by Dubois, Lila
James followed her lead, opening the drawer and finding a tube of lubrication. She wasn’t a stranger to anal play, but in the past, it had always been a finger or two or a toy. Never more.
Tristan gripped her hips, lifting and turning her to her stomach. He pressed her head down while leaving her ass higher. Sophia parted her legs.
He’d tied her well, made certain to bind her in such a way that he could move her into any position they desired.
She shivered when his hand stroked her bare ass. Then she jerked as he lifted that same hand and brought it down roughly. The sound of the spank caused her reaction, more than any real pain. It was a quick sting, followed by heat.
“Again,” she urged.
Tristan spanked her once more, then she felt James’s hand on her ass, rubbing it.
Tristan reached lower, driving two fingers inside her, and she cried out, her body still humming from her previous orgasms.
She arched her back, pushing toward his fingers, but that motion stopped when she felt James’s finger at her ass. He’d coated it with the lube, and she stilled as he slowly pushed into the tight passage.
“Breathe,” she heard Tristan murmur. That was easy for him to say. They’d robbed her of the ability, their fingers finding and stroking places inside her she didn’t know existed.
James took his time as he prepared her ass, adding more lube, stretching it with one finger, then two, then—God help her—three.
Through it all, Tristan paid attention to the rest of her, his hands gliding over her body, leaving very few places untouched.
Tonight, she was the temple where they worshiped. It was glorious.
When James pulled his fingers free, Tristan reached above her head and released the ties on her wrists.
She lowered her arms slowly, marveling over the way she missed the bindings, the feeling of helplessness, of being their captive.
Tristan lay on his back next to her. “Climb on top of me, love.”
Sophia moved without a second’s hesitation. This was the moment she’d been waiting for, begging for. Straddling his hips, she reached for his cock, running her hand along the erect flesh several times before placing the head at her opening.
Tristan’s hands were on her hips, but for the first time tonight, he gave the control back to her.
She slid down slowly, taking him in inch by thick inch. This time it was her turn to remind him to breathe.
Once he was seated to the hilt, she ran her fingers over his muscular chest, giving herself the time to adjust to him.
James knelt next to her and he surprised her when he reached down to where she and Tristan were joined and cupped their lover’s balls.
His touch caught Tristan unaware too and he jerked, the quick, hard response pushing his cock even deeper inside of her. They groaned in unison.
James squeezed Tristan’s balls again as he ran his thumb along the slit between her ass cheeks.
He was a big man with large hands, and she liked how he put them to good use.
“Ride him, Sophia,” James urged. “Get him close, but don’t let him come. Something tells me once I get inside you, this whole thing will be over fast. I’m already on the brink just from watching you two.”
Sophia lifted up, then dropped back down. She started slowly, but soon finesse gave way to something almost animalistic.
She was on the verge of coming when James gripped her shoulders, holding her still.
Tristan tightened his grip on her hips, his cock buried deep.
“Come here, Princess,” Tristan urged. “Kiss me.”
She leaned forward, her lips finding his as she showed him with her kiss how much this night meant to her.
The kiss ended with a gasp when James shifted, moving behind her, his hands parting her ass.
Sophia rested her forehead against Tristan’s chest, her breathing growing erratic when the head of James’s cock touched her ass.
“Are you sure, Sophia?” James asked.
She nodded.
“Say yes, love. He needs to hear you say it.”
“Si,” she replied breathlessly. “Yes.”
Time seemed to stand still for them as James slowly slid in.
Neither she nor Tristan moved.
“Okay?” he asked when he was fully lodged.
“So okay,” she said, prompting a chuckle from Tristan.
He cupped her face and, in that moment, Sophia—the principessa, the woman who’d grown up surrounded by admirers—had never felt more adored.
The three of them moved slowly at first, working to find a rhythm. As seemed to be the way, it didn’t take them long to find it.
Everything between them simply clicked together.
Sophia was the first to go over, her back arching into James as she came. Her inner muscles clenched and both men followed her over the cliff.
James fell to their sides as Sophia collapsed on Tristan, whose hands stroked up and down her back.
“How do you say amazing in Italian?” Tristan murmured.
“Sensazionale.”
“Bloody brilliant is what it was,” James said.
Sophia laughed lightly, her eyes slowly drifting closed as Tristan continued his gentle caressing.
“Bloody brilliant,” she repeated as she gave in to sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
“Sophia.”
Broad, rough hands slid down her naked back. She arched up into the hands, still more asleep than awake.
“Princess.” The voice was precise, with a cute English accent.
Another set of hands smoothed the hair from her face. Her blood heated, desire flowing through her though she was still resting in that place between asleep and awake.
Even in sleep she responded to their touches. Her husbands.
Sophia rolled over onto her back, her nipples hardening as the cool air washed over her naked chest.
Taking their wrists, she guided one of each of her men’s hands to her breasts. Their touches were distinctly different, and with her eyes still closed, she tested herself to see if she could tell the difference.
The hand on her right breast was hard with calluses, the touch tentative at first. Then hot, strong fingers closed over her breast, squeezing with just enough pressure to make her breath catch.
The hand on her left was large, and lay more heavily on her breast, cupping it for a moment before thumb and forefinger captured her nipple, plucking at the sensitive tip of her breast.
The breath she’d caught when Tristan squeezed her right breast escaped as a moan of pleasure when James played with her left nipple.
Tristan’s hand slid down her torso, skimming over her ribs, belly, then dipping under the sheet. Sophia spread her legs. Her sex, which ached a little from their previous lovemaking, was once more wet and ready for them.
James bent his head, kissing her nipple, and then moving up to her throat.
Sophia tipped her head to the side and blinked her eyes open. Tristan loomed over her, one hand braced beside her head, his knee on the bed. His right hand disappeared under the covers, and when their gazes locked, he spread her pussy lips with index and ring fingers, his middle finger feathering over her clit.
“Sophia.” He leaned closer. Maybe she was Sleeping Beauty, and here was her noble knight come to wake her from her sleep.
His fingers in her pussy made this a very adult version of the fairy tale, and she was more than happy with that.
There was a wicked glint in Tristan’s eyes, and Sophia tangled her hand in James’s hair.
“Sophia,” Tristan said again.
“Yes, husband?”
“Mmm, I like it when you say that.” James’s words were muffled against her neck. He flicked his tongue over the soft skin under her ear, then dragged his lips down her neck and over her collarbone, headed for her nipple.
Sophia arched up, offering her breast to James as Tristan’s fingers continued to play with her pussy.
Tristan
stopped touching her long enough to throw the covers off, leaving her naked. Sophia gasped as cold air touched her hot, wet sex. “Sophia, James.” There was a note of command in Tristan’s voice.
Sophia spread her legs wider in instinctive response and licked her lips.
“Kiss me,” she demanded. Maybe it was a plea.
Tristan leaned down, his mouth hovering over her. His hand cupped her sex, palming it. She wanted him to slide his fingers into her, then his cock. She wanted James to watch, then she wanted James to fuck her. Then she wanted to watch James fuck Tristan and—
Tristan patted her pussy and straightened, leaving her poised for a kiss, her legs splayed and waiting for one of them to slide between.
“James.” Tristan’s voice was sharp.
James kissed her nipple one last time and got off the bed.
Sophia blinked. They were both dressed. She hadn’t noticed until now.
“What’s happening?”
Her husbands grinned down at her. Tristan looked at his watch. “Time to get up. We have a flight to catch.”
They walked out of the bedroom. Sophia gaped at them as she lay naked and ready on the bed. When she heard James’s chuckle float in from the living room, she narrowed her eyes. She flung herself off the bed and stomped to the closet. It took her a moment to find what she was looking for, but she pulled on a short robe of pale blue lace that was completely sheer.
She posed carefully in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, her other arm raised and bent so she could play with her hair.
Her nipple pebbled as it rubbed against the scratchy lace.
“Where are we going?” she asked them. James was seated on an armchair, the decorative pillows that normally filled it carefully stacked on the floor. The grin on his face faded as he turned and looked at her. She knew that with one arm raised, the hem of the robe only barely covered her pussy.
She wished she’d put on heels.
Next time she would. Her husbands wanted to play? Well, she was more than willing.
Tristan had his suitcase spread open on the coffee table and was carefully packing it. He looked up and froze, his eyes turning to liquid gold as he raked her from head to toe with his gaze.
But he shook himself and went back to packing.
“We need to go home.” He zipped an inner cover closed.
Sophia dropped her pose, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I am home.”
Tristan checked the buckles that held his sword to his belt. “We need to go to England.”
Anger and anxiety pooled low in Sophia’s stomach. “My home is here.”
Tristan finally met her gaze. “I’m a Knight of England.”
Sophia swallowed against the panic and anger that were choking her. Now she wished she were dressed. The robe no longer felt like a weapon in a sexy game—it felt inappropriate for the conversation they were about to have. “I am a member of the Carabinieri, a member of Italy’s military. I have dedicated my life to protecting the art and beauty of Rome.”
Tristan shook his head. “James and I are both from England.”
Sophia’s stomach burned with rage. Tristan’s arrogance was sickening. “Ah, but of course,” she purred. “I must give up my home, my life, my job to join you, because I am your wife.”
Tristan crossed his arms. “We can debate this later. I’m not saying you have to move to England.”
James muttered something that sounded like, “Abort, abort.”
“You’re not?” Sophia arched a brow. “Oh, thank you, sir.”
“Hey, you two, why don’t we talk about this—”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed and he ignored James’s interjection, speaking to Sophia. “At least not right now. But our flight to London leaves in four hours.”
James used his hands to push himself out of the chair. Their vigorous lovemaking must have hurt his knee.
“You go. I will remain here,” Sophia said.
James shook his head, holding his hands up the way a suspect did when cornered. The universal sign for don’t shoot. “Let’s just get through the next few days, then we can figure everything else out.” James looked back and forth between them. “We need to stay together.”
Sophia was starting to feel cornered. “There are plenty of triads who live separately.”
James frowned, lines appearing on either side of his mouth. He looked almost…hurt. “Is that what you want?”
Sophia refused to be put on the defensive. “I want my husbands to talk to me, not make arrangements without me.”
She expected the argument to continue, but at her words, both men relaxed and shared a grin.
Sophia’s brows shot up in alarm. Why were they smiling?
“We tried that,” James told her. His eyes sparkled. “A couple of hours ago. We ended up having sex.”
Sophia frowned, but the memories were there. Soft words she was too sleepy to translate, warm hands and warmer lips.
“You were hard to resist,” Tristan admitted. “That’s why we had to get dressed.”
Sophia let her anger fade away. She felt mollified that she had managed to seduce them in her sleep. She wasn’t losing her touch. “Good.” She slid her hand from her waist over her hip to her thigh, and started toying with the hem of her robe.
As one, their gazes dropped to where her fingers fiddled with the edge of the lace. Tristan shook himself, deliberately turning to look at the late-morning sun that bathed the piazza outside her windows. He stuck his hands in his pockets, adjusting the fabric to accommodate his hard cock.
Bene. He deserved to suffer. After all, her body still hummed with the lingering tremors of the arousal they’d called up with their fingers and mouths.
“The conclave is being held tomorrow,” Tristan said.
That sobered Sophia. “So soon?”
“The conclave has to happen within three days of the fleet admiral’s death.”
“I didn’t know that,” James said.
Sophia hadn’t known either, and that unsettled her. She’d thought she knew everything. With an admiral for a father and a security officer brother, she was sure she knew all the rules.
“At Triskelion Castle?” she asked.
Tristan shook his head. “The Spartan Guard said they cannot guarantee the safety of the admirals.”
James whistled. “They actually admitted that?”
“They did, and I could tell it cost Mateo to admit it.”
“Then where?”
Tristan turned to look at her, but didn’t speak.
He wasn’t going to tell her. “I’m your wife.”
“He won’t tell me either,” James said.
“Do you need help packing?” Tristan asked in a clumsy attempt to change the topic.
Sophia’s anger of a moment ago returned. “You’re a knight, and I know what that means. But we are your trinity.”
James held out a hand and Sophia took it, letting him draw her into his embrace.
Tristan’s jaw was hard, the muscles standing out he was clenching his teeth so hard.
“Knights make the same vows as other members when they join a trinity,” James said quietly. “I know, we both know, what it means to you to be a knight, but if you’re always going to be loyal to the knights first, and us second, then you need to tell us that—right now.”
Sophia laid her cheek on James’s broad, warm shoulder. “Are we your trinity, Tristan Knight?”
Tristan scrubbed both hands through his hair. “There will be things I can’t tell you.”
“Is this one of those things?” James asked.
Tristan shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. There are rules and protocol for what happens when we need a new fleet admiral, and there’s protocol for what to do if the Isle of Man is attacked, but not for both.” Tristan swallowed and there was uncertainty in his eyes. Knowing what little she did about him, Sophia was sure that uncertainty would be harder for him to deal with than danger.
Tristan’s first steps were hesitant, but then he placed his hand in James’s. James drew him into his other side, and Sophia reached out to take Tristan’s other hand, completing their connection.
“My vice admiral told us that we have to trust our instincts. Our security officers are working with the Spartan Guard, and are going to provide security for the conclave. The knights will be security in the conclave itself.”
“The conclave is in London?” Sophia asked.
Tristan nodded.
It made sense—London was the closest large airport to the Isle of Man, and most members stopped there on their way to Man.
Sophia thought about it for a moment before saying, “You will have decoys go to the Isle of Man, in case he is watching?”
Tristan frowned. “Decoys?”
Sophia shrugged. “My father employs decoys quite often as a security measure.”
“No decoys. The Domino is dead.”
“He did die?” Sophia asked. She had a flashback to the man twitching and falling to the floor.
“Yes. He had a cyanide pill in his cheek. They tried their best to keep him alive, but he passed away. With his death, there’s no direct threat against the conclave.”
James jerked at Tristan’s words. Sophia lifted her head off James’s shoulder and looked at him. Their gazes met, and the same worry she felt was reflected in James’s expression.
Tristan was still talking, as much to himself as to them. “The main issue is figuring out where the security breach on the isle was, or is. The Spartan Guard are going to keep working on that, hence the London security officers working the conclave.”
When Tristan stopped, there was an uneasy silence.
“There is still danger,” James said slowly. “The Domino always has an apprentice.”
Tristan pushed away from them and started to pace. “But this Domino is, was, younger. He probably was the apprentice.”
Sophia and James shared another look. “What aren’t you saying, Tristan?”
Tristan swallowed. “I am a knight, I will—”
“You’re a knight, not a soldier.” Sophia stepped into Tristan’s path, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Tell us what you really think is going on.”
