rigid cock, jutting against my backside. It must make its mark, because he instantly presses it into me, eyes meeting mine as he forces it inside.
My body seizes up, still not used to the strange invasion, but Dimitri forces his fingers into the fist I’m making in the covers, threading our fingers together. “Relax, baby. Let him in.” I suck in a breath, watching as Tristian’s fingertips dig divots into my hips. His eyelids flutter as he sinks another thick inch into my ass. “You see that?” Dimitri asks, breath hot in my ear. “He’s thinking about how tight you are. I bet he’s thinking that he’s not gonna last. That’s how I felt. I felt like you were going to take it all out of me.”
When I’m panting, bucking forward on Dimitri, I feel that pressure, the good kind that stretches and pulls and fills me up inside, and I take it because I already know I can. I gasp into Dimitri’s neck and let him whisper dirty things into my ear as Tristian painstakingly fills me, bottoming out with a tight, strangled noise.
“That’s our girl,” Tristian says, rubbing soothing circles into my lower back with his thumbs. “Is that good?” He reaches around me and grabs my breast, lifting it toward Dimitri’s mouth. Dimitri complies, enveloping me with his tongue, and I rock against him, pulling Tristian forward with me. It draws him deeper and I cry out at the intensity. “That’s right, sweetheart, you set the pace.”
I wasn’t lying before about needing it hard, frenetic. For days, I’ve felt like a livewire, all this energy and emotion thrashing around inside my chest, begging to be expended. It’s just like Dimitri said before. I want to feel them take it all out of me. I want to feel them stretch me, fill me, pound away with their lithe, strong bodies. I fall on top of Dimitri and he grabs my hips, fingers interlacing with Trisitan’s. I buck and bounce, telling them how I need it.
They don’t make me wait.
The two of them take control swiftly, hips surging, slamming into me. With every pound of Tristian’s cock into my body, Dimitri thrusts in tandem, swallowing my cries with his serpentine tongue and wicked eyes. I feel them everywhere, underneath, above, inside. There’s no place where they begin and I end. It’s just one mass of sweaty, hungry lovemaking, and I don’t want it to end.
But while Dimitri sets the fuse with every punch of his hips, Tristian is igniting it with the deep drag of his cock.
The live wire in my chest erupts.
The shockwaves of the orgasm ripple through me, taking me to that transcendent place where it’s so intense, there’s nothing I can do but ride it out and let it carry me away. Possessed. It’s like being possessed, taken out of my own body to make room for what they’re doing to me.
“That’s it.” Dimitri’s voice is tight with strain as he coaxes me through the whine that tears from my throat. “Jesus, I can feel you, baby. I can feel you coming around us.” He puts his lips to mine, breathless words colliding with my cries. “You’re so fucking beautiful…”
I’m held up by the two of them, hands on my hips, cocks thrusting into me, even when I collapse. They work in tandem and I close my eyes, just listening, feeling. Tristian whispers my name, attaching it to every punch, until he comes with a strangled grunt, heaving into me, spilling thick and hot in my ass. I can feel every pulse, slick and so deep, and I imagine myself—the soft, inside parts—clutching it greedily, calling it my own.
“Goddamn, baby,” Dimitri says, voice deep and guttural. “Goddamn, goddamn.” He seizes beneath me with a hard thrust, crushing our hips together painfully. His head lifts off the bed, neck straining as his cock jerks, pumping me so full of him that I swear I can taste it on the back of my tongue. “God-fucking-damn.” He crumples onto the bed, chest heaving, and for a long moment, the three of us are made human again. Tristian curled over my back, panting into the space between my shoulder blades.
“He needs us,” I tell them later, after we’ve cleaned ourselves up, lazy and uncoordinated, attracted like magnets into the center of Killian’s ridiculously large bed.
Dimitri’s on his side, running his fingertips across my lower belly. “Every King needs his court,” he agrees, watching my stomach twitch at the tickle of his touch.
“And a Queen,” Tristian says, taking my hand and brushing his lips over my knuckles.
I spread my thighs, making room for the fingers Dimitri uses to push his cum back inside me. “Get some sleep, baby,” he tells me, those black eyes finding mine. “We’ll make sure he finds you.”
I lie between them, basking in the sensation of being thoroughly fucked and safe in our King’s bed, waiting for him to return and make us complete.