Chapter 30
Okee
Lula’s hand slides down my chest, her fingers finding the loosened edge of my robe. They drift lower, down my stomach, hip, until her hand closes around my cock. Her thumb drags slowly along the underside of the velvet head, coaxing blood and heat and the last useful part of my mind abandons me.
She turns and peeks over her shoulder at Boone. Then her hand leaves me and reaches for him.
“Come here,” she says.
Boone’s face changes as he comes to her slowly.
That’s when the truth of us becomes clear. The answer to the question Boone asked aloud: whether we were brave enough to trust what had brought her here.
Lula touches his cheek with one hand and places the other against my heart.
“Both of you,” she says, voice rougher now. “No more deciding what I can bear.”
“No more,” I agree.
Boone swallows. “No, ma’am.”
Her mouth curves. “Good.”
I touch her carefully at first, still chastened by my own confession. But Lula is not careful. She pulls me closer with a little sound of frustration, as if even now I am thinking too much.
Perhaps I am.
But when her mouth opens beneath mine, when Boone presses against her back and drops a reverent kiss to the curve of her neck, thoughts begin to loosen their grip.
There is only her hand in my hair.
Boone’s breath shaking beside us.
The firelight on her bare face.
The fallen gown abandoned at our feet.
She reaches for me, hand in my robe, and strokes, watching my face as I harden in her grasp.
There is no coyness in it. No false innocence.
Lula has never done anything by halves—not healing, not quarreling, not risking her life for people too foolish to deserve it.
Desire is no different. She wants, and lets herself want, and the sight of that freedom in her nearly brings me to my knees.
She presses me back toward the bed, guiding me to sit as she lowers to the floor. Pushing my knees apart, my robe falls open and I’m bare for her. Lula presses a kiss to my thigh, above my knee, and I spread wider. Boone follows, kneeling beside her.
“Mm,” he hums with delight. “Okee likes being admired proper.”
Lula giggles at that, her hand cupping my balls with gentle curiosity. “Is that so?”
The touch steals the breath clean out of me.
“Ain’t that something?” Boone says. “Easy enough to admire. Look how pretty he is. His cock is downright elegant.”
“Elegant,” Lula and I scoff back at once. He wraps his hand around me, stroking firm, and any trace of humor in me disappears.
Lula doesn’t wait for instructions. She teases a finger behind my balls as Boone takes me into his mouth. Submerged in sensation, I let my head roll back. It’s when I notice their reflections. A beautiful picture.
My thoughts quickly escalate to the obscene.
“The chemise comes off. Now.”
A mischievous thrill seems to run through her, the way she springs up and eagerly slips it over her head. Now she’s nude before me, the reflection of the soft smooth skin of her back, the cleft of her ass, drives me to reach for her.
“Get up here,” I say, taking her wrist. I help her to her feet, turn her to see her own reflection.
“Do you see how beautiful you are?” She doesn’t answer, fascinated by her image, hands drifting down her soft body.
I settle her in my lap, her back to my chest, and remember this room was made for such pleasures. The mirror was placed here with purpose.
“Look at you,” I whisper against the shell of her ear, as I tighten my arms around her just hard enough for her to know who is in control.
We exchange a glance in the mirror that reminds me: Lula never fully yields. Boone would go to his knees for the promise of being taken apart properly, trusting I know just how far to take him. Not Lula.
She gives nothing so freely. Her look is a challenge, a dare. Chin lifted like a queen, eyes bright, as if to say: if I mean to have her, I had better prove myself equal to the task.
“Boone calls you a general,” I murmur. “But you are no general.” I let my mouth brush the side of her throat, feeling the quick answer of her. “You, my dear, are a queen.”
The word changes her. I feel it in the slight stilling of her body, the proud lift of her chin, the way she tries not to want the title and fails.
“Your queen?” she asks. Her mouth curves. “And what does that make you?”
I let the answer come without apology. “Your king.”
From the floor, Boone gives a short, offended laugh. “Well, hell. We got us a king and queen now? What the hellfire does that make me—the court jester?”
“If the bell cap fits,” Lula teases. I squeeze her hip.
“No,” I chide. “This kingdom has two kings.”
Lula’s breath shakes with a laugh as I lower my mouth to her throat.
“And you,” I murmur, “are the queen bold enough to challenge us both.”
My fingertips graze the skin of her belly, rising to her breasts, tender points already stiffened. Her breathing falters as I capture them and gently tug.
“Still,” I murmur, letting the challenge settle between us, “when I take you, I expect you to yield.”
She goes very still. “Expect all you like,” she says. “A queen yields when it pleases her.”
I slide my hand lower, over the soft give of her belly, and pause there long enough to feel her breath turn shallow. She could stop me. She does not.
When I touch her, she is slick against my fingers.
Hot and wet enough to force my eyes closed in a second of near-violent restraint.
I gather myself. The promise of taking Lula apart piece by perfect piece makes me smile against her throat.
“Then it seems Her Majesty is already pleased.” My fingers sink between her folds, her sensitive pearl tucked between my middle and forefinger.
I work her over, feeling every twitch of her body against mine.
“All that royal dignity, and here you are wet and ready for me.”
She grips my forearm. For a moment I think she means to stop me, but then her knees part wider over mine.
Boone curses softly. Her focus cuts to him in the mirror, then darkens when she sees what we see: herself held open in my lap, my darker hand between her pale thighs, Boone watching like a man being slowly starved.
I withdraw my hand slowly, letting her feel the loss of it as I guide her body over mine.
“Now, you’re going to watch your kings ruin you.”
She sinks down with a moan, taking half my length in one slow glide before her tightness forces me to pause. Then she rolls her hips and takes the rest, stretching around every thick inch until I am buried to the hilt.
The sight nearly ends me. Not only the feel of her, though God knows that is sin enough, but the sight of her spread open—I cannot look away from the place where my cock disappears inside her, and the taut, heavy pull of my stones beneath her, drawn up tight from days of hard travel and no release.
I reach down, my fingers returning to that tender place between her thighs, moving with slow certainty until her grip tightens around my wrist and her breath comes apart.
As though all evening she has been trapped inside costume and calculation, and now every honest thing in her body is rushing back at once.
“Goddamn,” Boone breathes, eyes locked on our joined bodies.
He opens his own robe, cock already rigid. I turn slightly so he can see the three of us in the mirror—the place where her body opens to mine, the slick shine of us together, the fearless lift of her chin as she watches herself being taken.
“That’s a mighty beautiful sight,” Boone rasps, voice hoarse with awe. One hand strokes himself while the other reaches forward, fingers gliding reverently over us.
A moment later I feel the wet heat of his mouth as he presses kisses and slow, hungry licks where her cunt parts for me.
Boone works her slow at first, then with cruel little bursts of attention that make her clench hard around me.
Each time she tries to ride away from his mouth, I hold her there.
Each time she tries to sink too far down on me, Boone draws her back to himself.
Between us, she has nowhere to hide.
Her fingers catch in my hair, then Boone’s, and for a moment she is the one holding us both in place. That pleases me more than it should. She is not yielding like a conquered thing.
“Harder,” she says, the words breaking apart in her throat.
A queen commands, even as she yields. Lula comes apart between us with a sharp cry she tries—and fails—to smother. I hold her through it, feeling every last shudder take her, until the strength goes out of her all at once. Only when her hand slips weakly from my hair do I let her slip away.
After, she sinks down to the side with a soft, sated sigh, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy. Boone lifts his head, mouth wet, expression bright with satisfaction.
I put a hand in his hair and make him look at me.
“Mon garcon,” I murmur.
The words strike him exactly where I mean them to.
“Look what you did to our queen.”
His throat works. Lula, still trembling, makes a small sound of approval.
I tighten my grip in his hair and draw him closer. “That’s it, my love.”
Boone opens for me without hesitation, eager and ruined and pleased with himself.
“Taste how well you made our queen come.”
He groans around me, the sound low and hungry, his hands finding my thighs as though he needs something to hold on to. Boone has always loved like that—with his whole greedy heart, all heat and devotion, as if every inch of me is something he means to worship and destroy in the same breath.
I let him have only enough to make him ache for more. Then I catch his jaw and draw him off me, slow enough to watch the protest gather in his eyes.
“Up,” I tell him.
For a heartbeat he only stares at me, dazed and shining-mouthed, still caught somewhere between obedience and want.
Boone rises from the floor with a rough breath and crawls onto the bed full of wicked pride and need.
“Now I give my good boy his reward.”
His fingers knot in the bedding.