by Amelia Wilde
I want to touch her more than I’ve ever wanted to touch anything.
I don’t do it.
I step back and back until I’m level with Augustus.
“Are you ready to be a good girl, Miranda?” The words nearly stick in my throat.
She looks so prim, sitting there with her hands in her lap and her naked pussy pressed against the throne. Miranda nods wordlessly.
“Then show us what you’ve brought.”
Her feet inch apart, legs spreading, and she stops sharply at the shake of my head. “Legs up, Miranda. On the arms of the throne. If you can’t do it yourself, I’ll do it for you.”
But she can do it herself. Of course she can. From the moment I saw her on the camera, I knew she’d be a good girl for us.
She does not disobey.
3
Miranda
I’m not doing this. I’m not hooking my legs over the arms of one of the matching thrones with no panties on and my dress hiked up to my hips. I’m not. The air is not caressing my the already-wet secrets between my legs, already groomed bare because I was coming to the palace. I was going to wear a nice dress and I wanted to feel nice all over. I never intended—I never thought—
Augustus sucks in a breath through his teeth, and Marcus has a burn in his eyes that sears my skin. Okay. It’s done. I’ve done it. I’ve showed them what I brought. This was the bargain, this is enough—
But no, of course it’s not.
Two kings are staring down between my legs with hungry eyes, chests rising and falling too fast for this to be a simple transaction. Heat crawls up my chest to my neck and spreads itself over my face. Nobody has ever looked at me like this before. Nobody. Not ever. And I’m twenty years old. Somebody should have looked.
The arms of the throne dig in to the backs of my knees but the wild, terrible pleasure of being exposed like this makes it hard to care. A bolt of dread screws itself into my stomach. Any moment now, they could tell me that this is over—that they’ve gotten what they wanted, and I should leave. I should go back to the peach farm and never darken their doorway again.
Marcus clenches a fist down by his side and releases it. “We missed one detail, Augustus.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
It’s so filthy, the way they talk to each other with their eyes pinned between my legs. The position keeps me open and exposed, opening more with every inch that my hidden place is out in the air, and I should want to stop it. I should want to cover myself with my hands, to close my eyes. But I don’t. I let myself fall into the heat of my face and the cool of the air on my pussy and wait for the kings to decide what to do with me.
“We don’t just get the peaches.” Marcus slips his hands into his pockets, all of him long, graceful lines and hard muscles. “We eat them.”
Augustus groans. “We do eat them. And now that you’ve mentioned it, I want a taste.”
A taste. Of me. My whole body goes hot, a fluttering anticipation pulling down at the base of my belly. They want to put their mouths there. Oh my god. The good girl in me insists with a haughty flip of her ponytail that I should close my legs now before they do something so dirty and wrong to me, but she must be wrong—the kings think I’m being a good girl now. As tawdry as this whole situation is, they like it. They want it. It shows in the tension on their face. I swallow hard.
“Do you think she’ll be good?” Marcus poses the question so casually. “Do you think she’ll let us have a taste?”
It’s so bad, to talk about me like I’m not here, but it makes me even hotter. I like that Marcus is talking about me like I’m their fruit, like I belong to them as surely as the peaches in that crate did.
“I will,” I say in a rush. “I’ll be good. You can have as many tastes as you want.”
It breaks some resistance in them, to say it, because they advance on me shoulder-to-shoulder. From this vantage point they are on display for me as much as I am for them. Well—not quite as much. But I can’t help appreciating the show. Elegant suit jackets pinned to neat hips. Strong thighs covered in matching fabric, stretching around them as they go. Pristine white shirts for such dirty men.
It was Marcus who seemed to be driving this detour into tasting me, Marcus with his golden hair and cruel mouth, but it’s August who kneels in front of me and lowers his dark head to my bare pussy. Where do I even look? Do I look at the close-crop sweep of his hair between my thighs, or at Marcus, whose crystalline eyes sear over the scene before him? Those eyes go from Marcus’s shoulders to the curves of my thighs and back again, thought you wouldn’t know it from the way he stands. Tall and proud, hands in his pockets. He could be watching a regatta if it weren’t for his eyes.
Then Augustus licks me.
He likes me like he would the open flesh of a peach, slow and sensual, curving his tongue into all the places I’ve never let anyone else see. A sound escapes from low in his throat, vibrating against me and twisting a new, sparking pleasure into the base of me.
“Oh, she’s sweet, Marcus, she’s so sweet.” He licks again, and I’d never have imagined that I was sweet like this, but the way he tastes, explores, leaving no crevice untouched, feels—oh, it’s so intense it’s hard to bear it. The slick slide of his tongue over the slick secret of me, lapping up the juices that have gathered there makes me clutch at the tops of my knees. I’ll never be able to keep them in place if he keeps doing this, but of course I will keep them in place because I’m trying—I’m trying o be such a good girl for them. Augustus licks a third time and then Marcus is over us like a thundercloud, fisting the other king’s jacket and pushing him roughly out of place. It’s so un-kingly I gasp. Augustus catches himself on the floor, eyes on fire, but Marcus is already kneeling between my legs.
“It’s my turn,” he snaps at August. “Open up for me, open up—”
I thought I was as open as I could get, but Marcus bands his hands around my bottom and spreads and oh, I wasn’t. Cool air meets newly exposed folds and Marcus leans down to take them for himself. Unlike Augustus, it’s not a slow, sensual meeting of mouth and fruit—it’s a starving man devouring the first delicious thing he has in years. He eats me viciously, prodding my opening with his tongue and sucking meanly at my clit. Augustus gets to his knees next to us and watches. He watches Marcus flick my clit with his tongue, he watches him pull it into his mouth and graze it with his teeth. He watches me thrash and wine, pinned in place by the throne and Marcus’s hands.
“Stop,” he says, and part of my soul dies. Marcus lifts his mouth from me and glares at Augustus. “You’re going to make her come.”
A meaningful beat passes between them. “You’ll have your chance,” fires back Marcus.
And then his mouth is on my pussy again, his tongue battering my clit, and pleasure rolls over me like an avalanche. It’s so heavy, spiraling out from the middle of me and exploding at my fingertips. Who’s making that sound that’s so close to sobbing, but not? Me. It’s me. I sob out my first-ever orgasm on the throne, the king sucking at my clit.
When it’s over—when I’m a quivering mess with my knees still thrown over the arms of the throne—Marcus gets up and wipes at his mouth with his sleeve. It’s so desultory, like he’s really eaten a peach, and it makes my pussy clench and want.
Augustus throws a look at him and moves back into position between my legs.
This time, he uses his hands, bringing his thumbs down to spread me open, to really look. And then his tongue dances over my clit, my folds, my slick opening, light touches that have another wave of electric pleasure winding and winding with each lick. He presses the tip of his tongue so deep it’s almost inside, then takes it away.
I can’t stand it—I just can’t stand it. I let my head fall back against the throne and let out a whimper. “Please,” I hear myself begging. “Please, King Augustus, please—”
“You need more?” He murmurs against my pussy. “Yes, you do. Look at how wet you are. You like being spread open for u
s, don’t you?”
Heat flares on my face. “I want you to keep looking.”
“You want me to do more than keep looking.” And he slides two thick fingers into me. I let out a wild groan. Oh, it’s a tight fit—oh, I never thought his fingers would feel so good and so huge. I’m impaled on them now and Augustus works them in and out, a strange expression on his face. “Miranda, don’t lie to your king. Has anyone ever done this to you before?”
“No,” I gasp. “Nobody has ever touched—nobody has been inside—”
The strangled groan comes from Marcus, not Augustus. He strikes over and puts a hand around my neck as Augustus pushes his fingers in deep. They meet resistance. A thumb under my chin tilts my face up to Marcus’s.
“You’re permitted to stop all of this right now.” Marcus’s eyes gleam bright, his jaw set.
“I don’t—don’t want it to stop.” I need more of Augustus’s fingers, not less. “Please don’t stop.”
“If we do this,” Augustus says, “I won’t be able to let her go.”
He can’t possibly mean it—he can’t possibly mean that I would stay here at the palace. Giving up my life for one crate of peaches and this pleasure? It’s not an even trade.
I’d get so much more out of it. It wouldn’t be fair. They wouldn’t let that happen, they wouldn’t—
But with Augustus’ fingers inside me, it’s hard to hold onto that idea.
So I let it go and I meet their eyes. “Please.” My voice comes out low and breathy and almost unrecognizable in this lust. “Take me.”
4
Augustus
I know exactly how it happened.
You’d think this was a spur-of-the-moment decision but the truth is that when I saw Miranda on that security tape, I wanted her. I wanted that nervous pout and the curvy bottom. I wanted the dress riding up on her legs. And most importantly, I wanted the determined fire in her eyes.
Nobody comes to the palace like that. Nobody.
Marcus and I have made it that way on purpose. There are very few people who can enter with any kind of courage, but Miranda did it. She kept her head held high all the way to the throne room, where we were prowling in wait. I could feel Marcus’ tension, his hunger for her, even while he pretended not to feel it at all. He’s very good at it. He’s a king, too. My match. My counterpart.
But there’s always been something missing, and it was Miranda.
How can you know that? Good question. I know. I know it from the way my cock has gone thick and hard in my pants. From the way she climbed up on that throne and parted her legs for us. Who would be able to do that? No one but a future queen, that’s who. Every other woman I’ve met in my life would have made an excuse and run. And she would be smart to do it. Two kings is a lot to handle. But Miranda can handle it.
Her slickness on my fingers is proof. Her pussy pulls them in tighter, as if she can’t bear to let them go. A virgin, and she wants us more than she’s ever wanted anything. How many times does the human heart beat in a minute? I don’t know if I can wait that long to have my cock buried where my fingers are.
“Take me,” she murmurs again, and she has no idea, this poor, sweet thing. She has no idea that if we do this, she’s never going to walk out of the palace again. We’ll send someone to gather her things and marry her in an ostentatious ceremony and keep her in our bedroom for the rest of her days. I pull my fingers out of her and lick her juices off, watching her face redden. There’s so much more, waiting for her. And because I need more of her taste I bend down and lick her clit, swirl my tongue through that slickness one more time. “Both of you,” she says.
Even Marcus can’t stay cold at those words. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.” Miranda has her legs slung over the throne and her pussy on full display. She’s bare—totally bare. Like some part of her knew that this might happen and wanted us to see. “I’ve been kept away from the world for so long, and if I only have this one chance—” White teeth worry at deliciously plump lips. “I have a chance, and I’m taking it.”
“Not here.” Marcus steps forward with all his strength on display and picks Miranda up from the throne. Her toes, with her pink-painted toenails, brush against my chest as he lifts her, and I catch a glimpse of her huge eyes and equally pink cheeks and a soft, almost relieved exhale. How could she be relieved, when we’re taking her to the bedroom? It wrenches at something inside of me, an aching need for release. And possession. All of it, wrapped up behind my rib cage.
We leave gleaming mahogany behind for the polished shadow of a secret passageway. Marcus turns his head and I can see the tick of his pulse in his neck, though you would never know it from his even breathing. A long thirty seconds, and then he bends to open the door. It opens into a wall hanging made with ultralight fabric so that it doesn’t actually impede our entrance into the room.
His room, if we’re being technical. I have a matching mirrored suite across the hall. That’s what happens when kingdoms combine, letting each one shoulder its way to the border. Symbolically the kingdom divides in two down the center of the palace. The kings meet in a circular room—neutral land—to make decisions for the kingdom. In reality, we meet in the bedroom. But there’s always been something missing between us. A nebulous space, waiting to be filled. That emptiness wouldn’t let us get close. We had to fill it with a woman. And oh, we’ve fucking tried, over the years, but nobody has been like Miranda.
So innocent. So willing.
Marcus puts her on the bed as gently as he would a delicate piece of fruit—more so. And then he leans down and rips her dress away from her body.
Miranda gasps, her arms coming up to cover her gorgeous tits. Marcus takes one wrist in each hand and pulls them away. I’m seized with jealousy for the way he’s looking at her, so close—and then his eyes come up to meet mine.
He’s asking a question. Whatever we said before in the throne room—that was nothing compared to this moment. He’s asking me if I’d rather turn away, to turn back. To cover Miranda’s body with a dress and send her out in one of the palace’s cars, back to her father’s farm where she cannot even order herself nice panties out of a catalogue. Not here. Not her.
I nod, and it feels like the most momentous thing I’ve ever said as king.
Or not said.
Marcus takes one step back, ceding ground. Because he’s not going to cede ground in what happens next, is he?
No.
We both reach for our shirt buttons at the same time, cloth falling to the ground like the softest raindrops. Marcus is hard, precum glistening at his tip, as soon as his pants are down. My own cock springs free and pulses. Miranda meals on the bed, her fingers digging in to the comforter.
I can’t wait to be near her. Not a second longer. So I climb up on the bed and sit her up, wrapping myself around her from behind, my back against the pillows. Her hair smells like strawberries and sunshine and a far-off rain, and she feels—
Christ, she feels like heaven. I run my palms over her breasts and roll her nipples in my fingers, feeling them pull tight in my grasp. She moans, laying her legs over mine like I’m the throne now.
Marcus takes his place on the bed in front of her and bends down, licking and sucking at her nipples and then her belly and then between her legs. She arches back against me and I hold her open wider for him. An emptiness at the center of me fills in, just to have her back pressed against her chest. I’m holding her wide when Marcus lifts his face from between her legs and looks at me. An animal hunger runs roughshod across his gaze.
“We’re going to take you now,” I whisper in Miranda’s ear. She turns her head side to side, her cheeks hot. “Are you ready for us?”
“Yes,” she whispers back, and then Marcus climbs between her legs.
It’s so filthy, feeling him like this—feeling her like this. Her body works and thrashes and arches, her hips wriggling until he’s forced to hold them still with his hands. Miranda suc
ks in a sharp breath when he pushes inside of her but she’s soaked, she’s absolutely soaked, and I clench my teeth to keep the jealousy safely inside.
“Fuck, Augustus,” Marcus hisses. “She’s tight. And I’m about to—”
I get my fingers to Miranda’s clit just in time for Marcus to push past her last boundary, and the little cry she makes turns into a moan. Within a few seconds she’s rocking against him, her hips scrambling to make contact, and yes, yes. He’s taken her. That means it’s my turn. It’s going to be my turn.
But not before I make her come.
I play with her clit, circling it, stroking it, until she shudders underneath Marcus and against me, trapped between two kings, and cries out an orgasm. It’s reflected in Marcus’s face, in the way he bites down hard on his lip and starts thrusting, slow and steady. He leans down to kiss her and another burst of jealousy stops my heart, then starts it again with so much fire it threatens to make a blaze of the bedding. One low grunt, and his eyes meet mine again.
Please.
Without withdrawing himself fully, Marcus pulls Miranda on top of him, their bodies making one long line against the pillow. She quivers against his skin and I’m struck by the sight of it. And by the sight of his hands on the curves of her ass, spreading her open there for me. HIs gaze beckons, and the weight of all these years of ruling beside him with nobody to bridge that gap falls away. It’s been so long, and he knows it.
“It’s time,” he whispers into her ear, loud enough for me to hear. “You’re getting us both now, Miranda, and there’s no going back.”
5
Miranda
My body tenses at the words from Marcus’s mouth, but his hands are there instantly, soothing, playing. This is what sex feels like? No wonder my dad wanted me as far as possible from men. But I have the sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t be like this with any other man. And two men. It’s all so wrong, but nothing has ever felt more right to me. A seed of dread plants itself at the pit of my gut, but I cover it with both hands. No. Not now. This moment never has to end.
