Chapter 19
19
Wicker
Her fingers latch on to the first thing they find, one hand fisted in my hair while the other is digging desperate divots into Lex’s neck. “Oh god,” she’s crying, rocking back into Pace. “Fuck me, fuck me—Wick, please.”
I don’t know who triggered the orgasm, but I felt it building on my tongue and tasted it in the rush of her sweet slickness.
Pace can go forever. That’s what years of edging will do for you. But withholding pleasure isn’t my style. I want to fuck, I want it now, and I’m for goddamn sure not going to wait for my brother to finish.
When Verity slumps forward, body still wracking with release, I look up at Lex. “A little help?”
He moves next to me on the bench, using his upper body to hold her against Pace’s deep, punching thrusts. Her expression is the picture of a woman straining toward ecstasy, jaw dropped on these sharp, little cries.
“Just a little longer,” I tell her, reaching under her belly to find her pussy. “You can do that?”
“Keep going,” she says, teeth bearing down on her bottom lip. She’s sloppy wet, and I’m one second from a stroke if I don’t get inside of her.
Luckily, Lex is on the case.
Reaching down, he grabs the base of my cock and casually guides it to her warm entrance. “Just be careful,” he mutters, assessing the three of us with sharp eyes.
Once the tip is firmly in place, I drag her down, sheathing myself in her tight heat.
Jesus Christ.
She’s slick from my mouth and the juices from her orgasm, but the tight feel of Pace’s cock buried in her ass is something else.
Awed, I ask him, “You feel that?” We’ve never been inside the same chick before—certainly not one we call our own—and it’s fucking intense, the pressure and heat all- encompassing.
“I feel it,” he grunts, thrusting in at the same time I do. “I feel your cock. Fuck, Wick.”
I almost bust my nut right there. “You hear that?” I ask, cupping her warm cheeks in my hands. “It’s like we’re fucking inside of you.” The sentence is completely, laughably nonsensical, but Red gets it. Her breath hitches and she does this little… wriggle… making me slam my hands down on her thighs. “Easy, Red, easy.”
“It’s so much,” she breathes, pulling in this big gulp of air. Her hand curls around my neck, thumb pushing into my pulse point. “I can’t believe you’re both inside me…”
Reveling in how overcome she looks from it all, I guide her upward, directing her to fall. I can feel just how deep or shallow Pace and I can go, and it doesn’t matter that it’s too close, not enough drag of resistance to really feel it along my whole shaft. Watching her full tits sway as Verity rides the both of us is easily the most mind-blowing fucking thing that’s probably ever happened to me.
On one of these restrained little bucks, she groans at the bounce of her tits, moving to cup them with her hands. Lex gets there first though, his big hands supporting their weight.
“Pace was right before,” Lex whispers, leaning in just above my head to push a slow, wet kiss to her swollen lips. “You look like a fucking goddess, taking them both. I bet you feel so crowded, don’t you? Do you want it harder, baby?”
Frantically, she nods. “Can… can I?—”
Lex reaches out to brush a damp lock of hair from her cheek. “Take what you need.”
Which is real sweet and special and whatever-the-fuck, but he’s holding her fat titty right in front of my face, and my whole world becomes narrowed down to the droplet of milk beading at the tip of her nipple. I lick my lips. This strange, almost primal urge to consume—to preserve—is a new bit of mindfuckery that I lean all the way into.
But Lex, somehow sensing this, is the one to guide it to my mouth. “You too, little brother. Take what you need.”
Not needing to be told twice, I flick out my tongue and taste it, groaning at the flavor. The sweetness is less muted than last time, and I latch on to suckle it, drawing it out with my lips. Sucking her tits like this… it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, a rush of warmth and comfort mingled with white-hot lust. It makes me drive my hips up into hers just as I take another greedy pull of her milk.
“God, Wick,” she whines, threading her fingers into my hair. “What are you three doing to me?” The question is delivered on the cusp of a breathless chuckle, and it’s Pace who answers.
“Worshiping you.” I feel his hand sliding over her ribs, searching until his fingers find the seal of my lips. “Although Wick’s always had a bit of an oral fixation. Isn’t that right?” Not missing a beat, I take his finger into my mouth, giving it a long suck, and he spits a sharp curse.
Glancing up, I smirk around his digit.
How’s that for skillmanship, fucker?
I don’t leave her tit to cool, latching on for another hard suck that makes her thighs quake. Pace wraps his hand around the column of her throat, guiding her into his chest. I know from the hard set of his jaw that he’s close, and when he says, “Come here,” I sense what he wants.
Pulling off her tit, I hold the milk in my mouth as I strain over the distance, unsurprised when he reaches for me, hauling me into a hard, desperate kiss, right next to her red cheek.
Pace sucks her milk from my tongue, and I don’t need to feel the way his fingers clench around my neck to know he’s coming.
I feel it against my cock. “Holy fuck, Pace.” I grunt the words into his gasping mouth just before he buries his face into her neck, shoulders jolting with a final thrust.
“So much,” she’s saying, brow knitted up in pleasure. “God, Wicker, it’s so much…”
I brush my lips against hers, soothing her through it. “You can take it,” I assure, hearing the thread of worry in her voice. Worry, because the strong, pulsing surges I can feel against my cock don’t stop. Pace comes and comes, pushing these tiny, guttural, animalistic sounds into her neck.
I’m powerless to stop it when my own balls draw up tight. Verity’s perfect cunt is clenching around me, and deep inside, Pace’s cock is massaging mine with every surge of cum. I can still taste her milk in my mouth, and behind me, his legs bracketing my torso on the bench, Lex urges, “Come on, Wick. Let it go.”
“Son of a—” My words clip off into a grunt as I slam my hips up, the orgasm feeling pulled from me just like I’d pulled Verity’s milk from her. I feel her fingers clamp in my hair as she follows me over, her pussy fluttering around me.
This, I think as my thrusts trail off and I gather her into my arms. Pace clings to her back, still buried inside, while Lex kisses her slow and lazy through the final tremors of her orgasm. This is what it feels like to be unencumbered. There’s no obligation here, no man in the dungeon pulling the strings.
It’s the best fucking feeling in the world.
She slips out of my arms at two am.
I don’t actually look at the clock when I open my eyes, seeing her silhouette retreating out the door. It’s always at two. Usually, I roll over, elbow Pace until he gives me an in, and wrap around him instead.
Tonight, I roll out of bed to follow her.
She’s on the landing to the first floor, perched on the top step. She’s wearing her silk dressing gown, and there’s a hand thrust out behind her, propping her up. She doesn’t hear me until I’m right up on her, but even then, she doesn’t flinch so much as animate.
“Hey,” she says, blinking.
I take a seat beside her, reaching out to sweep her hair over a shoulder, and she leans into me. “You okay, Red?” She nods, but I can tell something is troubling her, and I don’t have to wonder what it might be. Sighing, I try to think of something supportive and comforting to say. “Killing people isn’t so bad.”
She slings me a confused look. “What?”
“I mean, killing Rufus especially. No moral gray there.” It’d been difficult with Danner, not because I didn’t think he deserved it, but because it took me a long time to realize it. “Don’t let it get in here,” I urge, pressing the point of my finger to the center of her chest. “Don’t give him that power, you know? The power to change your heart.”
Her eyes soften. “I don’t feel good about killing him, but I don’t feel bad about it, either. Honestly, I’m not the first Royal woman to kill her dad. Lavinia blew hers to smithereens.”
It’s the trace of humorous snark in her voice that brings me up short. “So if you’re not upset about that, then what?”
The smile falls, transforming into a frown. “It’s just…” Glancing down, she places her hand over her belly, rubbing it in a long, round circuit. Her head cocks to the side, eyes sad and wistful. “Well, he really wants lasagna.”
It takes me five full seconds to really register her words.
“He wants,” I blink, “lasagna?”
She nods, glancing up at me with a face that’s so forlorn, my chest twinges. “Really salty and cheesy like my mama makes it. With the little bits of garlic and thyme.”
Ah. “Homesick, huh?” This was supposed to be her month in West End, but since there’s a new stock of Dukes—and a new Duchess, fuck—in the clock tower, the old set has taken the loft Verity used to stay in.
She pulls a face, snorting. “God, no. If I were in West End, I’d be staying with my mom, and I might love her lasagna, but I’m not getting pestered daily about… who knows? Cleaning out my old high school clothes, or decluttering the chest freezer, or going over the gym ledgers.” Her eyes roll dramatically. “Plus, can you imagine me giving birth in West End? Lex and Pace—and you—would totally lose it.” Looking weirdly resolute, she shrugs. “I’m absolutely where I need to be.”
“So if you’re not homesick, then…” I pause, taking in her little pout. “Oh my fucking god, you really are out here brooding just because you want lasagna. And you call me melodramatic.”
She turns to me more fully, expression halfway to devastated. “You don’t understand! The cravings… they’re insane, Wicker! This baby is insatiable. The other day, Rory gave me a handful of M&Ms—which you won’t tell Lex about—and on the way outside to eat them in the solarium like I’m some kind of criminal, I dropped them in the mud and?—”
“Red,” I admonish, already knowing where this is going.
She flushes. “I washed them in the fountain first?”
Clearly, I’m not properly fulfilling my role of being her sweets dealer. “Well, there’s only one thing to do,” I say, pulling her to her feet. “If my Princess wants a lasagna, then I’m going to get her one.”
“This is ridiculous,” Lex says, still half asleep. Neither of us are even properly dressed, and when we climb out of my car, I can only pray no one in this territory catches me in sweats and an undershirt.
I march him to the little stoop. “What’s ridiculous is you depriving the mother of our child vital sustenance.”
Lex whines, “Can’t we just go to the grocery store?”
“She doesn’t want some pre-packaged frozen lasagna,” I argue. “She specifically requested?—”
Abruptly, the porch light flares to life, the door opening to reveal a ruffled Mama B. Her hair is down in loose waves and there’s a thick cream on her face. Her face scrunches angrily. “Get your asses in here before someone sees you. I’m not dealing with forty twitchy cubs tomorrow.”
Pace called before we came—we’re not that stupid—and explained nicely why we were crossing territory lines in the middle of the night. He said she didn’t say no to her daughter’s cravings but that she was sure as hell “not a delivery service”.
I’ve been to the gym out front plenty of times, but this is my first time in the home Verity grew up in. I take it in warily as I stamp my shoes on the doormat before ducking inside, Lex following closely behind.
The ceilings are lower than I’m used to and I walk in hunched and huddled. There’s not even a foyer. We enter right into a living room that could probably fit in Pace’s security room. There are framed drawings and banners covering the walls, a bookshelf against the back, and a mismatching furniture set, but it’s not very girly. There are no frills or flowers anywhere. One of the shelves is just a collection of crude shot glasses and wrestling memorabilia.
Despite that, it’s… cozy. And not even cozy in that contemptuous way where someone really means ‘small and crappy’, but like legitimately… homely.
Lex is checking it all out too, adjusting his glasses to inspect one of the framed drawings. “Verity did this,” he says, sounding surprised.
Mama B shuffles past us, flicking a hand. “She did them all. Now, get your asses in here and start cooking, because I’m not about to become a pregnant woman’s personal chef.”
Lex and I exchange a short, panicked look.
“C-c-cooking?” I stutter, rushing to keep up with her steps. “That’s the thing where you put food in a microwave, right?” The kitchen has roughly the square footage of a postal stamp, and Lex and I both have to duck to avoid smacking our heads on the doorway.
I’m met with a tea towel, smacking me right in the face. “Wash your hands first,” she orders, watching with sharp eyes as Lex and I both crowd in around the sink. Maybe he had a point before. This is fucking ridiculous.
It doesn’t get any less ridiculous when, ten minutes later, Mama B is giving us a lesson in onion cutting. “Not like that! Thin slices, blondie. And what are you smirking at?” she asks Lex, who’s gotten a little too superior since she praised his onion-peeling abilities. “Aren’t you supposed to be some bigshot surgeon guy? I could gnaw that with my teeth, and it’d make a cleaner cut. Goodness gracious, are you trying to dice it or punish it?”
He glowers at her through onion-tears. “You’re really cranky when people wake you up.”
She doesn’t dispute this, sitting down on a stool to flip through a magazine. “So the cravings are hitting her hard, eh?”
“Every night.”
“Sounds right. I couldn’t get enough chocolate when I was at this point with her.” She snorts. “Wait until she gives birth. Lactation is going to make her hungry as a horse.”
Pausing, I wince. “Maybe that’s why she’s gotten so—oof.” Lex’s very not-discreet elbow lands right in my ribs, and he shoots me a watery glare. Right. Probably don’t want to tell her mother that we’ve been nursing her tits.
“We can handle it,” Lex insists, brows crouched low. “We’ll just… have to learn to cook. Somehow.” The brows get even lower. “Eventually.”
At her blank stare, I explain, “He has his first lecture in about five hours.”
“Med school?” she asks, eyeing him thoughtfully. “That plus a newborn is going to be fucking brutal.”
I shrug. “That’s why I’m taking the semester off with Red. And Pace is taking an easy course load, so he’ll be around.”
Defensively, Lex adds, “The whole frat and the Court is willing to help, too.”
She doesn’t look particularly assuaged by this statement. “Well, the cubs pitched in for a crib and got it all set up in Ver’s room, so when?—”
My knife clatters to the cutting board. “He’s got a nursery already,” I snap, overcome by a sudden flare of red-hot panic. “They’re not coming to stay here every other month. The contract only covered her pregnancy.”
She looks momentarily stunned at the outburst, the magazine fluttering to the counter in front of her. And then she reaches for the knife, pointing it at me with a stern look. “Look here, blondie. This has nothing to do with a contract. I’m going to see my grandbaby. And if you’d let me finish before having your possessive freakout, I would have gotten to the part where I offered to babysit—on occasion—to give all four of you a break now and again.”
I blink. “Oh.” Glancing at the tip of the knife, I swallow. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.”
Mama B harrumphs, handing the knife back to me. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. She made it very clear at the beginning of the month that she preferred being in the Penis Palace. God only knows why.” Aggressively flipping a page, she adds, “Considering he’s still there.”
I exhale, trying to get that weird flare under wraps. Don’t know what the hell that was about. I just know the thought of Verity and Justice living here makes me see fucking red.
Huh.
“He’s dead.” Lex’s voice is quiet and grim, and when I look up, he’s holding Mama B’s stare.
Her jaw tics as she searches his eyes. “When?”
Throwing a handful of diced onions into the pot, he answers, “About ten hours ago.”
She takes this in silently, seeming to absorb it as we get started on dicing the garlic. After a beat, she gets up and grabs three of the crude shot glasses, setting them in a row. Lex and I share a glance as she snags a bottle of liquor from the cabinet over the fridge.
“Wait,” Lex says, frowning. “Is that…?”
She pops the cork. “Yep. Your brother brought it to Family Dinner after the mutiny.” Pouring some into each glass, she raises her own. “To the victor go the spoils.”
Grabbing for mine, I give it a sniff before raising it, correcting, “To create is to reign.”
She laughs a low, scratchy laugh. “Oh, blondie. Same fucking thing.”