Chapter 26
26
Verity
I’m sweating by the time I wrangle my tits back into the black dress, checking my makeup and hair in the mirror. A little over three weeks since I had the baby, and I’m feeling a little more like myself. It helps that I get to dress up in something other than Lex’s old hockey shirts and nightgowns, my hair cascading down in loose, shiny curls. Pace’s commitment to taking care of it while I lack the energy to has done it a world of good. Where he’d once made me a part of his morning routine by rubbing anti-stretch-mark cream on my belly, he now brushes my hair, sometimes washing it or applying masks.
Unfortunately, there’s no one around to do my makeup.
I settle for a light dab of foundation, warm blush, and a nude lipstick, exiting the bathroom with a steeling inhale.
That’s when I hear Mama’s soft, “He did it, didn’t he? The scars on your back?”
Realizing I’ve just emerged into a sensitive discussion, I pause. Peeking around the corner, I see Lex shifting awkwardly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He’s in a black tuxedo, diaper bag hanging from his arm. “Yeah,” he answers gruffly. “It’s how he punished us.”
I can’t see Mama from where I’m eavesdropping, but I can hear the jangle of her bracelets, rhythmic and muted. She must be rocking Justice—maybe patting his butt. “When did it start?”
Lex clears his throat, and now more than maybe ever before, I long to take his hair out of its slicked-back ponytail. To free him from the memory of a life where he was forced to be proper and unfeeling and so hardened. “I was seven,” he answers.
Mama’s breath hitches. “Jesus Christ.” And then a soft, “I’m sorry.”
Lex shakes his head. “Don’t be. I chose every wound. Each scar is a hit I took for my brothers. If I had to do it all over again, I would.”
There’s a suspended moment where Lex looks at his shoes, the backs of his ears flushed, and then Mama sighs. “My old man was a real hard ass. Not mean—not like yours. But he was very stalwart. Old-fashioned, you know? In another life, he could have probably been a Duke.”
“Sounds a little like his daughter,” he replies, a grin in his voice. “Where is he now?”
“Passed away my freshman year at Forsyth.” Her voice is quieter than I think I’ve ever heard it. “I always regretted being so difficult for him—not getting to know him better. Not telling him how proud I was to have his last name.” There’s a long pause, and then Mama’s gentle, “Would you like it?”
My heart stutters, squeezing painfully inside my chest.
Lex cocks his head. “Would I like what?”
“Sinclaire,” Mama clarifies. Since Lex has his back to me, I can’t see his reaction, but Mama suddenly rushes out, “I’m sorry if that’s presumptuous of me. It’s just… Verity is Sinclaire, and so is little J.J. here. I don’t know what carrying the Ashby name around does for you, Wicker, and Pace. Maybe it gets you places and it’s worth keeping. But,” she hedges, “if the three of you ever get tired of lugging around that asshole’s legacy, you’re welcome to a name that’ll help you build your own.”
I don’t hear Lex’s answer because I have to duck back into the bathroom to punch down the swell of emotion in my chest. Frantically, I dab at the tears welling in my eyes.
So much for my mascara.
I give it a few minutes before gathering myself and exiting the bathroom, clearing my throat to make my presence known. Luckily, any residual anguish evaporates at the sight of my mother gazing down at a bundled up Justice, snug in her arms. He’s freshly bathed and fed—quiet for the moment.
“He’s the handsomest little fella, isn’t he?” she says.
My mother, in a word, is smitten.
“I know.”
Lex is lingering by the kitchen, expression indecipherable as he lugs the second diaper bag onto the counter. “I still say you could have come to the palace,” he grunts, pulling out diapers and blankets. “It would have been easier than hauling all this stuff up here.”
“I’m happy to watch Justice for you,” Mama says, tapping Justice’s nose with a sharp, lacquered fingernail as she beams down at him. “Thrilled even, but there is no chance in hell I’m stepping into that haunted mansion, even if it is to see my grandson. He’s fine here.”
‘Here’ is the apartment above Royal Ink. A compromise. There’s nothing wrong with the little house I grew up in, but with all of the Royals in Forsyth headed to the black wedding, it seemed like the best option for the future King. Security here is top-notch, and Sy agreed to let two of our men stand guard downstairs. That, and the fact Mama likes the massive flat screen where she can watch her reality TV shows.
“How do I look?” I ask, adjusting the top of my dress again. I’d changed after feeding him, fighting my way into the first non-maternity clothing I’ve worn in months. Although, to be fair, the top is fashioned for nursing. “Tell me the truth, Mama, because he’ll just tell me I look gorgeous, and I’m pretty sure the sleep deprivation has made us all delirious.”
“Stop fidgeting, and let me look,” she says, and I force myself to stand still. “You look beautiful.”
“Really?” I worry, tugging at the bodice. “I don’t look like a sausage stuffed in a casing?”
“Honey, you look amazing.” My mother can’t lie. She’s a born truth-teller, and if I looked like shit, she’d just come out and say it. She appraises me head to toe. “Your tits look spectacular.”
Lex smirks. “That’s what I keep telling her.”
I shoot him a glare, but he just grins back, shrugging. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s doling out compliments and wearing the hell out of a suit.
“Listen to your man,” she tells me. “And you better get moving before he gets hungry again.”
I squirm as I adjust my dress strap. “I’ve got, like… six nursing pads stuffed in my top. Hopefully that’ll soak up any overflow.”
Even though I fed him the minute we got here, topping him off to keep his belly full, we’ve probably only got two to three hours max before we need to get back. The clock is ticking.
“Everything you need is in the bag,” Lex says. While the guys stayed downstairs going over the security procedure, Lex followed me up to oversee the hand-off. Just like old times. “Clothes if he needs a change, plenty of extra diapers, spit-up cloths, wipes, and some blankets.” He pulls out a yellow blanket with ducks on it. “He likes to be swaddled in this one, not the dinosaur one—that one’s for tummy time. The lilac blanket is for?—”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Mama says, only half listening.
Lex’s forehead pinches. “If he gets fussy, it may be gas, so you can put him on his tummy to work it out—the dinosaur blanket. Specifically. Also, there’s cream for his diaper rash, but don’t put it on too thick. He’ll get hungry in about two or three hours, so he should be able to wait until Verity gets back, but if he doesn’t, there’s an emergency bottle of milk in the refrigerator.”
“Liquid gold,” I mutter, thinking about how much of a challenge it was to pump those precious ounces.
“I can handle a baby for two hours, Dr. Daddy,” Mama says, rolling her eyes, then looking back down at Justice. In a sweet baby voice, she adds, “Tell your daddy to get out of here before I take off my shoe and?—”
“We’re leaving!” I announce, bending over and giving Justice a kiss on the forehead. He smells so good. Lex does the same, but before we leave, I make sure to pull my mama into a long, one-armed hug.
With my heart in my throat, I whisper, “You’re a really good mom.”
She turns to kiss my cheek, eyes softening. “You’re not too bad yourself, kiddo.”
“Learning from the best.”
Before either of us can procrastinate any longer, Lex ushers me into the hallway to the elevator.
“He’ll be fine,” he says, as much for himself as for me.
I don’t tell him the gratitude in my hug was more about Mama offering Lex our last name than for babysitting. “I know.” The doors open and we step inside. “We’re not going far, and if we have to leave, we leave. Who’s going to notice?”
Lex adjusts his tie. “No one. Not with the epic wedding everyone is about to witness. What are they? Twenty? Twenty-five years apart?” He glances at me then, eyelids growing heavy. “Also, your mother is right.” His hand cinches around my waist, and suddenly his body is against mine, pushing me against the elevator wall. Amber eyes sear into mine as he leans close with a velvety whisper. “Your tits look fucking spectacular. I can’t help thinking about what my cock would look like, slick with milk, buried between them.”
My knees almost buckle, nipples pebbling at his words, but it’s followed by the sharp pinprick that I know leads to my milk letting down. His hand slides up my side, but I swallow thickly and stop him. “You absolutely can not touch my breasts, or it’ll trigger a reaction that’ll look like Niagra Falls right here in this elevator.”
His tongue darts out on a smirk. “I’m not seeing the problem.”
Lord have mercy.
“It’ll ruin my dress,” I whine, wishing we could indulge, “and then we’ll have to miss the wedding, and something tells me that’s not a good look for our first official outing as the representatives of East End and PNZ.”
He groans but steps back, reaching down to adjust the bulge in his pants as the doors of the elevator open. I step forward to exit, but he grabs my arm and stops me, whispering in my ear, “Seriously, Verity. The three of us are going to be walking into enemy territory distracted by how fucking gorgeous you are. It’s going to be a very long night.”
My cheeks heat as we step out into the lobby. Wicker and Pace are focused on a tablet, both dressed in dark suits. We’d been told to wear black in honor of the wedding’s theme. None of us have any idea what we’re getting into.
Wicker glances up first, his gaze piercing through me as he stands straighter. “Christ, Red,” he exhales, taking me in. He jabs his elbow at Pace, who draws his eyes away from the tablet, and sucks in a breath.
“Fuck me, Rosi.” Pace’s dark eyes assess me from head to toe before throwing Lex a pained look. “We’re going straight into enemy territory with boners.”
Lex points at him. “That’s what I said.”
My jaw drops. “How do you think I feel? You have to deal with one chick, but I’ve got three fucking underwear models to look at all night. Why do you keep letting Wicker dress you?” I demand. The man’s got impeccable taste for menswear. Their suits are hugging all the right places.
Goddamn it, I want to fuck.
Lex shrugs, adjusting his shirt cuff. “We work with our strengths.”
Let’s just hope I have some left by the time this wedding is over with.
“God, I thought we’d never get out of there,” Pace says, tugging at his tie as we all but sprint to the waiting car. “That whole thing?—”
“Stop,” Wick says, rubbing his temples. His hair is a rumpled mess from the mask he wore all night. “Let’s swear right now—all four of us—that we’ll never speak of that again.”
“Deal,” Lex agrees, helping me into the backseat of the car. They climb in behind me and Pace taps the roof, letting the pledge know we’re ready to go. “We should get to West End in about fifteen minutes.”
I groan, squirming in my dress, which has become itchy and annoying. “That’s another reason we should have Mama stay at the palace. It’s so much closer.”
I’m not going to say I’m engorged, but I can feel the pads I’d stuffed in my built-in bra getting damp. It’s been two hours and forty-five minutes. We’re pushing the limits.
Wicker, sitting across from me, bends down to pluck up my foot, propping it onto his knee. Pulling off my shoe, he rubs tiny circles into my arch that make me positively melt. Sighing, I lean into Pace’s side and inhale his warm scent.
As weird as the wedding was, I have to admit that it was fun to get out for a while. Lex and Pace still have school, and Wick sometimes has to attend to businessy things, but I never get out of the palace. I’ve put a lot of work into making it feel more like home, but the cabin fever is intense.
Lex’s phone chimes and he picks it up, reading the name on the screen. “It’s a text from your mom.” He thumbs it open, scanning the words. “She says to stay as long as we want. Justice got fussy, so she gave him some tummy time—fuck, hopefully on the dinosaur blanket—and a bottle. He’s back asleep.” He sends a text in response. “I told her we’re already on the way.”
Smiling, I wager, “You also told her about the dinosaur blanket, didn’t you?”
He pointedly ignores this question, and when the phone chimes back, his eyebrows rise. “She said to enjoy a few extra hours.”
“You mean we’ve got two hours…” Pace asks, glancing between us, “alone?”
“We could go to the diner,” Lex says, looking at me. “You hungry?”
My stomach drops as I realize I’m about to spoil all the fun. “Unfortunately, I’m going to need to get home and pump,” I remind them, aware that I’m pretty much past the point of no return. “I feel like I’m about to burst.”
Wick’s eyes flick down to my chest and his tongue darts out. “I mean, you could pump,” he says. It could be taken for casual, except for that hard, tense muscle in the back of his jaw. “Or we could take care of it.”
The idea brings a rush of warmth between my legs and I confess, “I don’t know if I can make it until we get home.”
“Who said we needed to wait?” Pace says, wasting no time tugging at my top. “Let’s at least relieve a little of the pressure.”
Lex bangs on the window between the front and back seat, calling out, “Change of plans. Take us home.”
The vee of my dress, made for easy nursing access, splits easily, exposing my breast. A drop of milk beads on my nipple, then slides over the round curve. Pace’s thumb catches it, and I watch, hypnotized as he brings it to his lips, tongue snatching it off the tip. His eyelids droop. “You had almonds?”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “This afternoon. How did you know?”
He smacks his lips. “Tastes sweet.”
“I want some,” Wick declares, pushing my leg off his lap and dropping to the small space between my knees. Pace’s wide hand wraps around my breast, lifting it toward his brother, but the slightest bit of pressure is enough to send a spray arching into the air. It hits Wicker just below the eye.
“Oh god, sorry,” I say, horrified.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, allowing the droplet to slide down his cheek to his mouth, where he licks it off. They get so hard and swollen now, a million times more than before I gave birth. He nods at his brother, “Do it again.”
This time when he squeezes, Wick is ready with his mouth open. The liquid squirts inside but his eagerness takes over and he quickly latches on, mouth clamping over the mound of flesh and taking a long suck. Pace lifts the other side, already dripping, to Lex. “Want a taste?”
It’s only then that I catch sight of Lex’s hand on his crotch. He shifts, eyes boring into mine, and says, “I’ll wait until we get home.”
I hear the heat behind his words. It's not a deflection. It’s a promise.
Pace moves to where he can reach me better, squeezing the sides of my breast as his tongue flattens out under my nipple, catching the milk as it spills. I moan, feeling a rush of relief at expressing both sides at once. “You have no fucking clue how good this feels,” I say, my hands on the crowns of their heads, encouraging them to take as much as they can.
Glancing down, I realize Lex isn’t the only one touching himself. Wicker fumbles for his zipper, reaching into his pants to draw out his flushed, rigid cock. From my vantage, I can only see the swollen head, glistening at the tip as he strokes it, but it makes my blood rush like fire.
Curling my fingers in Wick’s hair, I pull him back, gazing down into lust-drunk eyes. “Go back to your seat.”
He blinks, looking hilariously cowed as he jolts back, clumsily getting back in his seat. “What did I—” But his mouth clicks shut when I slide to my knees in front of him, eyes fixed to his leaking cock.
I curl my fingers around it, delighting in his long hiss. “You’re not the only ones who can suck, you know.”
And then I take him in my mouth.
It rushes through me like lava, a wave of want so strong that it drives my mouth down to his root. Suddenly, I feel so stupid for moping around these past two weeks, waiting for my men to remind me that I’m a sexual, desired creature.
They created Justice, but they didn’t create that.
It was always in me, waiting.
Wicker releases a long, pitiful sound. “Fucking hell, Red,” he gasps, fingers threading into my hair. Beneath my palms, I feel his thighs twitching upward, chasing the heat of my tongue.
I moan at the sparks that light inside me.
“You like that, Rosi?” Pace says, the electric hum of him getting closer, until I can feel his fingers on my neck. “You look so pretty sucking cock.”
“Oh god, shut the fuck up,” Wicker grinds out, his fingers tightening in my hair. “I’m so fucking close to busting, you have no fucking idea.”
Pace husks, “I’ve got some idea,” and I feel intoxicated by the sound that claws from Wicker’s throat, so desperate and strained.
“Don’t keep it from her,” Lex says, pulling my hair back to watch as I slide my mouth up the shaft, sucking. “You want his cum, baby?”
Eagerly, I nod, my tongue laving the head of his cock, and Wicker whimpers.
Like, legitimately fucking whimpers.
The first burst of his cum tastes salty and hot, and I relish the vibration of his thighs as he trembles, thrusting into my lips with a long, unsteady groan.
Pulling off, I thumb the corner of my lips, but then Pace is there, chasing the taste of him off my tongue. “You’re so fucking good to us,” he whispers, and it takes me a moment to realize the airy rasp of his voice is owed to the way his arm is bobbing, fist stripping his cock.
I waste little time pushing him back, gathering my hair away from my face as I duck down, licking the glistening tip. Pace doesn’t stop stroking himself, though. He points his cock at my slick, parted lips, and cradles the back of my head, softly commanding, “Open for me.”
Obeying, I open my jaw, extending my tongue as I gaze up into his dark, hooded eyes.
“Fuck,” he breathes, thumb pushing into the soft space below my ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Are you ready for my cum?”
I answer with a flick of my tongue against his frenulum, entranced as I watch him seize, a long ribbon of cum landing in the crease of my mouth. Much like Wicker did before on my tit, I latch onto his cock, milking every grunted surge of cum.
“Almost home,” Lex announces, and I slowly pull back.
A warmth blooms inside of me as I see my two Princes so lax and winded, their hair mussed. Glancing at Lex, we share a private smile, and by the time we go through the security checkpoint, any body part that couldn’t be shown in polite company has been put away.
The car parks in the front circle, and Wicker and Pace get out first, each slightly stumbling. Still trying to catch my breath, Lex pins me with a hard, hungry look as he yanks the tie out of his hair and says, “My turn.”
After telling his brothers to go pick up our son, Lex carries me up the stairs.
I laugh breathlessly when he swoops me up, my shoe falling, and I watch with amusement as it clatters down the stairs behind us. “Someone’s going to trip on that and break their neck.”
“I’ll fix them,” he says, and as soon as we reach the landing, his mouth descends on mine, hard and unrelenting.
I respond by burying my fingers into the soft, cool tresses. It’s easy to forget that Lex is a sturdy guy when he’s pouring over books or doing delicate, exacting medical things, but right now, it’s all I can focus on.
His chest is hard beneath my hand as he walks me back, guiding me to the bedroom without ever breaking the kiss. He tastes as sharp as his teeth, his fingers tugging erratically at my dress. “I know I can’t,” he says, panting against my lips, “but god, I want to fuck you.”
“Tell me what you can do,” I say, tugging him through the doorway.
He freezes before me in that black shirt and tie, slowly lifting a hand to his shirt collar. One by one, he loosens the buttons, the butterflies in my stomach roaring to life at the naked want in his stare. It’s a core-deep tug that I haven’t felt since Justice was born.
It explodes into violent flutters when his deep, silky voice asks, “You want me to make you feel good, baby?”
Swallowing, I admit, “Yes.”
“Turn around,” he tells me, voice gruff.
I turn, and his fingers move quickly, dragging down the zipper on my dress, pushing it over my shoulders, and letting it fall to the ground. His crotch brushes against my backside and I feel the hard steel pressing against his pants.
Sweeping my hair to the side, he kisses my neck, moving down my shoulder until he’s spun me around. Gently, he lifts my breasts, kissing the nipple of each one. “You’re going to let these fill up for me again,” he demands, and all I can do is nod, already feeling the ache. “Until then, you’re going to let me take care of you.”
It’s not a request, and I feel it in the way he pushes me to sit on the edge of the bed. I watch as he shucks off his shirt and pants, his amber eyes drinking me in hungrily. His cock springs upward as he drops his boxers to the floor, bobbing between his legs, fully erect, and I watch with jealousy as he strokes down the length, wishing he could be inside me. But when I cover my soft belly with my arm, he stops.
“Don’t,” he tells me, “I want to see you.”
I remove my arm and place both hands on the mattress by my sides, mustering a confidence I don’t feel. “I know I’m not as… smooth as I used to be.”
Lex frowns, and then slowly crouches before me, palming each of my knees. “You mean these?” he asks, reaching up to brush gentle fingers against one of the worst stretch marks. At my grimace, he leans in, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Verity—baby—touch me.”
Confused, I extend a hand to stroke the cut of his jaw, but he sighs, grabbing my wrist and directing it to his shoulder, and then back…
I suck in a breath, feeling his raised scars.
“Are they ugly?” he asks, a thread of misery in his voice. Before I can answer, he says, “They should be. They aren’t like yours. They aren’t there because I created life. They’re just sour memories.”
At once, I’m reminded of the words he spoke to my mother, hours earlier.
“They’re more than bad memories, Lex. They’re a testament to your strength. Your love and loyalty to your brothers.” Leaning down, I press a kiss to his mouth, whispering, “I think they’re beautiful.”
His eyes flutter open, holding mine. “Then believe me when I say that’s how I feel about yours.” Ducking down, he plants a kiss on each of my knees while nudging them apart with his hands. “I know it might be too early, but can I show you?” He glances up at me through his lashes. “Can I eat your pussy?”
The words alone are enough to reignite the fire in my core. “I think I’m up to it, but,” I place my hand on the one that’s pushing my thighs apart, embarrassed. “I think I’m still bleeding a little.”
He plants a kiss over my hand and then shifts it aside. “I know.”
His tender kisses become tiny licks, traveling up my thigh, and ultimately shift to these lingering, tantalizing sucks.
My head falls back and I ask, “You know?”
His voice reverberates against the soft skin of my inner thigh. “There’s nothing going on with your body that I don’t know about, Verity. Everything happening to you is part of nature. Any change in you that’s the result of carrying our son—those are a gift. The milk that you feed him with. The blood that kept him alive all those months he was in your belly. It’s part of you and him.”
His tongue flattens against my skin and he drags it upward, getting closer to the warmth between my legs.
“I can’t fuck your pussy,” he says, “but I can taste it.” My breath hitches, and the first wet touch against my clit sends a shiver through my body. We’re somewhere between the exam room and those late nights with Lagan. Less clinical, definitely not as rough. His warm breath feels good, the way his tongue darts into the folds of my pussy. Everything down there feels different now, the sensations dulled in some places, enhanced in others.
One flick of his tongue against my clit has my nerves zinging.
“Gentle,” I tell him, thrusting my hands in his hair. His ministrations slow, languid to the point of driving me wild.
“That first night I had you on my exam table,” he begins, speaking the words directly into my core, “I remember thinking that you had the prettiest, most perfect pussy I’d ever seen.” Extending his tongue, he takes a long, languorous lick, his fingers digging into my thighs, holding them open for his searing gaze. “It’s still so fucking pretty, baby. If you could see what I see…” A tense, slow shudder travels through him, and I whine.
“I need it… a little more,” he sucks and my hips buck. A whine comes from my throat. “God, yes, like that.” The pacing is different for us, so much slower, and I take in Lex’s sweet, filthy words greedily, the tightness building deep in my belly. It’s not long before the heady rush cascades, rippling across my nerves in a blissful orgasm.
Lex rises, working his way up my body. He pointedly dotes on my belly, kissing every inch of soft skin, and then up my chest, until he shifts next to me, his erection pressing into my hip. His mouth finds mine, and I taste myself, the tang of my pussy—and more, the metallic edge of blood. I roll toward him and reach for him, stroking from the base to the tip, spreading precum over the head. I’m distracted by his cock, by his mouth, and suddenly the orgasm I had isn’t enough. I want to feel full. I miss it. “I want you inside.”
His eyebrows crash together. “Baby, it’s too soon.”
“Maybe,” I hedge, giving my wrist a twist, “for that hole.” The words hit him and he exhales like he’s been punched, his cock surging in my hand. I reason, “Pace and Wick won’t do it. They’re afraid. But you know my body better than anyone else.” I wet my lips, watching as his eyes dart to the motion. “You know what I can handle and what I need.”
He stares at me with parted lips, that dark glint of hunger filling his eyes. When he finally moves, it’s to roll over me, situating himself between my thighs. His breath comes hot and eager against my mouth. “If you want this, you need to understand that I won’t be able to moderate myself. I didn’t fight Pace when he wanted to have you first, because you do this thing to me, Verity.” His tongue traces the crease of my mouth. “This thing where I completely lose control.”
When he pulls up, showing me his handsome, earnest face, I tell him the truth. “I trust you, Lagan.”
He leans forward and captures my mouth with his, giving me a punishing kiss, hard and aggressive, an indicator of what’s coming, and I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer. I want it more than anything. To be clutched and grabbed and consumed.
I might wear the tiara.
But I’m still the same fiery redhead from West End.
The chuckle he releases as he reaches for the nightstand drawer, snagging the bottle of lube, shoots right to my core. “They’re going to fucking kill me for getting this first.”
I bury my own laugh in his warm shoulder, thinking that it’s just enhancing the moment—this sense of furtive fumbling in the dark. “We’ll make it up to them.” My gaze dips between us, watching as he slicks his cock with the slippery lube, a rough sound escaping his throat when he ducks down to take my nipple in his mouth. I jolt at the sensation, which is accompanied by the prod of his slick fingertip, right against my asshole. His finger massages the area, then without warning, slips in.
I’m so desperate for it that I rock up to meet him.
“You want it that bad?” he asks, stretching me out as he laps the milk leaking from my nipple. “You missed having us inside, filling you up?”
My head thrashes more than it shakes. “You don’t even know.” I gasp, overcome by the way it feels when he sinks it further into me. The pull of his suckle on my breast meets the pressure of his finger in short, rhythmic pulses, like I’m being threaded. Spreading my legs wider for him, I get lost in the stretch of his knuckles as he drinks from me, my fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, changing to the other tit.
“More,” I beg, rocking my hips. “Give me… yes.”
His second finger merely teases at the feeling of fullness I want so badly, but the third is so close to being what I need. I gaze down his back, seeing the ridges of his raised scars, and can’t help but touch him. He trembles when my fingertips glide over the slashes, memorizing their texture in slow, soothing, curious circuits.
I meant what I said before.
This is beauty.
It’s been weeks since I’ve had one of them in me, but Lagan’s hands work with precision. He knows my body inside and out, and it’s no surprise that in just a few moments he has me panting.
His long, lean frame covers me as he abandons my breasts, trailing hot, wet kisses up my collarbone, to my throat, pausing at my mouth.
He’s breathing hard as he gazes down at me. “Tell me you want it,” he demands, stroking the lube up his cock.
Swallowing, I touch the tense line of his jaw. “I want you to fuck me,” I whisper, watching my words ripple through him like a wave.
He pulls his fingers out and nudges up against me, slotting the wet tip of his cock against the ring of muscle. Growling, he pushes in, thick and long and painfully slow, knocking my breath from my lungs with each measured inch.
I grasp at his shoulders, my mouth falling open on a gasp. “Oh, god,” I whimper, feeling the intensity of his gaze on me. “Oh, that feels so… fuck.”
His amber eyes never leave mine. Even when he begins carefully rocking into me, his cock dragging deliciously against my hole, he just… watches me. “I love you,” he raggedly whispers, letting his cock stretch me wide. “You are my life. You know that, don’t you?”
I answer by grabbing his face, and bringing him down for a deep, desperate kiss. He’s fucking me, his hands fisted in the sheets as he drives his hips into mine, and it doesn’t matter that he’s only halfway in, or that he’s clearly tuned in to my reactions for any proof of pain or discomfort.
It feels so good to be handled like this, my body used for nothing more than the pleasure we’re both frantically chasing. His breath hits my chin, coming in short bursts, and his eyebrows pull tightly together, an odd distress coming over his face.
“How can you be this tight?” he mutters, digging his fist beneath my hips and using it to drag me upward, as close to him as I can get. “I’m not going to be able to hold it, baby.”
I realize then that he’s like Wick was earlier. Too close to the edge. So close to bursting.
The thought makes me burn, and I hold his chin, forcing his gaze to mine. “Give it to me,” I plead, already seeing his face tighten as his thrusts grow deeper, more erratic. “Put your baby in me, Lagan.”
His mouth opens on a shocked gasp, my hole fluttering around the first strong pulse of his cock. He holds my gaze when he comes, poised above me in a tense shudder. “Fuck,” he growls, heat spreading through me with each surge. “Jesus, you’ve got us on a fucking hair-trigger.”
He’s barely finished his last shiver of pleasure when he pulls away. His cock slips wetly from my ass, and I try not to squirm as he instantly ducks down to check me, chest heaving as his fingers spread me open for his assessing eyes.
Seemingly satisfied that no damage has been done, he collapses next to me, turning to nuzzle his face into my breast. I hum when he licks lazily at my nipple, sucking away a rogue droplet of milk. We’re both too tired to move, exhausted and satiated, and I comb my fingers idly through his auburn hair.
Slowly, he stirs. “Fuck,” he mutters, “I think I passed out.”
“It’s okay.” I yawn. “It’s been a tiring few weeks.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Kissing my shoulder, he gets out of bed, walking to the bathroom. Stretching out on the massive bed, my fears from before have faded. My men love me—want me, need me—despite the changes in my body and our lives. We’re different now. We’re not just Princes and a Princess. Not even just lovers. We’re more.
We’re partners.
We’re creators.
And I can’t wait to see what we create next.