by Parker Grey
In the tub, I spread my legs wider, letting my other hand drift down until I’m parting my own lips, rocking my hips forward, sliding my own fingers inside as I bite back another moan. I wish I’d turned the fan on or let the water run or something, because it’s so hard not to make noise, but every time I do it’s magnified tenfold.
Now Kieran’s fucking me hard with his fingers, Beckett working me from the front. I’m on my knees, out of control, hips bucking wildly as the two men play my body perfectly. Kieran bites my ear, growls into it.
“You want us both to fuck you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, but I say it out loud, in the tub, and my eyes fly open.
For a moment, I stop, hoping that no one heard, but nothing happened.
I close my eyes again, push my fingers deeper into my pussy, keep rubbing myself furiously.
Kieran pulls my hips backward, his fingers sliding out, and now I’m on all fours, gasping for breath. In the tub I’m biting my lip, forcing myself not to moan, thinking of Beckett’s cock bobbing in front of my face, Kieran’s cock right at my entrance, the bright heat building and building inside me.
The moment fantasy-Kieran enters me, I come hard. I gasp out loud, make a strangled noise kind of like a moan, bite my lip again to stop myself even as I keep going, keep desperately fucking myself. My pussy spasms around my fingers as I think of Kieran in me with Beckett in my mouth, the way I’d sound moaning around his thick cock.
Finally, shaking, I stop. I pull my hands back and stretch my legs out in the tub, face flushed bright red.
I can’t believe I did that, I think. You shouldn’t have found that stuff in the first place, and you shouldn’t be thinking about it now, either.
I’m not sure they’d mind, though. I’ve seen the looks they give me, noticed how they both go out of their way to talk to me at events.
You could tell them, I think. See what happens.
Before I can get any further with that thought, there’s a knock on the door.
Chapter Five
Beckett
I stir the pot, putting the lid back on the sauce, check the oven one more time. Kieran is grabbing plates and silverware, dusting some of it off — no one’s lived here in a little while — and I think dinner’s ready.
It’s nothing fancy, just defrosted frozen steaks and boiled veggies, but at least it’s food, and I’m starving.
“I’m gonna go let Bianca know dinner is in a few,” I tell Kieran.
He just nods, gathering forks. Kieran can be a man of few words, sometimes, but there’s no one I’d rather have by my side in a pinch.
I head down the hallway, turn the corner, and then I’m in front of the door ringed with light.
Just as I’m about to knock, I hear slight splashing.
A sigh. A hitch in Bianca’s breath, and I pause.
That sounds like...
No.
I stop, though. I stand outside the bathroom door and listen to the sounds she’s making, even though they’re echoing and vague, and I hold my breath.
Softly, she gasps. She’s breathing hard, almost like she’s fighting back moans. I’m getting hard just listening, because if anyone knows what a woman on the brink of orgasm sounds like, it’s me.
I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but I can’t help myself. The thought of Bianca in the bath, pleasuring herself, is overpowering. I wonder if she’s using her fingers, or maybe a vibrator. Maybe she’s using the showerhead, though it doesn’t sound like it.
Is she fucking herself, or just rubbing her clit?
What’s she thinking about?
Despite myself, I touch my cock through my pants. The past few days have been jam-packed with planning and travel that I haven’t had a single chance to even jerk off, let alone find a girl.
Not that I’ve done very much of that since meeting Bianca. Somehow, it’s just... less appealing now.
There’s another splash, another gasped moan.
“Yes,” she whispers, her voice echoing off the tiles.
God, I’d give anything to know what she’s saying yes to. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking about, whether she’s thinking about me the way I think about her.
I rest my head gently against the door, listening despite myself to the sounds of Bianca getting herself off. I can tell she’s trying not to make any noise, gasping and moaning. I wonder if she’s biting her lip the way she does sometimes, her perfect red pucker marred by that dot of white.
Then there’s a tiny gasp. A moan cut short, a splash, her breathing ragged and harsh, and I know she’s coming. The thought makes my cock jerk in my pants, and I slide the flat of my hand along myself, one hand on the door, desperately trying to think about anything else but the girl on the other side.
It doesn’t work. I can’t. I can’t have Bianca — at least not here, not now — but I can’t get her out of my mind, either.
I take a deep breath and knock on the door.
There’s a surprised splash on the other side, then a long pause.
“Yes?” her muffled voice says.
I open the door just a crack so she can hear me, and as I do there’s a yelp even though all I can see are her toes, peeping out of the water.
“Don’t panic, I’m not a robot squirrel,” I say. “It’s nearly dinner time.”
“I didn’t think you were a squirrel, I thought you were going to open the door all the way,” she says, her voice languorous and teasing.
“I would never, Princess,” I tease right back. “Unless you asked, obviously.”
Silence. Shit.
“Dinner’s nearly ready,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Dry off and get dressed fast, we’re starving.”
“I’ll be right there,” Bianca says, and I close the door again.
You can’t have her, I tell myself over and over again.
Not here, at least. Not now.
You’ll protect her and that’s all.
Of all the modern conveniences Kieran’s family’s hunting cabin-slash-mansion has, a dishwasher isn’t one of them. After we eat, we tell Bianca to go to bed — the poor girl isn’t used to anything like this, and I was afraid she’d fall asleep on her plate — and clean up ourselves.
For the first couple minutes, neither of us says anything. It’s not exactly unusual — Kieran’s not a big talker — but this silence feels heavy, almost stifling.
Plus, I know exactly what’s causing it. The beautiful, delicate, virgin princess who’s asleep in her bed right now. The girl that both of us want, but who we can’t possibly share.
“I think we should make a deal,” I finally say, scrubbing off the pan we used in the oven.
Kieran moves the faucet to his side of the sink rinsing off a handful of soaped-up silverware.
“A deal about what?” he asks, his low voice soft.
As if he doesn’t know.
“What do you think, asshole?” I mutter. He may be my best friend, but right now I’m exhausted, frustrated, and trying to get gunk off a baking pan.
Kieran jams the silverware into the holder on the drying rack with a long, loud sigh.
“What’s the deal?” he finally asks.
I rinse the baking pan, glancing quickly toward the hallway where all three bedrooms are. It’s quiet and dark.
“Neither of us gets her,” I say.
Kieran doesn’t answer. Instead he slowly grabs the towel, wiping his hands. A muscle in his jaw twitches slightly, and I ignore it, carefully balancing the baking pan on top of everything else in the dish drying rack.
“You’re just saying that because I saw her first,” he tells me.
I glance at him. Even though he sounds deadly serious, there’s a smile just barely making itself known around his mouth.
“You did not,” I say.
“Sure I did,” he says, tilting his head slightly, still teasing me. “And you only want to make this deal because you’re so afraid I’m going to charm her right off her feet.�
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That’s how I know he’s kidding. Kieran gets plenty of women, but it’s not because he’s got charm. He’s the dark and mysterious type, attracts the kind of girl who think she can unravel him.
Also the kind of girl that likes having her hair pulled while he fucks her. The kind of girl that doesn’t mind having her ass smacked, who likes getting a little rough.
“So it’s a deal, then?” I ask, keeping my voice low as I dry my own hands off, pruny from washing dishes. “While we’re here, no one makes a move on the princess.”
I don’t even need to say because she’d never let us both fuck her. That part goes without saying.
Kieran holds out one hand.
“Deal,” he says. “As much as I don’t want it to be.”
“Same,” I say, taking his hand and shaking it.
Chapter Six
Kieran
I sleep like the dead. I always do when I’m at the hunting cabin. It’s so quiet, so isolated, that it feels like not even the nightmares can find me here, and thank God I don’t wake up screaming. That would really terrify poor Bianca.
Still, I’m first up in the morning. I never did need too much sleep, and my years in the Royal Griskold Guard cured me of any further need I had to sleep in.
It’s barely past dawn when I walk into the kitchen, already dressed, and figure I may as well start making breakfast.
I prep the twenty-year-old coffee maker, and soon enough, it’s happily percolating and dripping brown liquid into the pot. I boil water for tea as well, just in case Bianca’s the tea drinking type. I don’t think she is, but I can’t exactly remember.
Then I really set to work. Growing up, we always had a chef — an entire kitchen staff, actually — but in the guard, it was my turn to cook for all the men occasionally, and it turned out I liked doing it. Even if the hunting cabin doesn’t have much in the way of fresh food, the pantry and freezers are well-stocked, so I grab bacon, frozen berries, the ingredients to make waffles.
I go onto autopilot, I’ve done this so many times, and my mind wanders.
Half of it wanders to Bianca, of course. How right now, she’s asleep in her massive four-poster bed.
I wonder if she sleeps naked, her body soft and warm. I think about what it could be like to wake up next to her luscious naked body, slide below the covers.
Crawl in between her legs and lick her awake, lapping up her sweet honey. Bury my tongue in her pussy and feel the way her body responds when I make her come, again and again.
Shit. There goes my cock for the second time already today. I woke up with a rock-hard erection, and since I finally had a moment of privacy, I took care of it.
Thinking about basically the exact same thing: Bianca, naked and warm, moaning my name.
But then there’s the other place my mind goes: King Edmund’s warning when he agreed to our plan, when he told us in no uncertain terms that his daughter was pure, innocent, and untouched — waiting for her wedding night to lose her virginity to her husband and only her husband.
The king’s not an idiot. He’s well aware of the reputation that the two of us share, but he also knew that this was probably the best option to keep his daughter safe.
So he sat us down and lectured us about tomfoolery and hanky panky and how we had better not get up to any funny business with this daughter, because she’d tell him everything.
No fooling around. No necking.
Yes, he really used all of those words. He may be an excellent monarch, but King Edmund is a little behind when it comes to describing sexual activity.
And of course, during that whole lecture, it was nearly impossible to think about anything else. If someone says don’t even think about touching my beautiful, alluring daughter sexually, what the fuck else is someone going to think about?
I toss some bacon onto a hot griddle, and immediately it splatters fat everywhere, even onto my shirt, and I curse. I didn’t bring too many of them with me, and I don’t want this one to get even more dirty, so I take it off and toss it over a chair, turning the stove down as I do.
Seconds later, there’s a soft padding sound in the hallway, and Bianca comes out, yawning. She’s wearing plaid pajama pants and a tank top, slippers on her feet, her dark hair wild around her head.
No bra. I notice that fucking instantly, because her top is just tight enough for me to see the outlines of her nipples, the lower curve of her breasts. I was already hard, but now my dick swells even more, nudging at the counter in front of me.
Don’t look, I tell myself. Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about grabbing a fistful of that hair as she’s on her knees, hands behind her, lips around your cock.
Don’t think about the way her perfect, full tits would bounce while she rides your cock.
Don’t think about the way she’d scream with pleasure if you both...
“Hey,” she says, mid-yawn.
“Sleep well?” I ask, turning the bacon over in the pan.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I could swear she looks at my swollen cock for just one moment before walking to the coffee maker and staring at it, her cheeks turning slightly pink.
She just woke up, they were already that color.
Hands off.
Hands off.
“Are there coffee mugs?” she asks, her voice soft and sleepy.
I flip one more piece of bacon over in the pan, then walk over behind Bianca. She’s standing right in front of the cabinet where the mugs are, and I position myself right behind her.
Even though I know I shouldn’t be this close. Even though I agreed with both her father and Beckett that neither of us would do anything untoward to Bianca.
We never asked her what she wants, I think.
I steady myself with one hand on the counter, right by her hip, and reach around her for the cabinet. The very tip of my swollen cock brushes against her through two layers of clothing as I open the cabinet and grab a mug.
I’m an inch from her hair, and her scent only makes me harder. She smells of strawberries and vanilla, warm and enticing.
Before I can do anything worse, I grab a mug with a deer on it, slam the cabinet shut, and back away.
“Here you go,” I say, my voice low and gravelly with desire.
“Thanks,” she says. “Am I good to just...”
Bianca gestures at the coffee maker, sleepy eyes blinking.
Don’t even look at her, I think. If you interact with her much more she’s going to be up against that counter, and you’ll be violating every promise you made.
“Go for it. Coffee’s done,” I say brusquely, and head back to the stove as Bianca fills her mug quietly.
Chapter Seven
Bianca
I guess Kieran’s not really a morning person, I think.
I can’t quite tell what his deal is. The last time I saw him and Beckett, at my cousin’s son’s christening ceremonies, he seemed different. Not exactly outgoing and talkative, but not so...
...Dark, or growly.
I pour myself coffee, find the sugar next to it, and add a couple spoonfuls. Kieran doesn’t even look over at me as I stir the murky liquid, then take a good, long sip as I look out the window over the kitchen sink.
It’s late summer, so it’s green and leafy out there. Here in the mountains the foliage is mostly darker evergreens with a few handfuls of brighter-green oaks and maples thrown in.
I wonder how long we’re going to be here.
A week? Two?
A month?
I take another long drink of coffee as I glance over at Kieran. He’s wearing sweatpants with no shirt as he makes breakfast, his muscles rippling in the low sunlight, the hard lines of his chest and abs shifting.
God, he’s even got that V that points toward his...
I glance down, forcing my eyes away and back to the window, and turn bright red, taking another long sip of coffee to cover it up.
Kieran’s got a massive erection right
now, tenting up his sweatpants. That must be what brushed against me just now as he leaned over me, getting a coffee mug out of the cabinet. I clear my throat, take a deep breath, drink more coffee and try to ignore the slow, fiery heat moving down through my core.
He could just bend me over the counter right now, I think.
No one would ever have to know. Beckett might not even wake up, and Kieran could push my pants down, slide that enormous cock into me and just take me here and now...
I drain my coffee mug, annoyed at myself for not being able to think of anything but sex, at least not with these two around.
But what if Beckett did wake up? Maybe he could join in...
I clear my throat and force myself to stop fantasizing.
“Can I help with anything?”
Kieran glances at me, his gaze sharp and hard.
“There’s frozen orange juice,” he says. “Think you can handle making that?”
I lean one hip against the counter, glaring at him, a little annoyed that he’s so hot and being a dick.
“I don’t know, do the instructions have big words in them or can even princesses follow them?”
Kieran doesn’t answer, just smirks, turning back to the stove.
“There’s a pitcher in the cabinet by your feet,” he says.
A bit later, Beckett wanders out of his bedroom, wearing sweatpants and a thin white shirt. Every time he stretches or moves, it pulls against his muscles, and I have to force myself to stay focused on what I’m doing — making the orange juice from frozen concentrate, finding the dishes and silverware and setting the table.
The two of them talk just a bit, but Beckett also goes to the coffee pot first thing, pours himself a full mug, and gulps it down.
“That bacon still good?” he asks Kieran, leaning against the counter.
