by Mari Carr
“Fucking is the right word for what I want you to do to me,” Rose purred. “You’re going to fuck my ass, and that’s going to make me move enough that I’ll be sliding on Weston’s cock.”
Marek disappeared into the bathroom.
Rose’s heart fell. “That was too much. Normal women don’t talk like that.”
Weston’s hands flattened and he palmed her breasts in an oddly comforting gesture. “Men only wished normal women talked like that. He—”
Marek returned, one palm rubbing the head of his cock, a dab of white on the tips of two fingers on his other hand.
“I got some lotion. It’s lemon-balm scented.”
Rose smiled in relief. “I thought you were giving up on us.”
“Never.” There was a lot of emotion in that one word. “But I won’t risk hurting you.”
“It really would be okay. I’ve had anal sex without prep or lube before.”
Marek shook his head. “You deserve prep and lube.”
Below her, Weston snorted out another laugh.
Rose ground her hips down and his laugh morphed into a groan. He squeezed her breasts and then plucked at her nipples.
Rose bent forward over Weston. He released her nipples with one last tweak that made her pussy clench, then he wrapped his arms around her.
“Hold her cheeks open,” Marek said in a gravelly voice. Ohh, the evil twin was back.
Rose reached back to obey, but Weston beat her to it. Marek hadn’t been talking to her. Hadn’t been giving her orders.
Weston’s fingers dug into the cheeks of her bottom, parting the globes of her ass. Marek’s fingers dabbed the cold lotion onto her asshole. Rose didn’t think now was the time to tell him that using lotion, especially scented lotion, wasn’t a good idea. Later. They could worry about that next time.
That thought brought her up short, jerking her out of the moment. Next time implied a future they definitely didn’t have.
Her moment of distraction meant that she jumped in surprise when Marek worked one finger into her ass. He paused, finger buried halfway in her.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. I like it. It feels good.”
With her pussy full of Weston’s cock, Marek’s finger made her feel stuffed. She’d had double-penetration sex before plenty of times, though usually that was one man at her back using either her ass or pussy while the other fucked her mouth. This was different. This was intimate in a way being ordered to take a cock in mouth and ass while a third man casually cropped her nipples wasn’t.
Marek worked his finger all the way into her, then added a second. Rose held herself perfectly still for a few moments before she remembered she didn’t have to. She started to move, rocking back onto Marek’s fingers, forcing them deeper inside her. Changing the angle of her hips so she could grind her clit against Weston’s pelvis.
“Hurry the fuck up,” Weston snarled. “And if you say ‘language’ I swear to God I’ll strangle you.”
The fingers in her ass paused and then withdrew. Marek’s knees on the mattress made it dip. Weston bent his. Her legs, hooked over his, were drawn up. Weston let go of her ass and tangled a hand in her hair, pulling her down for a kiss.
Another set of hands settled on her ass, pulling it open, exposing her. Then the broad head of a cock pressed against the tight ring of muscle.
Marek shifted his hold, his fingers curling forward to hook around her hips while his thumbs dug into her ass, keeping her spread.
Then he was pushing. Rose sighed into the kiss and relaxed with the ease of long practice. His cock pressed in a half inch, opening her ass.
She nipped Weston’s tongue, then his lower lip.
Marek slid in farther, and she could feel the crown of the tip of his cock enter her.
Weston was still buried in her pussy and she felt incredibly full. Almost too full.
But there wasn’t such a thing as “too full.” Not with them. In a flash of insight, she realized there would never be enough.
“Fuck me,” she groaned, ripping her mouth from Weston’s. “Fuck us.”
Marek’s ironclad self-control must have cracked because he bent over her, one knee on the bed, the opposite foot on the floor, and pumped into her ass in a vicious rhythm.
His hand slid up her back, then around her side, stroking the outer side of her breast where it was pressed to Wes’s chest.
As he thrust forward, Rose was shoved up Weston’s body, and her pussy slid along his cock. With a growl, Weston pressed on her thighs, shoving her back down onto his cock and forcing Marek to retreat.
Marek thrust his cock into her ass.
Weston pressed her down, impaling her pussy on his cock.
Rose swallowed and realized this—this wild, uncontrollable arousal—was what it was supposed to be like. She’d always looked around the clubs and hotels she and Caden had frequented, and wondered what the hell was wrong with all these people. She and Caden hadn’t exactly chosen the lifestyle. Caden had always tempered pain with pleasure, taking the worst sting out of it until, over time, she occasionally looked forward to the pain, simply because it meant pleasure.
Now she understood. This was what those people were seeking. An intensity of emotion and physical stimulus that transcended too-simple labels of pleasure and pain.
Weston tore his mouth away, pressing his cheek to hers. “I’m going to come.”
“Good. Good,” Marek panted.
Rose couldn’t speak. She was hovering there, on the edge of something gloriously new yet achingly familiar.
Another thrust into her ass, faster than the others had been. There was no rhythm now. There was only pleasure and need and the fullness that made her clench her teeth and rake Weston’s arms with her nails.
She needed something, something.
Marek jackhammered into her, then stilled and groaned. Below her, Weston bit her shoulder and let out a groan of his own.
Wait, wait, I want to come with you.
“Ours,” Marek declared. “You’re ours.”
Weston turned his head, nipping her earlobe, and said, “Ours. Come for us.”
This time, the command didn’t scare her or drag her into the past. She came, throwing her head back so hard that it smacked into Marek’s chest. She screamed between clenched teeth as the orgasm went on and on.
Finally, the pleasure released her and she fell limply on top of Weston.
He hugged her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Marek slid out of her ass and lay beside them. “What happened?”
“I’m a fucking ass,” Weston replied.
“Language.”
Rose buried her face against Weston.
“Seriously?” Wes hissed. “Focus on what’s important. I ordered her to come.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t mean to.” Weston squeezed her. “I’m so sorry, Brown Eyes.”
“We can work on making sure—”
“How about you both shut up and stop ruining the moment?” Rose kept her eyes closed as she spoke. “I’m not sure I would have been able to come without the command. I don’t want to think about it too much. That was perfect. So, you two can shut up.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Weston started to laugh. His semi-erect cock was still buried in her pussy, but slipped out when he rolled her to lie between himself and Marek.
Marek looked down at her with dark eyes. “So I shouldn’t ask you if I hurt you?”
“If you want to be helpful, you can find a towel and a blanket,” she said. “But I’m just as happy if you stay right here. With me. With us.”
Marek did slide off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom, returning with warm, wet washcloths. He cleaned her ass with one, pussy with another, and then he cleaned Weston’s cock, tugging gently with washcloth-covered fingers. Rose watched Marek take care of Weston and something in her chest twisted.
Marek disposed of the washcloths, then returned with
a blanket. He lay beside her, and Rose turned to him. He lifted one arm and she slid into place, cheek against his shoulder. Weston curled against her back, his arm sliding over her, his hand laying on Marek’s stomach below the blanket.
Rose was safe, warm, and loved. That last one might have been a figment of her imagination, but she was going to hold on to the feeling.
She closed her eyes and fell into a light sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
“I think it’s time,” Marek said, “that you tell me what’s really going on.”
Marek didn’t dare move too much—Rose was still asleep on his shoulder—but Weston had slid out of bed several moments ago, disappearing into the bathroom.
Now that he’d come out, Marek wanted him to start talking.
Weston nodded once, then started pulling on his pants and shirt. Rose, warm and soft at Marek’s side, shifted a little, her dark raven’s wing brows drawing together. He hadn’t planned to wake her, but Weston grabbed her foot and gave it a little jiggle.
“Wake up, Brown Eyes.”
Rose must not have been deeply asleep because she opened her eyes and sat up. She raised her arms, stretching them above her head. The blankets fell, and her particularly lovely breasts were on display. He hadn’t gotten to taste those pink nipples, and that was something he hoped to rectify.
Marek waited for Rose to rise, then he slid off the bed. He spent a few minutes converting the bed back into divans. He took his turn in the bathroom, emerging to see Rose and Weston standing in the space between the couches.
“Hungry?” he asked.
They both nodded. He slid between them, his skin reacting to the heat from their bodies. He opened the door and led them out into the main cabin. The flight attendant’s expression was perfectly neutral and pleasant. He advised them that they had about two hours of flight time left, then took their dinner order.
Tristan was less reserved, and rolled his eyes. “If you three are done, I’m going to lie down for a few hours.”
“Put a sheet down first.” Weston grinned.
Knight made a gagging noise but plodded into the back.
They took their seats, Marek and Weston across from one another, Rose across the aisle, leaning on the armrest so she’d be closer to them.
Weston took a minute, apparently to gather his thoughts. “We told you about the purists.”
It wasn’t a question, but Marek replied. “Yes.”
“The purists aren’t just ideologues. In fact, I don’t think that my parents care at all about that aspect of it. The purists may have started out as Nazi sympathizers. But now there’s something else going on.”
Rose took up the story when Weston stopped speaking. “They’ve been protecting something. A secret. Actually, many secrets. Caden…” Her voice trembled a little when she said the dead man’s name. “Caden and I kept trying to find the big secret. Something that, if we knew it, would give us leverage. We’d be able to leave.”
“And you didn’t dare leave unless you had it because of Tabitha,” Marek said, hoping to push the conversation forward faster. He felt a flash of annoyance but tempered it with patience. This wasn’t just a story to them. It was memories, each of which might come with an ache of remembered pain.
“For a while, we thought the secret was these tunnels that connected with the Trinity Masters headquarters. Then we thought it was what was in the tunnels.”
Marek kept his gaze steady on Rose, but then switched it to Weston when he took over.
“Art, particularly paintings. Once I’d recovered from this,” Weston motioned to the right side of his body, “I started sneaking back to Boston and cataloguing what they had in there. Every time I went, there was less of it.”
“All this hidden art became their piggy bank.” Rose’s lips twisted. “My job was to keep the map of the tunnels. Give it out to people who were loyal to the purists. I tried to stop them by editing the map, but they still got in. Members of the purists would go in, grab a painting or sculpture, and sell it. Instant money. And the Andersons were the worst. At one point, they cleared out most of it…” The end of her sentence trailed off, and she frowned as if remembering something.
“The art was all pieces that disappeared during WWII.”
“Nazi art?” Marek asked. That was quite the secret.
“That’s what I thought originally,” Weston said.
“And that’s what we thought, but when we approached them about it, they laughed us off,” Rose said.
“And I identified some pieces that the Nazis could have never gotten their hands on.”
Marek thought back to the tape. “The boxes the woman remembered being loaded onto a Spanish boat…those were the art.”
Weston nodded. “That’s what I think. I’d found some diaries belonging to U.S. seamen who served on the USS Bluebird. The ship that sank the Esperanza. They were hidden away in the office of the Grand Master.”
“You were able to access the office?”
Weston nodded. “One of the tunnels leads right to the office.”
“And the Grand Master didn’t know about it?”
“No.”
Marek whistled. “How was this kept from the Grand Master?”
“This is where it turns to theory. I think that the Grand Masters knew about the tunnels originally, but after the art from the Esperanza was hidden in them, they closed them up, and the Grand Master of that day ordered everyone who knew about them not to say anything.”
“But there was a woman, one of the Grand Master’s counselors, who was one of the purists,” Rose added.
Weston nodded. “I think that she told the other purists, in secret. And so they knew, when no one was supposed to. Generations passed, and the people who were told to keep it a secret must have, since the current Grand Master, and the one before this—”
“And the one before that,” Rose added.
“They didn’t know,” Weston finished.
“So the art isn’t the secret because they laughed you off,” Marek repeated, making sure he understood.
They both nodded.
Marek thought about it for a second, pieces clicking into place.
Weston didn’t wait for him to puzzle it out. “The real secret is where the art came from, and how it got into those tunnels.”
“A U.S. ship sank the Esperanza? The woman on the tape said it had been taken by the Germans.”
Weston shook his head. “I think it was a cover up. Some of what I found was information that suggested the Bluebird had gone to seize the Esperanza, specifically because they’d intercepted a German message that said there was treasure on the boat.”
“A German message?”
Weston nodded slowly, staring at Marek, as if waiting for something. He went on. “On the surface, it doesn’t make sense. A Spanish ship that stopped in England to pick up art and passengers. Then a message from the Germans about the same ship.”
“Was the message meant to get the Germans to attack it and the Bluebird beat them to it?”
“No. The message was warning them to stay away from it.” Weston absently rubbed at the wax-like skin under his right ear. “I think the Americans intercepted it and went specifically to steal the ‘treasure’ on the Esperanza.”
Marek felt a little ill. “But the treasure was children. What happened to those kids?”
Rose made a sad little noise.
Weston shook his head. “Not to sound cold, but the thing I spent years figuring out was the connection. Why would a Spanish ship be full of both art supposedly confiscated by the Nazis—because there was also plenty of that in the tunnels—and art from England’s wealthiest families. What’s the connection?”
Marek sat up straight, his blood running cold.
He didn’t say anything out loud, aware that one of the Knights was only a few feet away, on the other side of a very flimsy door.
Weston nodded, and Rose looked grim.
“It makes a horrible sor
t of sense,” Marek said.
“And it would explain why the Trinity Masters didn’t return everything after the war,” Weston added quietly. “If it had just been a matter of the art, then they could have returned it. Played the hero card.”
Marek shook his head. “Even if it had been full of German treasure, they shouldn’t have sunk it. Even in the height of the war, the allied forces were doing their best to protect art.”
“Then they set out to steal it. A corrupt captain, someone who saw a chance to profit on misfortune. Maybe it was a ship full of men angry enough about Pearl Harbor that they’d sink anything that wasn’t an allied ship.”
“But they didn’t just sink it. They must have boarded it to get all that art off,” Rose added.
Marek shook his head. “If the Trinity Masters stole from the Masters’ Admiralty, that would be one thing. But the children…”
Weston leaned forward. “That’s where you come in.”
Marek raised his brows.
“Your grandparents are members. And your grandmother must know damned near everything if she was able to help you find me in a rural cottage based only on a description of this.” He pointed to his right eye.
“She does know almost everything.”
“If they’d tried to smuggle kids out, and then that ship sank, someone would have talked about it. Even if they weren’t supposed to. Given the timing, it’s possible that the boat dropped the kids off somewhere along the way and was only carrying the art.”
Marek clung to that, liking that much better than the other possibility. “And you want me to ask my grandmother.”
“Without letting on that we might know the real fate of the Esperanza.”
“If this is true, the Admiralty will have to be told. They deserve to know.”
Rose sat back and crossed her arms. She swallowed and looked out the window. Marek glanced at her and then at Weston.
“This information is all we have to take them down. If this is the secret the purists are trying to protect, it will give us leverage. But it only works if we can use the secret, threaten them by saying we’ll tell the Masters’ Admiralty. If we actually do tell them, the whole situation will blow up. We don’t want that, because an investigation into it all wouldn’t end well for any of us.”
