“Do you want to know?” Sy asks, sliding his gaze to mine when we get out of the car.
Knowing he’s talking about what happened in that office with the other Kings, I arch an eyebrow. “Do I need to know?”
He doesn’t think about it very long. “A bit, yeah.”
Nodding, I look around and answer, “Upstairs.”
West End is quiet.
It took me a long time to re-adjust to that after South Side. The lack of screams, gunfire, and traffic felt eerie at first, as if the streets here were holding their breath, waiting for the crash. I realize now the serenity isn’t a trick. Instead of making my shoulders tense, West End has become the thing that unwinds them. The sense of home.
The girl by my side as we approach the tower is just as silent, and I feel it now–the tension. The discomfort. The alert.
I toss Sy a look and he shrugs, casting her the same curious glance. But it’s been a long week. We all deserve some quiet to wrap our heads around the fuckery.
Sy holds the door for us and we filter through, but when we reach the bottom of the stairs, Lavinia says, “Wait.” She stops and Remy pauses just ahead of her, turning to look back down. “I need to do something. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
The three of us watch as she turns, approaching the elevator.
“Whoa, hey,” I say, following her. “What’s going on?”
The line of her shoulders goes rigid. “I just… I need to do this. For myself.”
It’s been a few days since we’ve worked with her on it, so busy and preoccupied with Royal business. Eyeing her carefully, I stab the button. “I’ll go with you.”
She gives me a tight smile. “Thank you, but I need to… go alone.” The door opens, and it takes her a second, but she finally crosses the threshold. Turning, I see that her eyes are tight and shiny, but there aren’t any tears. “See you upstairs.”
The door shuts and I stand there for a long moment after it’s gone, just listening for her screams. “Remy,” I say, twisting to meet his gaze. “Run.”
He’s the fastest, and I don’t even have a chance to see the acknowledgement spark in his eyes before he’s darting up the steps, disappearing around the bend.
Sy waits for me at the bottom of the staircase, staring at the elevator uneasily. “What the fuck is that?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, beginning the climb, “but I plan on finding out.”
The door is open by the time we reach the top, Lavinia and Remy sitting on the couch, her face buried into his shoulder. He strokes her hair, and from a panic standpoint, she seems to be doing okay, but putting herself in that situation? Something drove her there.
The way Remy is looking at her makes me think he knows more than he’s saying.
“Someone explain what’s going on,” I demand, dissatisfied when Remy just looks from me to her. “Now.”
Lavinia turns her head, peering up at me through swimming eyes. “I ran into my father outside the gym.”
“You what?” Sy’s shoulders square. “You talked to him?”
Well, that was messy. The plan had been to minimize contact between Lavinia, Remy, and their fathers. Now they’re both on the couch looking small and tense, shifty and miserable. Fucking assholes.
Palming her own forehead, she takes a shuddering breath. “I know it’s dumb to let him get to me–”
“That’s not dumb,” Remy says, ducking down to watch his thumb rub a tear off her cheek. “That fucked up muscle memory? He built it himself, Vinny. He had all the best tools–they always do. And people like you and me are trying to tear it down with nothing but a pair of spoons. It takes time.” Huffing, he stresses, “It takes for-fucking-ever.”
Sy’s fists clench. “What did he say?”
When she shakes her head, I figure she won’t say anything at all. Miraculously she does, eyes fixed on her fingernails as she picks the cuticle. “He said a lot of stuff. About you. About Leticia and my mother. About the fact I’m going to drag you down. And the thing is, he’s probably right.” She looks up, eyes swimming with panic. “Sy, my father raised a Queen, but it wasn’t me.”
“LB,” I say, sitting on the coffee table, eyeing the way Remy has both their pants undone, star and moon tattoos exposed. “I need you to listen to me. Your father is a narcissistic, toxic piece of shit.”
Frustration flares in her eyes. “I know.” She does know, but Remy’s right. He’s fucked with her head for so long, all it takes is one interaction with her and she loses all ground. She looks at Sy. “You called it, okay? I’m a Royal cliché with daddy issues.”
My brother shakes his head, some of the stoniness falling from his expression. “Yeah, and like you said, that’s not your fucking fault. That’s on him. Not you.”
She shrugs, idly reaching out to touch the moon on Remy’s hip. “It doesn’t change anything. The second I see him, I’m that scared little girl again, one wrong move from being locked in the box.” She presses her cheek to Remy’s shoulder, looking wrung out. “He said I’m weak-willed–that I’ve been Stockholm Syndrome’d.”
“So you went in the elevator to prove you could do it.” His arms are crossed over his chest and there’s the slightest tilt of his head—like he’s assessing—fuck. He’s analyzing the situation.
“Sy—” I start, knowing none of us like to be under Dr. Freud’s microscope. But he waves me off.
“I was wrong. You don’t have Daddy issues,” he says, sitting next to her. “You don’t want his approval. You don’t want any man’s approval—”
“That’s for sure,” I blurt. Sy glares at me and I shut up.
Taking her hand in his, he lifts it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “Lavinia, you fought us every step of the way, setting up boundaries, forcing us to work on your terms, making us adapt to you.” He forces her to look at him. “Each one of us has hurt you, but you’re still here–not because we changed you. Because you changed us.”
“That’s not weak-willed,” Remy agrees, brushing her hair back. “You’re a star, Vinny, just like the sun. You pulled us into your orbit.”
Darkly, Sy adds, “And let’s make one thing perfectly fucking clear. No one gets to tell you if you’re fit to be our Queen but me. And you’re it, baby.” He tips her face upward, brushing his lips over hers. “And you’re not just mine, you’re theirs, too. And that makes you even more special.”
Remy shoots me a look, eyebrows raised. He’s thinking what I’m thinking—that my brother, who spent his life pent up and angry, has got some serious game.
Lavinia melts in his hands like butter, head tipped back against Remy’s shoulder. Her eyes slip closed. “Will one of you–” Teeth digging into her lip, her words bite off.
“What?” Sy asks, cupping her cheek. “Tell us what you need, Lav.”
Slowly, her eyes flutter open. “Will one of you make love to me?”
Sy’s eyes meet mine and Remy’s, a silent understanding passing between us. “Just one of us?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
I once told Lavinia I don’t want one-third of her–I want it all. Even though it was an unreasonable request, she’s kept her promise. Anything they get, I get, too. But whereas Lavinia gives each of us everything, she accepts us in pieces–one by one.
It doesn’t have to be that way.
Her breath stalls at the implication, lips parting in surprise, and I take that as my answer.
“I think,” sliding off the table and down on my knees, I run my hands up her thighs, “our Duchess needs to be reminded that she’s a Queen. By all of us.” I grab the waist of her pants and tug them down. “Lift up for me, LB.”
Her breath quickens as she jolts with the force of my tug. “Nick, what if I can’t take—”
Remy cups her face, turning her to meet his kiss. It’s a filthy thing, his tongue visible as it licks into her mouth, tangling with her own. The moan she makes is quiet and pleased, and almost like an afterthought, her hips rise off the couch, allowing me to peel the pants from her legs.
Sy watches this with darkening eyes, ducking in to whisper into her ear. “You can take it, Lav. You can take anything.”
Remy’s hand lands on her thigh, dipping between her legs to spread her. Without missing a beat, Sy palms the other thigh, pulling her legs open for me. Remy releases her from his slow, wet kiss just in time for her to watch me lean in, licking a hot path up her inner thigh.
“Oh,” she breathes, mouth slick and red. “Oh, god, Nick…”
Her pussy tastes like heaven, wet and warm. As I kiss the hot fire of her clit, I hear the hitched breath she tries to take, see Sy’s hand duck beneath her shirt, easing it up her body, feel Remy restless beside her, vibrating with anticipation.
Sy must get her shirt off, because the next moment I glance up, his dark-skinned palm is gently massaging her tit, his mouth sucking a mark into her shoulder.
“I want to touch you too,” she says, the words a breathy pant. Her hands flail, looking for something to hold on to, and at the same time she finds it, her thighs give a tremble.
“Shit,” Sy curses and I look over, seeing her hand cinched around his cock.
“Let me touch you,” she says again.
Immediately, he and Remy begin fumbling with their pants, pushing them clumsily down their hips and legs, kicking them off with an aggression that borders on comical. There’s nothing funny about the way she reaches for them though, her hands just as greedy as the kiss Sy gives her, pushing his tongue through her parted lips.
It’s easy to feel left out as I watch her slender fingers wrap around each of their dicks, Sy and Remy bucking into her fists with varying degrees of eagerness. Where Sy slams his hips up into her grip, Remy rocks into it, coaxing her mouth back to his with a finger on her chin.
But they don’t get to do this.
I spear my tongue into her entrance, feeling the way her muscles melt at the sensation. It’s what allows me to work my hands beneath her thighs, pushing them higher and higher. Glancing up, I catch Sy’s eye, pushing her knee toward him. Somehow, he gets the hint, hooking his hand beneath her knee and raising it for me. It spreads her so deliciously that I’m able to lick lower.
Her whole body goes rigid, eyes dazed but widening. “What are you–”
My tongue meets the puckered flesh of her asshole, a chuckle rumbling against it as she gasps. “Relax, LB,” I command, palming each side of her ass open for me.
Remy’s the one to whisper, “Feels good, doesn’t it?” and I flick my eyes up just in time to see him descend on her tit, tongue looping wetly around the peaked nipple.
“T-that’s…” she stutters, arching into Remy’s mouth. “That’s… new.”
It’s necessary, is what it is. Not just because I need her ass stretched and wet for us, but also because there’s no square inch of Lavinia’s body I don’t want to know. I acquaint myself with this one hungrily, jabbing my tongue into her tight hole, teasing it with the tip of my finger until I feel it fluttering eagerly for me.
It’s only when I shove her hips up, easing back to aim my spit right into the dip of her asshole, that it hits her. “Oh my god, you’re really going to—” Her words fade off into a strained fricative when I glide two fingers inside, pushing the spit into her.
Remy reaches between her legs to stroke her clit. “You’ll do it, won’t you? You’ll let us fill you up?”
I thrust my fingers in and out, cock so hard that it aches. “We’ll get you nice and ready for us, baby.”
Lavinia begins shuddering, her breaths coming in sharp, pointed gasps. The tendons in her thighs tremble and flex as she tries to chase the feeling, but suddenly Sy’s fingers are there joining us, two sliding right into her slick pussy.
We work her like a symphony, Sy and I fingering her holes as Remy teases her clit. Her cries grow louder and more desperate as she breaks away from Remy’s mouth to look down at what we’re doing to her. Our hands are all jammed up together, relentless as they rub and stroke and thrust. Remy might call it art. Sy might call it a fight.
I call it perfection.
She comes with a strangled yelp, hands grasping frantically at our wrists as she goes rigid and seizes. I don’t know about the other two, but I can feel it around the third finger I sneak into her ass–the way her whole body clamps down on us, like it wants us to stay.
Her pussy is so soaked that it’s dripping down to my fingers, slicking the way as she goes abruptly lax. I watch Sy’s thick, glistening knuckles as he eases them free, bending down to press a kiss to her flushed cheek.
“So fucking beautiful,” he says, bringing his fingers to her gaping lips. He paints her slickness on like lipstick before licking out to clear it away.
“That,” she pants, chest heaving, “was insane.”
Fingers still buried in her, I climb to my feet, thumbing the button of my jeans with my free hand. “Oh, Little Bird. That was just to loosen you up for Remy.” Evenly, I explain, “I’d do it myself, but a deal’s a deal. It might hurt the first time, though.” I’d told Remy months ago that he could have first shot at fucking her ass, and I try really hard right now not to feel sour about it.
Remy meets my gaze, giving me a loose, sex-glazed smirk. “Ah, it’s not her first time, Nicky.”
I freeze three knuckles deep in her asshole. “You already tapped this?” I ask, brows crashing together. “You never said anything.”
He gathers her tit in a palm, holding my stare as he kisses the swell of it. “Because I knew you’d get all jealous and annoy the shit out of her about getting yours.”
I thrust my fingers in and out, scowling at him. “When was this? Where?”
Shrugging, he says, “A couple weeks ago, maybe? We were upstairs.”
My brain fogs up for a solid minute at what this means.
Her thick voice cuts through. “Nick?”
Blinking, I absorb this naked woman, slick and primed. Bending over her, I take her mouth in a deep, frantic kiss, working off my pants in the process. “I apologize in advance,” I say against her mouth, pressing a palm against Sy’s shoulder to get him to move.
“Apologize for wh—”
I pick her up, flip her around, and drop her on Remy’s lap. He shifts sideways, catching her with a surprised sound that morphs into a grunt when she lands on his cock. His hands instantly move to palm her tits. “Fuck, you’re dripping all over me,” he groans, kissing her jaw.
My focus is on one thing.
Pounding her sweet, tight, ass.
