by Mari Carr
Hugo reached for her without hesitation, pulling her close to give her a kiss she felt all the way to her toes. They parted for just a moment, Hugo murmuring, “I love you,” before he kissed her again.
The kiss might have gone on forever, if she hadn’t felt Lancelot’s hand on her elbow, gently trying to extract her from their husband. “Stop hogging her,” he teased.
Hugo chuckled and released her, Sylvia spinning to kiss her knight. While Hugo’s kiss was that of a dark and decadent lover, Lancelot’s was pure alpha possession. Claiming.
Her lips felt slightly swollen by the time he was finished.
And then…
Lancelot reached for Hugo.
Sylvia held her breath as she watched the two men—her men—kiss for the first time. It wasn’t brotherly or friendly or…God…anything that innocent.
Lancelot gripped the back of Hugo’s head, his fingers fisted in their lover’s hair, twisting their faces to deepen the kiss.
Hugo wasn’t a passive participant. He reached for Lancelot’s hips, drawing their bodies closer. Sylvia glanced down, spotting the evidence of exactly what these kisses were doing to them. Their cocks had grown hard, thick, bulging the front of their pants.
Sylvia could appreciate that level of arousal. At the moment, she was fairly light-headed with it, her panties suddenly damp.
“Please,” she whispered, needing to get the hell out of here, needing… “Naked. Now.”
Eric slapped both Lancelot and Hugo on the backs. “You’re lucky men. Now go make sweet, sweet love to her. Or have weird, dirty sex. Either way works.”
Lancelot scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of Eric’s chambers to their bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lancelot kicked the bedroom door closed behind them as Hugo reached over and flipped the lock. Sylvia’s arms were wrapped around his neck, as she placed kisses everywhere her lips could reach—his jaw, throat, ears.
He wanted to urge her to go slow. This was their honeymoon. Under normal circumstances, they’d have a lifetime ahead of them…to explore, to play, to love. But these weren’t normal times. The danger surrounding all of them was real, and they’d be fools to pretend otherwise.
Before bidding him to retrieve Hugo and Sylvia for the wedding ceremony, Eric told him he could only give him one night—tonight—for his honeymoon. Come tomorrow, Lancelot was to return to England to take up his new position as a knight of his territory.
Lancelot set Sylvia down, intent on stripping off her dress. The little minx shifted away from his grip, her head tilted as she looked from him to Hugo.
“So…that kiss.”
Lancelot rolled his eyes, not entirely surprised that of everything that had happened in the fleet admiral’s chambers, that was the part she was most fascinated by.
Hugo walked over to a small writing table in the corner, pulling out the chair and spinning it so he could sit down facing them. It felt like an odd thing to do at the moment.
Every fiber of Lancelot’s being was driving him toward the bed, toward fast, hard, dirty.
“Take off your dress,” Hugo said. His voice had taken on a deeper tone, one that reminded Lancelot of Sylvia’s fantasy. Of her desire to be taken, forced. They hadn’t had time to do more than scratch the surface of her desires.
Sylvia didn’t move, her gaze shifting from Hugo to Lancelot and back again. He could see her mind working, see her trying to decide how to play this…them.
He chuckled, though the sound could hardly be described as amused. Sylvia didn’t know what she’d started. “Tell me the words, Sylvie. And then it starts.”
She licked her lips nervously. “Stop,” she whispered.
“And?” Lancelot prompted.
“Wait.”
“And?” he said again.
She frowned, then understood. “Nothing else.”
Hugo crossed his arms. “You aren’t undressing.”
She glanced toward the door—the locked door. Lancelot stood between her and any escape, something he watched her acknowledge, analyze.
Lancelot could read her thoughts, and he saw it the second she’d made up her mind. She started to move, but he moved faster. Before she’d taken two steps toward the en suite bathroom, he caught her, propelled her forward until her front was pressed against the bedroom wall.
“Bad girl,” he murmured in her ear.
She tried to push away—from the wall, from him—but he crowded even closer. He was cognizant of her injured hand, even as he grasped a handful of her hair and pulled.
Sylvia gasped, then moaned.
Lancelot had been hard and hurting ever since he’d kissed his new spouses at the end of the ceremony. While part of him longed to draw this out, to make it last, the other part, the ravenous beast, was hungrier. He lifted the skirt of her dress, pressing his finger into her panties.
She jerked as he shoved two fingers inside her. Sylvia was slick with her arousal, and her pussy clenched tightly on his fingers.
“You’re ours,” he said as he thrust his fingers. “Ours to take however we want.”
Sylvia whimpered, and though she was playing the part of the scared captive well, her body betrayed her true feelings, her ass shifting toward him on every thrust, trying to drive his fingers deeper.
“Please,” she whispered, perfectly aware that word wouldn’t stop him. He tightened his grip in her hair, bending her head to one side so he could bite her neck.
“God, please,” she said again, her voice trembling.
“That’s right, femme,” Hugo said, still sitting in the chair, watching them as if they were putting on a play for his amusement. “Beg him. Beg him to fuck you, to take you.”
Lancelot’s fingers stilled. He kept them buried inside her, but they were motionless.
Sylvia cursed, fighting to shove her lower body toward him, to seek her own pleasure. He pressed her more firmly against the wall, making it impossible for her to take what she needed.
She began to struggle in earnest, but her strength was no match for his.
“Say you’re ours. Say it.”
“Will you give me what I want if I do?”
He bit her shoulder. “No. We’re taking what we want.”
Sylvia was breathing rapidly, something that became even louder in the quiet of the room when she pursed her lips closed.
She wasn’t anywhere near finished playing.
Good.
Lancelot released her hair and, for a moment, she must have thought he planned to release her. He didn’t.
Using both hands, he tore her panties, breaking the lace with a sharp snap. If he’d begun this game using his head instead of acting on impulse, he would have taken the time to take her dress off. While his baser inclination was to rip it off her, it was her wedding dress, and he didn’t want to ruin it. Maybe someday, if they survived this nightmare, they’d have a daughter who would want to wear it for her wedding, unconventional dress or not.
Sylvia pressed her hands against the wall and shoved hard, trying to force him back. Her face was flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded, her skin dewy with perspiration. She was on fire, hot, wholly absorbed by the fantasy.
He unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick. Sylvia was still squirming, still struggling.
Lancelot raised her dress with one hand, held it around her hips, baring her ass for Hugo’s benefit, giving their husband an unobstructed view as he slammed inside her. He drove to the hilt, drove in so hard her breasts were crushed against the wall.
Sylvia’s orgasm started instantly, her cries loud. “God, oh God, oh sweet Jesus!”
Her Southern accent was stronger during these moments, a fact that had him fucking her even harder, faster.
Her climax didn’t fade, rather her pussy continued to pulsate around him. His goal wasn’t to draw out the moment.
Fuck that.
She wanted to be taken and, by God, he wanted to take her.
Take her like t
his, like a savage. Driving into her with all the power in his body, taunting her, telling her in no uncertain terms why she was his and he was never letting her go.
But he’d also take her like a lover, slowly driving them both up and over, holding her, kissing her, whispering sweet nothings.
He came hard, and as he did so, he grasped her hair and twisted her face to his, sealing his rough fuck with an equally possessive kiss.
Sylvia was right there with him. She bit his lower lip, drawing blood, giving him a sexy, self-righteous smile that proved he’d been the one used. That she had gotten exactly what she’d wanted from him.
Lancelot took a step back, retaining his grip on her, making sure she was steady on her feet.
Hugo’s voice sounded right behind him, and he jumped slightly, shocked that he hadn’t heard the other man approaching.
Hugo stepped beside them, cupping one of Sylvia’s flushed cheeks. His gaze dropped lower, taking in Lancelot’s now flaccid cock. He hadn’t even shoved his pants over his hips.
“My turn.”
Lancelot wasn’t sure how the professor managed to infuse such a deliciously dark threat to those two small words.
Hugo took advantage of Sylvia’s satiated state, stripping her dress and bra off with more care than Lancelot had rid her of her panties. He took her elbow and guided her to the bed. “Lay in the center. Legs open. Don’t move.”
Sylvia blinked twice at his demanding, don’t-even-think-of-disobeying-me tone, then did as Hugo said.
Hugo looked at Lancelot, eyes narrowed. “Take off your clothes.”
Mercifully, for both of them, Hugo tempered his tone with him, his words more suggestion than command.
As Sylvia watched, they both took off their clothing. Lancelot was now sorry for his haste. Recovery took time, but Hugo was clearly ready to jump into the game now.
Lancelot walked to the bed, sitting on the edge, as Hugo climbed onto the mattress, caging Sylvia beneath him. “Once the cast comes off, we’re going to try bondage. Going to tie you spread eagle to our bed and withhold your pleasure until you’re screaming for release.”
Sylvia shivered in response to the sexy taunt, and Lancelot felt his dick twitch.
Jesus. Maybe he didn’t need as long to recover as he thought.
Hugo bent his head to hers, taking her lips in a hard kiss. Sylvia started to lift her arms to Hugo’s shoulders, but he broke off contact. “Hands on the pillow. By your head.”
Again, Sylvia obeyed, almost without realizing she was doing so. “Hugo,” she whispered.
Hugo gave her a smile that no one in their sane mind would trust. “Professor,” he corrected.
Sylvia’s mouth opened in shock, no sound coming out.
“Sylvia,” he said, in the epitome of the teacher voice.
“Professor,” she repeated.
“Good girl.”
Lancelot blew out a slow breath, trying to reconcile this powerhouse of a man with the good-natured academic he’d actually thought he needed to protect.
Hugo gave her one more quick, hard kiss, then he pushed up, kneeling between her legs.
Lancelot could see her inner thighs, slick with her arousal and his come.
Hugo drew one finger along her slit, the touch soft compared to the hardness of his tone. He reached for her knees, lifting them until her feet were flat on the mattress near her ass. Her legs were stretched wide, the position leaving nothing to the imagination. She was bared to them, every part of her on display for their pleasure.
Sylvia’s tight, hard nipples and her soft, quiet “please” gave her away, proved how much she loved their scrutiny, their demands.
Hugo looked at Lancelot, his eyes drifting lower. Lancelot’s dick was already at half-mast. He didn’t need to worry about taking her so quickly the first time. His spouses, his lovers, were very good at stoking his arousal.
Hugo addressed Sylvia, even as his eyes never left Lancelot’s face. “You liked watching us kiss.”
Sylvia nodded. “Very much.”
Lancelot swallowed heavily, recalling how it had felt to give in to the unfamiliar attraction he’d felt for Hugo since the start. It had been the most natural thing in the world to reach over and pull the other man’s mouth to his.
He’d registered the split second of shock Hugo had felt before the man’s lips softened against his, and he gave in to his own desires.
Hugo studied Lancelot’s face for a moment more, his gaze drifting to his lips.
Lancelot accepted the unspoken invitation, leaning toward his husband. This kiss, like the first, felt just as earth-shatteringly perfect. Neither man yielded control. It was powerful, passionate.
They parted, looking at each other. Lancelot could read the myriad of emotions, the desire, the curiosity, even the confusion. The two of them were in foreign territory. What lay before them would take time to unravel, like peeling back the layers of an onion.
But there wasn’t time. Not tonight.
Lancelot moved back a few inches and Hugo nodded just once, his eyes closing briefly, telling him he understood.
After this war, after the mastermind was caught…
Lancelot had never had so much to fight for.
“Don’t stop,” Sylvia urged them, but that moment had passed.
“Later,” Hugo murmured. “Right now,” he paused, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her clit, “there’s a more pressing matter at hand.”
Sylvia’s hips lifted from the mattress, her eyes closing as Hugo played with her.
Lancelot wrapped his hand around his own cock, stroking it as he watched. Hugo was slowly driving their lovely wife out of her mind with nothing more than his thumb. The sight of it had Lancelot hard as a rock once again.
Hugo glanced over, raising one impressed eyebrow when he saw Lancelot’s hard-on.
Lancelot grinned, though the smile was fleeting. It vanished with a whoosh when Hugo reached over and placed his hand over Lancelot’s, the two of them working together to stroke his hard flesh. When the pressure became too much, Lancelot pushed his hand away with a slight grimace.
“Too much of that and this will end too quickly. Again.”
Hugo shook his head, chuckling. “That’s your problem, Lancelot. To know something, to be a master of it, you must study.” He bent, skimming his lips along her skin. “You must know every line, every sweet verse.” He flicked her nipple with his tongue. “You must dedicate yourself to the subject.” His bright gaze traveled over Sylvia. “Plan to spend years studying, working, testing.” As he spoke, he ran his fingers through her slit, pressing two inside just once.
His fingers slick from her arousal, slid lower, circling the tight bud of her ass.
Sylvia gasped when he pushed one finger inside. “Oh God,” she moaned. There was no mistaking that tone, those flushed cheeks, those shallow, almost labored breaths that had her breasts rising and falling. Sylvia was hot, and oh so ready for what came next.
“Do the research.” Hugo glanced at Lancelot, then the bedside table. Lancelot opened the drawer and found exactly what his husband wanted. He pulled out the tube of lubrication. Sylvia didn’t even notice. Her eyes had drifted closed and now she was slowly swaying her hips in time with the finger Hugo was thrusting in and out of her ass.
Her arms were still above her head, palms up, giving her the appearance of a woman in the pose of ultimate surrender.
Hugo withdrew his finger, his sudden departure capturing their beautiful wife’s attention. Hugo held up the tube that Lancelot handed him. She blinked once, twice, then smiled softly.
Lancelot grasped her good hand, pulling her to a sitting position as he claimed her spot. Then he pulled her over him. Her legs straddled his waist, his erection nestled along her slit until he lifted her hips and guided himself back inside her. Unlike the first time, when he’d slammed into her, grasping, needy, desperate, this was a slow, silky slide, but it didn’t feel any less powerful.
Once he was seated
to the hilt, he tightened his grip on her hips, holding her steady when it was apparent she was ready to ride. Then he reached up with one hand, wrapping it around her neck to guide her upper body lower, until they lay chest to breasts and he could kiss her, long and deep.
Their lips parted and he glanced over her shoulder to where Hugo waited, kneeling between their outstretched legs.
“Waiting for me this time?” Hugo teased. “That’s nice of you.”
Lancelot shot him a look that was half guilt, half tough-shit. “You’re going to have her all to yourself for the next—”
He stopped, realizing he didn’t know how long they’d be apart. Then he silently cursed himself for bringing it up now, here.
Hugo ran his hand along Lancelot’s thigh. “We won’t be apart for long. Believe that.”
Sylvia had lifted her head, her eyes sad until Hugo spoke. Then, like their husband, she nodded. “The Masters’ Admiralty has the smartest, bravest people working to find this man. He won’t be able to hide for much longer.”
Lancelot gave them both a grateful smile, then lifted his hand to cup her breast, squeezing it tightly, anxious to put them back in the moment he’d so stupidly thrown them out of.
His touch had the desired result as Sylvia groaned with pleasure. Her pussy clenched around his dick, and he grunted as well. “Hugo.”
He didn’t need to say more. The professor was indeed well-versed in lovemaking, recognizing that Lancelot was a man on the edge, constantly struggling for control when it came to Sylvia.
Hugo ran a finger along Sylvia’s spine and she shivered in response. Then he opened the lubrication and went to work.
From his vantage point, Lancelot couldn’t see what Hugo was doing, but he could feel more than he would have imagined, and the rest he could figure out from Sylvia’s reactions—her slight jerks, the way her inner muscles quivered against him, and her soft cries. Her breath was hot against his neck, her face buried there as she tried to acclimatize her body to what was clearly a new experience for her.
Lancelot had counted to nearly two hundred when he saw Hugo place the lubrication on the nightstand, felt his knees brushing his inner thighs.
