by Harper West
Seduced by Her Royal Dukes
A MFM Royal Menage Romance
Harper West
Contents
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Also by Harper West
About Harper West
Dear Reader
Thanks so much for taking a chance on my word baby! I hope you love them as much as I do! I’m still new to this whole writing thing, but I’m hella excited to see what happens and have you join me on this journey!
I hope you love sexy alpha males, and killer romance, as I’m a huge fan, so that’s what I’m writing about. Oh, and menage. I love me some menage, becuase it’s all about her, am I right ;)?
Keep an eye out as I’ve got quite a few books I’ve been holding on to, coming out soon so make sure you sign up for my newsletter to stay informed!
xoxo,
Harper
Chapter 1
Julia
Everywhere I go, a paper cup of beer is thrust into my hands from the many vendors in the small village. I toss the beer aside, it wouldn’t be good to lose my head to alcohol right now. Even though that’s exactly what I came here to do. Colorful streamers are draped over the city streets, gold and green squares of fabric hanging above us. I push my way through the crowded village streets, drunken festival-goers grinning and cheering all around me.
I toss them a few grins, though inwardly I’m beginning to panic. I lost sight of my traveling buddies, Martha and Maverick, almost ten minutes ago and haven’t seen them since. I was distracted by a festivalgoer trying to hit on me and they wandered away without me. Now, I’m wandering aimlessly, my heart clenching nervously in my chest. I decline yet another beer sample as I crane my neck above the crowd.
We left the US two weeks ago to backpack across Europe and it is only our second day in the small country of Nordonia. We’d timed it perfectly to make our way to this small village, Levere, in time for the annual LevereFest. The festival first celebrated the marriage of one of its princes in 1810, but since then it’s become more of a beer and alcohol convention and old-timey party.
It’s world famous, and we’d been dying to go since we were eighteen. Five years later and we finally made it. It was everything we had imagined, that is, until I lost my two best friends in the crowd. I’m getting desperate now, I can’t even remember the directions back to my hotel. It’s a small town, but it will be difficult to find my way through its small winding alleys. I need to start looking for help, I think. I spy a group of teenagers and head towards them. It’s usually the younger crowd that speaks English, and unfortunately, I don’t know any Nordonian.
“Excuse me,” I say, hesitantly blocking their path. “Do you speak English?”
“Nei,” one of them says, shaking his head.
I sigh as they step around me, laughing at the lost American tourist.
“It’s not funny!” I shout to nobody, my head tilted up to the sky.
Sighing, I push my emotions down. If I let myself panic I’ll get carried away and make it worse. I have to remain calm and keep my head. I move further into the crowd, still searching for my friends, hoping to spot their brown and blond heads. But I don’t see them. It’s a sea of heads and goofy hats and beer. I don’t see anything.
Except for two handsome strangers. I stop short at the sight of them, feeling like my legs have turned instantly to jelly. The men are seated at a pop-up bar, both of them nursing enormous lagers. One has chestnut hair, cropped short on the sides and long on top, his green eyes mirthful as he looks me up and down. The other has black hair, coifed in a classic style and a jaw that’s sharp enough to slice through butter.
I gulp as I feel their eyes on me, undressing me in the middle of this crowd. I feel inexplicably drawn towards them, a sensation I know is dangerous. That means there’s trouble ahead. Trouble for me. But it would be the kind of trouble that makes your body shake and tremble and your heart race. The good kind. I consider asking them for help but decide against it. If those smoldering eyes tell me anything, it’s that these two men would be interested in helping me in another department. A department that hadn’t been satisfied in a long time.
With a little difficulty, I turn away, moving the opposite direction and I feel their eyes on me until I’ve disappeared in the crowd. I almost miss their gazes when they’re gone, missing the heat it sent rushing through me. But I need to focus, I need to head back to my hotel and wait for Martha and Maverick. I spot a kind looking man in a green top hat, courtesy of the LeverFest souvenirs and approach him.
“Excuse me?” I ask, reaching out to get his attention.
“Yes?” he asks, turning to face me.
Relief floods through me as he answers in lightly accented English. “Oh, you speak English! I’m so glad! I’m lost, do you know where the Blume Hotel is?”
“Of course! I will take you,” he says, his eyes glittering beneath the goofy festival hat.
“Thank you so much,” I gush as he leads me through the crowd.
He waves his hand. “So, you are American, nei?”
“Yes, I’m from Washington.” I keep close so I don’t lose him in the jostling crowd.
“Ah, Seattle?” he asks.
I laugh. “No, I’m from Spokane, you probably don’t know it.”
“America is big place.” He nods. “Oh, I know shortcut, let’s go through here.”
I follow the man towards a narrow alley, my stomach twisting. “You know what, I don’t mind taking the long way,” I say, nerves forcing my voice to a higher pitch.
He shakes his head. “I insist, trust me, it’s much faster. Completely safe!”
My nerves are screaming at me to insist that we stick to the streets, but I don’t want to seem distrustful and ungrateful for his help. And he seems nice. Probably. Hesitantly, I follow the man into the alley, watching him and the corners carefully, well aware that an assailant could pop out from behind one of the corners at any time. The sounds of the festival, music and laughter, fade behind us. It’s a different atmosphere now, silent and oppressive even. I feel a shiver crawling up my spine, I feel like I’ve made a mistake. Suddenly, he whirls on me, a switchblade in his hand. His face is twisted into a snarl.
“Back up against the damned wall,” he hisses, brandishing the blade at me.
Panic floods through me at the sight of the silver sheen of the knife. I’ve gone and done it now. I’m about to get murdered, raped maybe, and most definitely robbed. I feel the urge to scream, but he hisses at me to keep quiet. I do as he says, feeling the rough ancient bricks of the building pressed into my back.
“Give me your fucking wallet,” he demands.
“I don’t have it,” I say as calmly as I can. And it’s true, I’d be an idiot if I carried my entire wallet through a crowded festival. The kind of idiot that follows strangers into alleys in a foreign city. I only stuffed a few bills into my back pocket to pay for drinks and souvenirs. I tell him this and he groans exasperatedly.
“Fine, give me your money, and hurry!”
Slowly, I reach towards the back pocket of my high-
rise jeans. There’s a scuff from the entrance of the alley and his head whips towards the sound. I take the opportunity and lash out at him with my leg, kicking the knife from his hands.
He yelps in pain as my ankle boots connect with his knuckles. The knife clatters to the ground and he darts toward it, but I’m faster. In a flash, I’m on him, my fist connecting and slamming into his jaw. One, two, one, two. Jab, jab. His flesh is hot under my fist, face crumpling. I feel a sharp pain in my knuckles as I batter him and I know they’ll be bruised.
I’ve taken kick boxing for almost four years, starting during my freshman year of college for situations just like this. I spar regularly with my coach. It keeps me fit and gives me confidence. The man’s nose is bleeding, his lip split, and I throw my knee up into his gut. He doubles over, a short cry escaping his lips as bloody saliva dribbles thickly from his open mouth.
Suddenly, two men approach, running through the alley towards me. I spin on them, fists up, ready to take them on. But they head straight for the man on the floor. One kicks the knife away and the other hauls my would-be mugger to his feet angrily. They glance at me, a pair of green eyes and a pair of grey eyes.
It’s the men from the bar.
Chapter 2
Harry
I take a swig of the over-sized lager in front of me, the cool beer slipping smoothly down my throat. Across from me, Ryker stares moodily at the crowd. A barmaid dressed in sexualized historic Nordonian attire sashays towards us to refill our drinks. She bends low, affording me a generous view of her full breasts. I enjoy the view, taking in her cleavage and the soft curves of her breasts. I slip her a few more bills and she winks at me.
Ryker scoffs.
I raise a brow. “What?”
“Is there never an end to your pursuits?” he asks, eyeing the barmaid distastefully.
I shrug, she may not be the most attractive woman at this festival, but I can always appreciate a woman who is well-endowed. “Even when they’re considered unworthy by the great Ryker of Themen?” I pause to take a drink. “No, there’s never an end.”
He groans, his eyes drifting back to the throngs of people in the streets, drunk and smiling broadly. “We should return to our duties.”
“To what? Standing prettily on that pedestal like two show dogs? No thanks.” I grimace. As required by tradition, Ryker and I attend the LevereFest every year. Levere is a small town on the border of both our provinces, Themen and Anhalt. Though technically in Themen, the village had been disputed between our ancestors for centuries and now we’re required to attend the celebration as a gesture of friendship every year. When we were young we enjoyed being doted on by the women and all of the attention it afforded us, but each year it gets more tiresome.
He takes another swig of his beer, the condensation on the side dripping over his fingers. The barmaid returns, but I wave her away, much to her chagrin. She tosses a disappointed glance over her shoulder, but I ignore her, turning back to my beer.
Ryker eyes me. “What was that about?”
I shrug. “You’re not interested, no?”
“Hell no.” He rolls his eyes.
Ryker has…particular tastes. The barmaid is certainly not his type. I’ll fuck almost anyone, but Ryker looks for a certain air of…I don’t know what. Innocence, elegance, class, he wants all of that rolled into one. And truthfully, I shouldn’t flirt with a woman he hasn’t expressed any interest in. We’ve had an agreement since we were young, a certain hobby. And since we first tried it at the tender age of eighteen, we’d found it boring to fuck any other way. It was both of us or neither of us.
“Put on that stupid hat,” Ryker growls, shoving a green top hat onto his head and lifting his lager to cover his face.
I follow suit, knowing our security detail must be nearby. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear the crackle of a radio nearby and the thudding of heavy boots. The sounds fade as our security detail pushes back into the crowd.
Ryker sighs and tears the hat off, combing his hair back until it’s perfectly coifed. I roll my eyes, but I know that’s what women find appealing about Ryker. His put-together appearance, not a hair out of place, the slick well-tailored suits, combined with his grumpy and cold demeanor all add to his mystery. My charm and his unattainable-ness make us a good team.
I down the last of my beer and slam it down on the table, lifting my eyes to the crowd. It’s always the same during LevereFest. Foreigners in booty-shorts and tank tops wearing the celebratory green festival hats gyrating through the crowd. Spilling beer all over themselves and others. It’s a good time, but it gets old after a while. I’m watching the crowd with amusement when a flash of cream and ebony catches my eyes.
And that’s when I see her.
The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen is standing in that crowd. When my eyes fall on her it feels like I’ve been hit in the gut. Her perfect black brows scrunched together, her beautiful rosy pink lips drawn into a concerned frown. She’s an untarnished jewel in the sea of festivities. I reach towards Ryker to punch him for his attention.
“I see her,” he says, swatting my hand away.
She’s wearing high-waisted jeans that perfectly accentuate those deliciously long legs and narrow waist. A light cream-colored sweater on, partially tucked in, and thin enough that I can see the black bralette beneath. The kind that’s nothing more than a bit of lace and ribbon. The kind that we can tear off with our teeth to get at those beautiful, small breasts. Beside me, Ryker growls low, the only evidence of his pleasure.
Her blue eyes drift towards us, and I can feel myself hardening at the anticipation of her eyes on me. On us. She sees us, a thrill courses through my body and I grin at her. Her lips part slightly, I catch a pink flash of her tongue against her bottom lip and I’m as hard as a rock. Her breasts rise as her breath hitches and I know I won’t think of anything beyond those two perfect curves of her chest for the rest of the night. She tucks a stray strand of her black hair behind her ear, eyes locked on ours.
She drags her eyes away and turns, I admire her ass, perky and tight, as she wanders away through the crowd. My hands are clenching the lager in front of me, I swallow hard. My cock is stiff, throbbing, and I want nothing more than to bury it in that perky ass.
“Holy shit,” I say, leaning back in my chair. I feel like I’ve just been hit by a truck, and it’s all I can do to sit here and catch my breath.
“She was…” Ryker pauses. “Everything.”
I nod in agreement, everything that we could ever want. Beauty, that innocent gleam in her eyes, and undeniably sexy. “Ryker.”
“I know,” he says, draining his own lager.
“I call dibs.” I grin.
He rolls his eyes at my joke. Neither of us ever seriously calls dibs, especially not when a woman impacts us like that. It’s a habit we dragged over from the old days, before we left women panting and sweating between us. The women are ours, we call dibs together.
“Let’s go get her then,” I say, already rising from my chair. I don’t care that I’m still hard and that the barmaid is ogling the tent in my pants.
He tugs me back into my seat, warning in his grey eyes. “We can’t just go traipsing after her.”
“Why not?” I ask, frustration coiling in my gut. The longer sit we here the farther she’ll have gone. I’ve never wanted anyone this much. I feel like a small moon caught in her gravity.
“Because we’re dukes, asshole. We should be getting back to our duties.”
“But here we are, getting drunk as balls,” I counter. “I want her. You want her. Let’s go.”
He groans, dragging a hand over his jaw. “Harry…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know the spiel. But guess what, I don’t care. Come one,” I snap, standing. “That felt unreal, that was a connection we’ve never felt before. I don’t want to miss out on that.”
“If there’s anything to miss out on. She could say no,” Ryker warns me, getting to his feet.
&nb
sp; Our tall frames barely fit into the tent the pop-up bar is situated beneath, so we move out from under the canopy, searching the crowd. Ryker and I scan the crowd, looking for her gleaming black hair while keeping an eye out for our security. It would all be meaningless if they dragged us away before we even met her.
“There,” Ryker says, pointing casually.
The woman is talking to a seedy looking man in one of the festival’s hats. He gestures for her to follow him. She does, they linger in front of an alley and then disappear into it.
“Shit,” I say, plunging into the crowd.
Ryker is beside me, his eyes cold enough that under his gaze the crowd shrinks away. Whatever that man has planned, he’s in for the beating of his life. I crack my knuckles in anticipation.
Chapter 3
Ryker
I roll up the sleeves of my white button up as we approach the alley, unbuttoning the cuffs with ease. I slip the silver cufflinks into the pocket of my slacks for safekeeping. Beside me, Harry is cracking his knuckles, his green eyes fixed on the alley as if it were the only thing that existed in the world.
I know he’s as worried as I am, as angry as I am. But I also know that like me, he’s probably calculating what our chances are of a shot with this girl. Not all women are so open to being with two men at once. But the way she looked at both of us, I have a feeling she’s different than most. And in this situation, at least we have the damsel in distress angle to add to our appeal.
My blood is rushing in my ears, I have to concentrate on anything but her body and those captivating eyes to stop my cock from stiffening. I know I won’t think of anything but this woman until we can have her, claim her. And then after that, she might occupy my thoughts for the rest of my life.
