Chapter 12
12
Verity
I didn’t realize how it would feel to see the new nursery for the first time.
As I look upon it, cradling the swell of my belly, I find it psychologically freeing. It’s as if we’ve shed the smallest piece of the Purple Palace for the most innocent of beings. It’s not finished, but the hardwoods gleam with a fresh coat of polyurethane, and the walls are prepped with primer.
Fresh.
Ready for a new beginning.
The contractors tried to finish up before they were dismissed, sending me lookbooks and stacks of paint swatches for the walls, but I just can’t make up my mind. Wall paint or not, we’re nearing the final six weeks of this pregnancy and it’s time to make other decisions, which is why Lex is following me around the room with a pencil and notepad while Pace and Wicker try to pretend like they’re being helpful.
“We’ll need a crib and a changing table,” I comment, ignoring the focus of his amber eyes on me, “and a dresser can go over there.”
“Got it,” Lex says, a little too quickly. “Any other furniture?”
“Maybe a rocker for over in that corner. Or a glider?” I consider both, determined not to let the moment be spoiled by my own anger at him. “Those seem comfortable.”
Lex tucks a lock of his hair behind an ear, the movement casual in its frustration. He’s been fidgeting with it all day. It’s all I can do not to snap at him to just put it up. If he thinks wearing his hair down all week can thaw the ice between us, he’s wrong. “We can go try some out, see which one you like best.”
“The crib needs to go on this wall,” Pace says, pointing to the one wall without any other doors or windows. “I think it’ll be the best coverage for security.”
“No visible cameras,” I remind him.
Pace grins in that soft, dark way that borders on condescending. “Nanny cams have come a long way. I’ll make it totally innocuous.”
“What about you?” I ask Wicker, who’s been oddly quiet. I hold up the lookbook. “What do you think? Tigers, giraffes, or elephants?”
Wicker blinks. “Are we opening a slightly illegal petting zoo?”
Frowning, I flip to some other pages. “Well, there’s also trains, bunnies, and baby ducks.”
“For the tigers to eat?”
“For the theme,” I whine, flashing him a page with a forest theme. “Gun to your head, which would you choose?”
“Can you just pull the trigger?” When my face falls, his lips turn up in a smirk. “Just fucking with you, Red. If you ask me, it already looks good. Bigger with everything taken out, you know?”
“It’s an improvement,” Pace says. He’s wearing a tight, dark tee that strains at the upper arms. For the last three days, ever since he began sleeping in my bed without any surveillance equipment, he’s been on a training kick. “I can’t even smell the stench of sweat, weed, and masturbation anymore.” He moves to the corner and waves his brother over. “Come give me a boost. I want to check this angle.”
I lean against the closet door and prop my hand on my lower back, rubbing the sore muscles. I’m wearing a pair of oversized overalls with a cropped tank underneath. Thoroughly non-princessy.
“You okay?” Lex asks, taking any chance to touch my belly.
It doesn’t matter that my body wants to lean into his touch. I still scowl, looking away. “Just achy.”
The way I feel at thirty-two weeks makes me long for the first trimester and the days of morning sickness. At least then I was still skinny and didn’t feel like I needed to pee every fifteen minutes. “Normal stuff. I promise.”
“You need to rest? A bath?” His hand replaces mine, continuing to work his way up my side. “A massage?” His thumb grazes against the side of my breast, triggering a heaviness and tightened nipples.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.”
Lex’s sigh reverberates more loudly than his whisper. “You’re still pissed at me? Really? It’s just some blood samples. We could unlock all of Forsyth’s secrets if we just?—”
I shoot him a sharp look, cutting him off. “You might want to sell that to someone who isn’t the illegitimate daughter of Forsyth’s worst King.” Scoffing, I add, “You act like this city doesn’t run on secrets for a reason. I know you’re smarter than that.”
His face falls. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything.”
Before I can argue, Wicker’s voice carries across the room. “He’ll need a hockey kit. Skates.” He shoots Lex an annoyed look. “A helmet obviously.”
“Obviously,” Lex mutters, looking frustrated at the interruption.
“Pads, a jersey,” Pace continues, but frowns. “Guess he’ll be too small for a stick at first?”
I turn away from their nonsense, just happy Lex and I aren’t going to have this out yet again, and open the closet door. I take the moment to exhale and cup my breasts, getting a smidge of relief. Maybe I need a more supportive bra. Maybe something with more padding. Or less? Whatever style, I need something to help my nipples not be so sensitive.
Lex clears his throat. “Does the closet look good?”
This has essentially been the cycle of our arguing since Lex confessed his true intentions with the West End blood drive. I get angry, he pleads his case, nothing changes, and we focus on the baby because it’s the only thing we actually agree on.
I drop my hands. “It’s great. They did a really good job. We’ll need some hangers,” I say, still feeling grumpy, “those adorable little ones, and maybe a few baskets for smaller items.”
The closet is smaller, having been divided with the majority of the space on the opposite side, in my room. Wicker’s demand. This side has two bars for hanging clothes and several shelves. Plenty of room for our little pineapple and his tiny belongings.
“You know, I think we should add a few hooks.” I turn to make sure Lex is including all of this on the list and find him standing so close that my belly brushes against his abdomen.
“You know, there are a few ways to help with that.”
“Help with what?” I ask, exasperated. “Hooks?”
He gives my chest a pointed look, and fuck, he’s like some kind of goddamn shampoo commercial. I’d swear a breeze floats by, billowing out his hair, all majestic and sexy-like. Instantly, my nipples get hard. Fine. Hard-er.
Why does he have to wear his hair down like that?
It doesn’t help that he leans in, reaching out to graze the curve of my elbow with soft fingers. “With the aches and strain you’re experiencing in your breasts. I know it’s uncomfortable.”
“You know, huh?” I snap. “You know what it’s like to go from reasonably-sized tits for half of your life to carrying around two swollen melons that are constantly in a state of flux?”
“Well, er… no.” He shifts uncomfortably, moving back a smidge. “I do not. Did you try the cold and warm compresses like I suggested?” At least this time, he’s the one to get all throaty and glazed in the eyes. “Or light massaging when you’re in the shower.”
“I read the books,” I tell him, not in the mood to be Dr. Daddy-splained to right now. “Nothing is going to give me much relief until the baby comes.” I cup my breasts with both hands, wincing. “They’re just so big and ridiculously sensitive, and it seems to be getting worse.” I glance over to where Pace and Wicker are discussing camera placement. Pace stretches his arms over his head, making that tight shirt rise up, giving me a peek at the sexy swath of skin right at the top of his ass. I cross my arms over my chest and wince. “Ouch. Jesus. See?”
His lips part on a slow, close exhale, “There are… other methods.”
“Like what?” I ask, honestly desperate to try anything.
His eyes haven’t risen from my tits once. “Methods we could help facilitate.”
There’s one word in that sentence that catches my attention. Tilting my head I ask, “What do you mean ‘we’?”
“Some women find nipple play during pregnancy helpful—even to the point of engaging lactation.” His throat jumps with a swallow. “Instead of suppressing it, you go all in, but…” Seeming to snap out of the daze, he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, grimacing. “Never mind.”
“But what?” Because just hearing the words ‘nipple play’ has me on board.
“It has risks.” He steps back, a divot of worry appearing in his brow. “Too big, in my opinion.”
Of course he thinks that. “Like what?”
“Early labor for one thing.” His hands drop to my belly. “As much as I want you to have some relief, I’m not comfortable with the risk.”
I gawk at him, the anger rising. “Oh, you’re not comfortable? Then heaven for-fucking-fend!” I glance over, realizing my outburst has caught his brothers’ attention. “You hear that, guys? Lex is uncomfortable.”
His jaw is set. “As the Prince in charge of our child’s health?—”
“But it’s not,” I argue, whipping my glare at him. “It’s not just our child. It’s not even just me. That’s your problem, Lex! Me, the baby, the entirety of West End? You don’t give people a choice over their own bodies, you just decide because you can take or save a life, it makes you God.”
His eyes darken. “That’s not even remotely true.”
“But it is,” I insist, noticing Pace and Wicker are awfully quiet. “Admit it. You think you know better, so you think you should control everything.”
Lex is always composed. It’s one of the first things I hated about him—that coldness. It’s also one of the first things I found comfort in, this ability to remove myself from the emotion of a moment spread out before him. The way it made me feel even-keeled and distanced from the shame and embarrassment.
That composure leaves him suddenly—so abruptly that it’s with all the force of a snapped wire.
He roars, “I do know better!” and I can’t help it.
I flinch. I know he sees it, because he freezes, and even though traitorous hormonal tears spring to my eyes, I don’t back down. “So did he.” It doesn’t matter that my voice is a cracked whisper. From the expression on his face, I might as well have screamed. “I’m Rufus’ daughter, but…” I shake my head. “Are you willing to be his creation?”
Just as quickly as Lex snapped before, he snaps again—this time in stunned awe—watching as I spin on my heel and storm out.
I’m still upset about it that night while I get ready for bed. It was bad enough when they were making deposits, and now I’m starting to wonder if my body is ever going to feel like my own again. I can’t choose how I nourish it, use it, or relieve it. It doesn’t help that my breasts have been more sensitive than ever since Lex brought it up.
Or maybe I’m just horny.
God, it’s probably some toxic mixture of all three.
It’s not like any of this would be hard to do. Wick’s eyes were glued to my rack before I got knocked up. And now that I have porn-star tits, he and Pace are aware of how easy it is to make me come just from stimulating them. It’s not uncommon to wake up with Pace’s cock buried in my body and Wick sucking on my nipple. It’s probably another reason why they hurt so much lately. Inadvertently, those boys have lit a fire inside of me, and fine.
I want more.
So what?
The problem, as always, is Lex. It was his idea, but as soon as he said it, he immediately backtracked, listing his concerns and worries over doing something he considers a risk.
Dr. Daddy is a fucking tease.
“Ready for bed?” Wick asks when I walk out of the bathroom. I don’t miss the way his eyes sweep over my fitted tank and the softest shorts I’ve found for sleeping.
“Not yet,” I say, lowering myself next to him on the couch they moved in during the renovation. At first it was just to give them a place to hang out away from the chaos, but I like it here. The Princess bed is great for sleeping, but for anything else, it’s a bit daunting in my current state. Sometimes it feels like they need to roll me out of it like a bowling ball.
Wick reaches out for my hips, guiding me down so I’m leaning into him.
Across the room Pace, dressed in nothing but sweats, gives Effie a treat and gathers the cover for her cage. “Say good night to everyone, pretty bird.”
“Night, Princess.”
“Night, Effie.”
“Night, Wickkkker.”
Wick smirks over at the bird, but obliges with a, “Night, Eff.”
“Night, Pace.”
“Good night.” He lifts the cover. “See you in the morning.”
“I have a question, Red.” Wick’s long fingers run down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.
“What’s that?”
“When the fuck did you start wearing a bra to bed? Is this some West End thing?” Wicker, I suppose, hadn’t even heard the full breadth of our fight. If he had, he would have been on my side instantly.
As it is, he and Pace have just been uneasily tiptoeing around mine and Lex’s spurious jabs.
“No, it’s a pregnancy thing.” I exhale, feeling my nipples tighten from his touch. It’s not exactly a bra, but there is a built-in layer to the tank that keeps everything in place. Or, at least, tries to. These things have a mind of their own. “And it was around the time it started feeling like I was carrying two overripe cantaloupes twenty-four seven.”
Pace’s eyes drop to said melons, then he drags his gaze back to my face.
“I don’t like it,” Wick grumbles, tugging at the shoulder strap of the tank. “I like waking up with your bare tits in my hands, but see?” He tries again. “I can’t get under this thing.”
“I agree with him,” Pace says, sitting down next to me. His hand grabs the neck of my tank and yanks it down, exposing the top swell. “These are too fucking pretty to hide.”
His thumb sweeps over the top, dark brown over pale white. The jostling hurts, but it’s that weird kind of pain where I want more, and I bite back a cry, arching my back into his brother. Never one to let an opportunity go to waste, Wicker releases my other breast from under the fabric and closes his wide palm over it.
“Damn,” I exhale, sinking back into him
“Good? Bad?” Wick asks, hand stilling.
“A little of both, but don’t stop.” I look at Pace. “Either of you.”
He doesn’t hesitate, teasing his thumb over the tight peak of my nipple. That leads to a rush of euphoria, as if every nerve in my body is connected to that tiny nub. It must be why I barely hear the heavy footsteps padding down the hall or fully process Lex standing in front of us in nothing but a pair of shorts, face drawn.
“I told you this had too many risks,” he sighs, looking strangely haggard. His hair is still down, but it looks like it’s been tugged at all day long. “I’m trying to keep him safe.”
I reply, “By telling me what to do with my own body.” Unfortunately, my obstinate tone is belied by the crest of my moan.
“Okay, does someone want to explain what’s happening here?” Wick asks, shifting his hips next to me. He’s got a massive boner, and the movement does nothing to keep it from pressing into my hip. “I thought you two were fighting about that blood sample thing, which,” Wicker holds up a finger, “was a boss fucking move, Lex.”
Lex leans against the doorway, eyes rolling. “I told Verity earlier today that nipple play could possibly ease some of the strain she’s having in her breasts right now.” Pace opens his mouth to say something, but Lex cuts him a glare, adding, “But there’s also a risk of inducing premature labor.”
“I looked it up.” I don’t point out that while he’s lecturing us all, he’s staring at my tits. “And it’s very unlikely.”
“But there’s still a chance!” He throws his hands in the air. “And you know I’m unwilling to?—”
“Bruh,” Pace says, “you need to chill.”
Lex’s eyes narrow at his brother. “What did you say?”
“He said to chill,” Wick repeats. “We know you’re stressed, and worried, and have gone over every single worst-case scenario, but the Princess isn’t going to go into labor just because we suck on her tits.”
“You don’t know that,” Lex argues.
“I’ve watched enough porn to confirm it,” Pace states matter-of-factly, and a rush of heat travels between my legs. “If you want to supervise, then go for it,” he continues. “Take a seat. Get comfortable. And if anything even remotely concerning happens, we’ll stop.”
Lex’s amber eyes set on me, resignation clear on his face. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.” Fuck. Yes.
“Fine.” He walks over to the armchair, drags it across from the couch, and sits. “If I see anything—one wince, one jerk, one sign that her body is going into labor—I’m stopping this.” He looks between us. “Understand?”
Wick sighs. “Leave it to the Doc over there to make something erotically named ‘nipple play’ as unsexy as possible.”
“It isn’t about sex,” Lex groans, running his palms down his face. “It’s about stress relief.”
He’s wrong, of course, but after finally getting something resembling approval, I’m not going to push it. I lean back into Wicker, who isn’t deterred by his brother’s commanding presence whatsoever. If anything, he’s probably more turned on, which is obvious when he goes straight for my breast.
That is, until Lex clears his throat. “You’re going to want to get skin-to-skin.”
“Huh?” Pace grunts.
Lex leans back in his seat, knees spread casually. “If Verity wants to stimulate real relief, you’re going to have to trick her body into thinking it’s ready for a change that’s not just on a physical level, but a chemical one.” His tongue darts out and licks his bottom lip. “We’re in the third trimester. The reason her breasts are so tender is because they’re already trying to acclimate to their new job: feeding.”
“Skin-to-skin? No problem there,” Wick mutters, pulling his T-shirt over his head. My belly drops, just like it does every time I see his body. I never get used to it—to any of them. With the extra layer of fabric gone, I can see how hard he is, and my nipples give a tingly pulse.
“You’re next, Rosi,” Pace says, and he and Wick work to peel off my shirt.
“Careful,” I hiss. “That bra part is tight.”
“Maybe you need one of those nursing tops,” Pace mutters, his movements growing more gentle. “You know, with the flaps.”
He’s not wrong, and I’ve been looking at them in the catalog, but with the way they keep growing, I’m not sure what size I’ll be. Together, they slip the tight tank over my breasts. The instant they’re completely free, the heaviness sags against me, and I clutch them to my chest, which also makes them ache. It’s impossible to find any comfort.
Pace’s jaw slacks, and he lunges toward me, but a hand shoots out, grabbing his shoulder.
Lex.
“Slow,” he directs. “It’s not all about the nipple. She needs to get fully stimulated.” His eyes wander over my tits, lids growing heavy. “Massage her first. Start at the back and push forward.”
I feel more than ready. Hot, sweaty. But when Pace’s hands start to gently rub the area just below my armpit, my body loosens, feeling like melted butter. I slump back into Wick’s strong arms.
“That feel good, Red?” he whispers in my ear. His hands make their own passes, skimming from my neck to my shoulders, down over the slope of my breasts—avoiding the nipple entirely. “You like it when we touch you like this?”
There’s a funny curiosity to his voice, like the thought of a woman enjoying a massage never occurred to him. Probably never has, until now.
“Uh huh,” I mumble, hyperaware of the areas they’re not touching. The brothers take their time—patient and diligent—until I’m about to crawl out of my skin. Fingers are everywhere, rubbing, sliding, and gliding. I’m so sensitive that I can feel each of their warm, excited exhalations tickling against my skin. A steady drumbeat pulses between my legs and I shift uncomfortably, wanting to be touched down there, too.
I dip my hand between my thighs.
“No.” Lex’s command comes with tight fingers wrapped around my wrist. Our eyes meet, and despite the fact this is supposed to be about Lex giving me control over my own body, I get the feeling he’s enjoying his role a little too much. “This isn’t about getting you off, Verity. That’s easy when you’re like this.” His hand releases mine and drops to adjust the hard erection fighting against the front of his shorts. “Trust the process.”
I want to kick him. I really do. And so does my pussy, but Wicker listens, his touch slowing, those long, skilled fingers turning gentle but firm. His thumb glides down the side of my breast, applying a deep pressure. “Too much?” he whispers against the shell of my ear.
“It’s perfect,” I swallow.
“How do they feel?” Lex asks.
“Hot and tingly.” I close my eyes, feeling the sensation rushing to the tips of my nipples. “Painful.”
I’d say heavier, but the boys are supporting their weight with those stupidly big hands. Vaguely, I recall watching the Baroness and her Williams that day by the elevators, months ago, and being completely unable to imagine my Princes ever worshiping me like that.
But that’s exactly how this feels.
Lex asks, “Any pains in your abdomen?”
Feeling a slight pressure on the crown of my stomach, I look and see Pace kissing his way over the top. “No. None.”
Lex’s voice takes on a husky tone. “What do you want next, Verity?”
“For them to suck me.” I gather my breasts in my hands, consumed by the ache. Pace and Wick eye them hungrily. “I want them to take this pressure away. Please,” I beg, unabashed by my own whine.
Lex nods, giving a silent command, and when their mouths descend, latching onto my hardened nipples, I let out a long, delirious exhale. It feels so good. Better than anything I ever expected. Not just sexual—although my pussy is soaked—just this incredible sense of relief.
Resting my hands on the tops of their heads, I encourage them by stroking the back of their necks, guiding them closer. The contrast between them goes further than their complexion and hair color. I feel it in the way they latch on. Pace’s mouth works greedily, using his tongue to work my nipple into a stiff peak, but he gets frustrated when he can’t find a good rhythm and pops off.
“Hey,” I ask, stroking his hairline, “what’s wrong?”
Before he can answer, Wicker flattens his tongue across the top of my areola and then clamps down with a groan, giving me a sharp tug that zings across my nerves.
“Oh,” I gasp, arching into Wicker’s mouth. I take his face in both hands, holding him to my breast. “Yes, that.”
“How?” Pace asks. “How are you doing that?”
It’s disappointing when Wicker releases me, cutting off the growing buildup, until I see him sling his arm over his brother’s shoulder. With spit-slick lips—and a little too cockily—he explains, “It’s like Lex says, this isn’t just some titty we’re playing with. This is a titty ready to be milked. It’s not about the outside, it’s about the inside, drawing that delicious liquid to the surface.” I watch as Wick places a wide hand on the back of his brother’s head, encouraging him back on my breast. “Think about how you fuck her. Slow. Persistent,” he says. “You need to coax it out of her.”
“He’s right,” Lex says. The doctor steps in, instructing his brother how to hold my breast, taking me from the front with both hands. “Lift it up and get the angle right. Good, yeah. Now, use your fingers to pull down along the sides, stimulating the ducts.”
I grow fuzzy when Wick continues talking about latching on, patiently showing him where to place his tongue and when to shift to a suckle. If I felt hot before, my temperature just elevated a million degrees, and it only intensifies when I look down and see my breast stuffed in Pace’s hungry mouth.
“Feel good?” Wick asks, watching his brother feed.
I twist a lock of Pace’s hair lazily around my finger.
“Yes, thank you.”
Wick bends, kissing me with that sexy, dirty, skilled mouth, his hot tongue tangling with mine, before lifting my other breast to his hands and latching on. The sensation is different now. I feel the fullness all over. Stroking both of their heads, I look up at Lex, who has moved back to his seat across from us, stiff and observant. His jaw is locked tight, the hard line unyielding. He’s staring at his brothers—studying them. Pushing my fingers through the fine hair on Wicker’s nape, I offer, “You can, you know.”
Amber eyes meet mine. “Can what?”
“Touch yourself.”
“I wasn’t—” he starts to lie, but there’s no hiding his erection. Clearing his throat, he shifts. “It’s a completely normal reaction in a situation like this.”
“I never thought it wasn't. I don’t know why you always—” My voice clips off, breath catching when Pace starts rubbing small circles just outside my areola.
“What?” Lex shoots upright. “What was that?”
“That was Pace, doing an excellent job.” I glance down at Lex’s crotch. “It may help this whole thing along, actually.”
His brow wrinkles. “What do you mean?”
“I told you I did my own research,” I explain, licking my lips, “and orgasms lead to the release of oxytocin, and that encourages milk production.”
He almost looks annoyed that I know something. “That’s… true. But I’ll be distracted.” Conflict wars on his handsome face, but he’s still a man. A fucking horny one at that. “You’ll tell me if something goes wrong?”
“Immediately.”
I don’t believe he’ll truly relent until I see him lean back, pulling his length out from his shorts. He gives it a quick but fluid, jerking pump, and in the overhead light, the tip glistens, already dripping. A surge of prickling heat builds in my nipples. It’s sharp and painful, but so, so good. That steady beating pulse throbs deeper in my pussy, creating a thrum throughout my body, one that grows with every suckle, every stroke of Lex’s hand.
“Are you close?” I ask him, pressing my thighs together for any sense of friction.
He nods, his movements erratic. “Are you?”
I’m close to something, although I don’t know what. My whole body feels like it’s rushing over the edge.
“Don’t waste it,” I tell him, shifting my hips.
As if understanding exactly what I need, Wicker’s fingers hook into my shorts, shoving them down my thighs. Wicker pops off my nipple. “You want his cum, don’t you, Red?” I nod, and he tucks a hand between my bare thighs. “Come on, brother, give it to her.”
In unison, Wicker and Pace each grab one of my knees, draping them over their laps to spread my thighs widely—obscenely—exposing where I’m slick and ready.
Exhaling, Lex drops to his knees, inching toward us as his hand jerks furiously, stripping up and down his cock. He stops between my thighs, and I reach for him, finally allowing myself to thread my fingers through his luscious hair.
I use my grip to yank him closer.
Lex hisses out a long, “Fuck,” when the tip of his cock meets the slickness of my core. His eyebrows crash together as he looks down, spreading the wetness until he’s slotted up against my entrance. My whole body is strung tight in anticipation. I’ve never felt so crowded before, one on each side while Lex hovers above me, his hand grasping the back of the couch over my shoulder.
But when he finally pushes in, trapped is the last thing I feel.
I keen.
If his brothers mind that Lex is grazing their heads with each of his grunted thrusts, they don’t show it, the pressure of their mouths building a knot of tight need in my core.
“So wet, Verity,” Lex says, face twisted in something that could be agony. “Your pussy’s so fucking drenched for this. I can feel you getting wetter with each suck.”
Pace groans, deep and gritty around my nipple, and warmth radiates across my breasts. Wick moans a garbled curse while Pace rises up, his mouth unlatching. He squeezes, pulling the nipple into a hard point, and Lex’s wild gaze dips to my breast, all of us watching the drop of liquid beading at the tip.
“Please, Lex,” I say, feeling hazy with the sensation of relief as Wick and Pace hungrily drop back to latch on, drawing out the fluid with little sucks. With my gaze never leaving him, I part the lips of my pussy with two fingers, “Put your baby in me.”
His eyes meet mine and that’s when I know he’ll do it. That connection—that place we’ve been to so many times before. I don’t need Lex to fuck me directly. Our intimacy lies in this. A look. A touch.
“Oh, fuck,” Lex growls, lurching forward, and I feel the first pulse of his seed. It’s hot and slick as his cock pulses inside me, his hips giving these small twitches, tense with restraint, as he empties into me. With a hard grunt, he pulls his cock free, making me whimper at the feel of his cum dribbling out.
“Don’t worry,” comes his quiet, ragged voice. “I’ll give it back.” I peer over his brothers’ heads as he uses two thick fingers to scoop it up, eyes darkening as he watches himself pushing it back inside.
“Thank you,” I moan, so lost in the lust-haze of it all that I can only feel grateful to have it back.
My hips rise to meet him, but he pulls out, swiping up the cum and giving it to me again. That, along with the sensation of release in my breasts, sends a shudder through me stemming from my nipples down to my clit and that’s when it hits me.
My body isn’t just made for this baby.
It’s made for them.
I don’t know why I wake up at two every morning.
It’s a new and very annoying feature of the pregnancy, as Lex had explained it. Something about hormones, as always. There’s never a sound or a movement that does it, I just always find myself rousing, one of them—usually Wicker—wrapped around me as I struggle to fall back into slumber.
I blink into the darkness, unable to see much at first. Not that it matters. There’s a feeling for each of my Princes, although they’re hard to put into words. With Lex, there’s a weight in the atmosphere, a strange density that changes the sound waves. With Pace, it’s electric, like a hum sparking against my skin. With Wicker, it’s always touch, the sensation of warmth and pressure.
When I wake up, the air is thin and far too calm.
Lex and Pace are missing.
I exhale as I lever myself up, cradling each tender breast. It’s only been a few hours since Pace and Wicker—for lack of a better word—milked me, and I’m so relieved to find the pressure hasn’t returned that I decide to get up and go searching, suddenly consumed by a spike of energy.
Wicker stirs when I extricate myself, flopping over to his other side. Even in slumber, he searches for someone, arms and legs grasping out to find contact. When he finds none, he emits a gruff, unhappy sound, but never fully wakes.
Satisfied, I reach for my dressing gown.
When I first came to the palace, I resented all the fine, silky Princess nightwear, but now that my tits are inflatables and my stomach is ridiculous, I find myself happy to pull on the robe that’s been tailored for a pregnant body. The bust is low-cut, but allows my breasts to breathe. I cinch the gown right beneath them before padding out into the hallway.
There was a time when walking these halls at night would have frightened me. Now, I know the nooks and crannies, understanding the shadows are hiding corners that will be illuminated in the dawn.
Most of all, I know Pace has made this house secure.
It’s why I don’t startle when I reach the landing, seeing him coming up the stairs.
His dark eyes lock on mine, holding me captive for the whole climb. He’s still shirtless, although he’s put on sweatpants at some point, the waist riding low. He releases a dark chuckle. “Jesus, he was right on time,” he mutters.
I rub my eyes, wondering, “Who? What?”
When he reaches me, his strong arms catch me around the waist, pulling me into him. “Nothing.”
I instantly wind my arms around his neck. “You were gone,” I say, trying not to sound accusing. He’s been good about not checking the security at all hours, and even though his weird, new training routine is probably still meant to prepare him for a fight, at least he’s not as obsessive about it.
“Sorry about that.” He buries a kiss into my neck, the electric hum finally greeting me. “Had to help Lex with something.”
I tilt my neck, giving him access. “With what?”
Humming, he pulls away. “Go down and see. You’ll find it.”
“But… Wicker,” I say, frowning.
Pace cocks his head toward the hall. “I’ll go give him something to latch onto. Just… listen to him, okay?” He gets two steps before pausing, turning back to me with an indecipherable expression. “There are fire extinguishers in each corner.”
“Each corner of what?” I ask, startled. “There’s fire?”
But instead of answering, he strides away toward the room, leaving me to descend the staircase with sleep-thick eyes and piqued curiosity.
Pace wasn’t wrong though.
I do find it.
It’s hard to miss the strange, eerie glow coming from the main downstairs corridor, not to mention the strains of classical music echoing down the hall. I follow it with a thread of worry, the train of my silk robe dragging behind me. It isn’t until I get closer that I realize it’s coming from the ballroom.
Stepping inside, I freeze.
The chandeliers are dark, but the tall candelabras glowing with fire around the cavernous room still catch the crystals, flinging glitter along the dance floor. Candles upon candles. There must be hundreds of them, both tall and stout, wide and slender. They cast everything in a warm, flickering light that reaches all the way to the dark corners.
And in the middle of the room, Lex is rising from his seat at a small, round table.
I blink furiously, because oh. Of course this is a dream.
I’ve had weirder.
I mean, he’s in a tux and everything.
Lex adjusts the lapels of his suit, clearing his throat. “You always get a carb craving at two.” His hair is down again, auburn tones reflecting the sparkling candlelight like embers.
I don’t feel like I can really be blamed for not noticing the food on the table, although when I do, a laugh escapes my throat. I capture it with my palm, covering my mouth. “Okay, now I know this is a dream.”
He’s too far away to hear his exhale, but I see it, his shoulders inching down a notch. “Yeah?” He rocks back on his heels, right before barreling around to the other side of the table. “Here, let me…” Grabbing the back of the chair, he pulls it out.
For me.
I approach the table in a haze, thinking my imagination is pretty good.
It’s only when I get closer that I see the dark circles under Lex’s eyes, the tinge of strain in his features, and the way he holds himself so stiffly.
My smile falls. “Oh,” I realize, glancing down at the covered platter. “Not a dream.”
After a beat, Lex’s stilted voice confesses, “Afraid not.”
I still lower myself into the seat, eyes narrowed at the display in front of me. “What is this?”
“This?” he asks, reaching for the silver lid. He pulls it off with a flourish. “This is mint chocolate chip. And this…” He points to a box beside it, pushing it closer to me. “This is a gift. From all of us.”
Lex has let me have real ice cream only once—the day after he saved Nick Bruin. And I had to hear about it for a week afterward. The box, small and made of black velvet, is wrapped in a red satin bow.
Maybe it’s unfair, but I just hear Tommy’s voice in my head.
“She’s East End. They all want to be bought.”
“Are you sure it isn’t bribery?” I look up at him, arching a brow. “Because it’s going to take a lot more than ice cream and jewelry to buy me off.”
Lex’s face falls. “I’m not trying to buy—” But his words cut off and he mutters a curse, raking his hair back with a harried expression. “You know what, you’re right. This was fucking stupid. You can go back to bed.”
Maybe it’s the exhaustion on his face, or the dejected set of his shoulders, or the way everything about the setting looks so intentional, as if he and Pace had lit every single candle themselves.
And I know they did.
It’s why I reach out before he can storm off, clasping my fingers around his wrist. “Sit down,” I sigh. “Tell me what this is all about.”
He gives me an exasperated look but obeys, sitting across from me all slumped and sad-looking. “Verity, I’m not good at this.”
I unwrap the utensils. “You put the spoon in and grab a scoop.”
His blank stare is unimpressed with my attempt at humor. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before, much less…” Nodding toward my belly, he shifts uncomfortably. “Whatever this is.”
“You’re trying to apologize,” I acknowledge, dragging my spoon through a melting scoop of ice cream.
But his amber eyes capture mine. “This isn’t an apology.” My stomach sinks, and he must see it because he straightens. “I mean, I’m trying to explain something to you. The apology—that’ll come after.”
I watch him carefully. “And what is all this explaining?”
Lex folds his hands on the shimmery gold tablecloth, head bowed. “My brothers are the only thing I’ve ever cared about, and somehow, in some way, I showed it.” He glances up, eyes filled with such anger that it takes me aback. “I showed it too much. I showed it to him, and he used them against me, time and time again.” His jaw tightens, the candlelight throwing his angular features in sharp relief. “I want you to know that you’re right.” His face pinches, as if he’s facing something unfathomably foul. “I am his creation, Verity. He tied it all together inside of me like tendons and muscles, where the smallest stretch of affection is always attached to the snap of a whip.”
My spoon clatters against the bowl when I drop it, stomach flipping sickly. “Oh.”
“I wasn’t created to love,” he goes on, head shaking. “But I was created to understand the body. To know how it works and why it works. So when I bully Pace into getting a vitamin shot or force Wicker into a dark room for three days after a bad hit on the ice, they let me, because they understand something that you don’t.” Reaching across the table, he takes the small velvet box, tugging the bow away. “Taking care of you and the baby, making you as healthy as I possibly can…”
He grasps the top, clicking it open to reveal a ring.
“It’s the only way I know how to show that I want you,” he says. It’s not just a ring, but a Princess ring, almost exactly like the one I’m wearing. “That I respect you,” he adds, plucking something smaller from the bed of velvet beside it. I don’t realize it’s a key to the ring I’m wearing until he gathers up my hand, pushing the pointed end of the tool into the top stone. “That I care about you.”
The ring on my finger expands, and for the first time since my coronation, it slips off the knuckle without sting or pain.
His amber eyes glow in the candlelight as they meet mine. “That I love you.”
All the air leaves my lungs in a painful punch, that sagging tear finally brimming over, leading a track down my warm cheek. It’s when I’m chasing it away, watching Lex tug the new ring from the box, that I notice the gold cursive imprinted in the velvet of the box.
To my beautiful Queen. May she reign.
“But I want you to know I’m trying to learn more.” He stands, offering me an outstretched hand. “If you’ll let me.”
I stand on shaky legs, not having to wonder what this means. The ring he’s holding won’t hurt me—not like the one that was forged with tradition. This one slips on easily, snugly, but without the cinch of threat, and when I look into his eyes, I don’t see the vacant depths of an empty man, nor the simmering resentment of a Prince forced to give it to me.
I see my future.
“I love you, too,” I tell him, knowing that our journey to that future will be as thorny as the rose bushes surrounding this palace.
But knowing it’ll be worth it.
The tension falls out of him in a long, measured exhale, and when he takes my hand in his, he brings it to his lips, brushing a kiss against my knuckles. “Wicker said I should dance with you now,” he says, eyes sparkling.
Grimacing, I look down at myself. “Ever rolled a beach ball?”
Lex must take this as a challenge, because suddenly he’s gathering me by the waist and leading me into an expert waltz. When I laugh, his lips tick up, and I’m hit with the memory of our first dance.
“When I saw you that night, you looked like Prince Charming,” I say, tightening my hold on his hand. “You’re finally living up to the hype.”
He snorts. “You looked scared out of your wits.”
Groaning, I recall, “Everyone was so cold to me…”
“I know I was,” he replies, the mirth falling from his eyes. “You might not believe me, but that’s why I took the samples, Verity.”
I scoff when he spins, the bottom of my gown sweeping along the floor. “Because East End is full of snobs?”
“Because we’re not ‘Sides’ and ‘Ends’,” he corrects. “We’re all linked somewhere down the line, and maybe if people understood that, they’d stop trying to divide everything by streets and territories.”
I’m more surprised than I should be at his answer, and in this moment, I look at him and see so much more than a father, brother, or lover.
I see a potential King.
“That’s how you show you care about Forsyth,” I realize.
If he’s discomfited by his own transparency, he hides it well, his movements fluid and precise. “I guess it is. But if you asked me to,” his face softens, “I’d destroy every sample.”
I adjust my hold on his shoulder, following his next turn. “It’s a nice thought, the idea of us all understanding how we’re linked,” I say tiredly. “But we’re still divided, Lex. Imagine if Wicker or Remy found out about sharing a mother because of a test you did behind their backs. Imagine if Maddox never had the chance to give him context or closure.” I give him a significant look. “There would have been bloodshed.”
His mouth forms a grim line. “Does the truth always have to be so dangerous?”
I think about this for a long moment, letting the music and Lex sweep me across the candlelit dance floor. “Not always,” I decide, turning my head to press a kiss against the cut of his jaw. “Which is why I do want you to destroy the samples.” I grin, the warmth flaring in my chest like a firework. “After one last comparison.”