Allison and the Torrid Tea Party: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Harem of Hearts Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  Oh God.

  What the fuck did I just think?!

  "All tea parties are mad, but there are even madder tea parties which is to say, that the Torrid Tea Party is really the maddest party of all," Dee starts, looking up toward the ceiling as he muses and taps a single finger against his chin. "Seems strange then, to wonder why it isn't simply called the Maddest Tea Party? Since it is mad, and the Mad Hatter is undeniably mad, and the March Hare may very well be the maddest of the mad—"

  "Dee," I interrupt, reaching out to put my hand on the back of his. "Thank you." I force a smile that quickly turns real when he flashes one of his happy grins at me. I don't actually mind his riddling nonsense anymore. It's growing on me. Maybe it's growing on me like a tumor, but that's okay. I accept it.

  "Why, thank you for such a glowing compliment," March says, snapping the end off a white chocolate bar with little red berries in it. See what I mean? All done up in the kingdom's colors yet again. I'm pretty sure he's always eating. In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to think of a single moment where he hasn't had something in his mouth.

  Once again I can't help but wonder if he's had Raiden's something in his mouth, too. Like, are they lovers or just companions? And how does the Dormouse factor into all of this? I hope he's not at the Torrid Tea Party; he gives me the fucking heebie-jeebies.

  "Explain to me exactly what goes on at these things again?" I continue, pushing some stray strands of hair off my sweaty face. The rest of it is gathered up in a high ponytail on the back of my head. North yanks on it during training, but I refuse to cut it off. Guess I do have some vanity, huh? Maybe the whole world does? Err, both worlds I mean.

  "The room falls dark," Dee whispers, walking in a half-circle around us while he spreads his arms wide, palms out like he's miming the shape of this imaginary room. "The curtains are drawn, the candles are lit, and the tea is served piping hot." He squats down across from me, next to his brother, eyes glittering. "Tarts are served. Tarts are always served, preferably with gooseberries or cloudberries."

  "And fresh cream," the Cheshire cat adds, still lying on his back and lifting a single black-nailed finger, his black and white striped ears twitching in his raven-dark hair.

  "The tea is boosted with twice the usual magic," Tee says with a small sigh, pushing some of his purple-black hair away from his handsome face. The twins have such big, round eyes and long lashes, it feels impossible to look away from their faces sometimes. They're this perfect mix of pretty and masculine, this dichotomous contrast that makes my lady parts titter in the best way possible. "And steeped in truth herbs. Whoever it is that you're trying to vet—because a Torrid Tea Party is always about uncovering enemies or vetting allies—sits in a circle and drinks one cup per round."

  "What's a round entail?" I ask, examining a glittering pink mushroom as North steps back in from the hallway, and my heart starts to skitter and jump. He's so … much. I mean, he must be exuding like alpha male beast pheromones or something because I don't act right when he's around. My cheeks flush with heat and I stuff the mushroom in my mouth. It's all crystalized with sugar, and it crunches when I chew. The taste of bubblegum fills my mouth, and I almost choke. Not because it's bad, but holy shit, that's weird as fuck.

  "A round …" the Duke starts, making his way haughtily over to us and sitting cross-legged on my right, his chin raised defiantly. I'm starting to realize he's one of the only people in the kingdom that can or will stand up to the King of Hearts. I wonder what they were talking about out there? When Ol’ Red popped his head into the training room and asked to play a quick round of croquet with the Duke, I figured something must be up. More internal politics maybe? "Consists of one question and one answer." He flicks his gold eyes over to mine and then sneaks his tail around my ankle. I let him do it, too, and I like it. Ugh, I really, really like it.

  It's really starting to grow on me, this idea of being queen and dating all these guys. I mean, who wouldn't want that? The only obstacle is the King. Because he's a piece of shit and I hate him.

  Oh and also … my family.

  I can't leave my family with more questions than answers, especially not after Fred.

  I lift my face up to meet Tee's gaze. It feels like he can sense when I'm thinking about my family. Maybe because he lost his, he's more empathetic or something? We stare at each other across the circle of food before I look away and pick up a toadstool cupcake. One bite and I can already tell I'm going to like it: it tastes like vanilla ice cream and hot fudge.

  "One question and one answer?" I ask around a mouthful of cupcake. Oops. I have bad manners, sorry. Sometimes I talk while I chew. Guess we all have shit to work on, huh?

  "Sometimes the question is a quest which is interesting because quest is the root of question," Chesh says, sitting up and stretching as he also surreptitiously goes to curl his tail around my other ankle. I grab it first, and give it a squeeze which turns his face into a leering grin.

  "May as well just stroke my cock then?" he purrs, sitting up and then rubbing his cheek against my bare shoulder. He nips me and I yelp, causing a stir of chuckling around the circle. I'm still getting used to the idea of these guys not being jealous of one another.

  "Get stuffed," I tell him, bringing the floral water to my lips, so I don't have to say anything else. Because the idea of touching Chesh's cock is pretty enticing. It's like I'm sitting in front of more than just a food-laden smorgasbord. There's a buffet of men here for me to choose from, and I can have any one of them I want. Or all of them. And that's the best part. Why choose?

  "So, a quest or a question?" I ask and then snap my fingers. "Truth or dare?"

  "That's a silly name, isn't it?" Lar asks, blinking long blonde lashes in my direction. "Quest or question makes much more sense."

  "And how do you figure that?" I ask as he shrugs his jacket off his bare shoulders and leaves his muscular arms open to investigation from my wandering gaze. And boy does it wander. Being eighteen and perpetually horny never looked or felt so damn good.

  "Because a quest implies a goal while a dare implies nothing but cheekiness," Lar continues, looking at me like he's staring into my soul. I notice he's finished his cup of tea, and as I watch, he leans in and pokes around the tea leaves at the bottom of his chipped, wonky little mug. "This tea party tonight," he says with a nod of his head, blonde-blue hair falling over his forehead, "it'll give us answers." He lifts his face again and smiles in a way that promises there's something else that he's not saying.

  And from the look of him? I'd say it was something truly lascivious.

  "How humdrum dull and boring," Rab drawls as he rolls his red eyes. His right ear flops in half and he reaches up to straighten it. He's dressed in a black vest with his pocket watch chain hanging from one pocket. There's no undershirt this time, just rippling muscles dressed in tattoos. "Just pick a dress and be done with it. We're already late." He taps the clock on his right forearm and then saunters over to stand behind me.

  When I glance back at him, I see that his slacks are hanging way too low again. There's this delicious strip of skin between his vest and his pants that's making it hard to concentrate. I wonder if he's finding it as difficult to focus with me wearing nothing but a pair of red lacy panties and a matching bra? Did I mention that there's a heart cutout on the back of the undies, flashing a delicious amount of crack?

  "We could make it more interesting, however," he starts, his warm breath stirring my hair. It's interesting, how cold his voice is in contrast. He smells like the forest after a good rain, like wet earth and the softness of decaying leaves.

  "And how might we do that?" I ask, digging though the massive closet and trying not to be creeped out that everything fits. Have you ever had that before, an entire closet of clothes made for you? Even stuff that doesn't look like it'll fit ends up stretching or laying just right. There are items in that closet that I never would've picked up before, big poof-y things that remind me of Edy's dress.

  "I thi
nk naked is more interesting than dressed-up, don't you?" Rab comes around to stand in front of me, leaning against the wall near the door and looking me up and down with slow, decadent menace that turns my insides to mush. Asshole. He's a serious asshole. Most of these guys are. Maybe they have to be to survive in Underland? It's fucking brutal here.

  "What makes you think you deserve to see me naked?" I ask as I flip through dress after dress after dress. This event has a dress code: black. And although my closet is made up of rainbow colors, it's a rainbow that's heavily skewed toward red and white.

  "I'll fight in a cock-race for you," he whispers, red eyes focused on me, white ears twitching. When I look at him, I can't help but think of his bandersnatch form. But what is his third one? What other meat did he get forced down his throat at the Inaugural Feast? "I'll whip my dick out, and swordfight the King's prick if I have to."

  "You'd fight the King?" I ask with a chuckle and a roll of my eyes. Imagining Rab and Brennin slapping their erect dicks together is about ninety-percent hilarious and maybe like ten percent sexy. Maybe eleven or twelve percent. "Please. You're his lackey, through and through." I pull a skintight black dress off the hook and hold it up to examine it. I would never wear anything like this back home. It's sort of … grown-up and sexy, and I want it all over my body right now. Besides, it has bat shapes cut out of the midsection, leaving these sexy little gothic peepholes. The back is low-cut, and sewn to look like the top of a bat's wings. "King's orders," I mimic in Rab's cold voice, miming shooting a gun at Brandon's head.

  Brandon.

  Well, fuck.

  Now that I've been here and I've seen what I've seen, I believe Rab. Which, of course, means that the Rabbit who was parading around as Brandon … had to have eaten the real Brandon's flesh at some point.

  Gross.

  "You're still upset about me blowing your crush's brains out?" he asks, licking his lips as I step into the dress and wiggle it up my body. It has cap sleeves and a soft lining on the inside that makes my skin tingle. If I pair it with the black pirate boots I got from Lory, I will look fucking dope.

  "It was a hard thing to witness," I admit, glancing at Rab and watching as his ears twitch like antennae on the top of his head. They're so expressive. I can see everything he's thinking. "But I … guess I'm glad it happened."

  "Oh?" Rab asks as I scoot around him and pause for a moment in front of the mirrored dressing table to the right of my bed. It has little clawed feet on the bottom and I swear, it wiggles its toes every now and again. "You like it here, do you Miss Liddell? Fitting, since you'll be the ruler of Underland-turned-Wonderland for one hundred and twenty-seven years, give or take a decade or two."

  "Nobody lives to be a hundred and twenty-seven," I start, and then pause. Or do they? After all, we don't have any angels or Rabbits or cat shifters back home.

  "You will be, if you live long enough to save Underland. It's in one of Lar's prophecies."

  "Well, don't believe everything you read in tea leaves, I always say," I joke as I lean over the table and apply red-red lipstick and too much black liner. The lipstick smells like berries, and the liner has a sweet, smoky sort of scent. Hey, I bet it's all natural, right? Probably organic. Most likely not vegan. This world is so fucked-up, I would not be surprised if my lip color was made from the blood of baby lambs or some shit.

  "It was in his wings, I saw it," Rab growls, and there's something fiercely protective in his voice that draws me around to look at him. His reflection isn't enough; I need to see his face. He's looking down at me with this determined set to his features. I almost want to reach up and touch his cheek. Almost. Instead, I drop my arms to my sides and glance away, toward the door.

  Everyone is already at the party. Even Tee and Dee went early to set it up. It's just me and Rab they're waiting for.

  "We should go," I say, but when I try to move away, Rab reaches out and curls his fingers around my arm, drawing me close to him.

  "There's only a thirty-five percent chance," he whispers, mouth slightly parted, red eyes ringed in liner and flooded with shadows, "but it's a chance worth fighting for." Rab touches the side of my face with his tattooed fingers, running his warm fingertips from my cheekbone to my chin, cradling my head in his hand.

  We just look at each other for a long, quiet moment before Rab uses his other hand to brush the hair from my forehead.

  "Can I kiss you, Alice?" he asks me, his voice like the quiet, cool shadows of a cave. I want to crawl into it and curl up, sleep in the circle of his muscular arms. Eww, what the fuck?! I must be getting soft.

  "Yes." It's the only word that can make it past my already parted lips.

  Rab slides his right hand back to cup my head, pulling me close and breathing against my mouth. I can already tell what his is going to taste like, this refreshing mix of peppermint and lavender that makes me wet my lips with anticipation.

  The asshole takes his sweet time coming to me, teasing my bottom lip with his tongue, tasting me and making me groan. I rise up on my tiptoes and lean into him, pressing my breasts against his vest. It's not enough fabric to disguise the flat, chiseled expanse of muscles underneath, and my nipples pebble into hard points.

  My right hand slides up and over his shoulder and doesn't stop until I'm running my fingers up the soft, fuzzy length of his ear.

  "Oooh," he growls, moving his hand from my face so he can wrap an arm around me instead. "Harder." He pushes his lips against mine, his tongue invading my mouth. It's the sort of first kiss you don't forget and yet, one where you can't remember all the details because it's nothing but a wild, ardent blur.

  Rab lifts me up and sets me on the edge of the dressing table, knocking makeup and FUCKING DRINK ME bottles onto the floor. He presses in close, grinding our pelvises together and pushing my dress up in the process. I can feel him hard and wanting through his slacks as he presses against me, and I squeeze him tight between my thighs.

  My hands play with his ears while one of his plays with my breasts, kneading and massaging the tender flesh until I'm breathless and wanting, near desperate for it. Rab drops his grip to my ass, squeezing me and pulling me even closer to him.

  "If we didn't have an appointment with the King …" he growls against my mouth, and I turn my face away, these breathy gasps for air passing between my lips as I close my eyes and try to pull myself together.

  "You said you'd fight the King for me," I whisper as Rab lowers his mouth to my neck and licks me, from shoulder to ear. My entire body flushes white-hot and I rub my pelvis against Rab's without meaning to.

  "I can challenge him to a cock-race, if you want. But there'd be substantially more blood and substantially less cock than I might've promised." He is the one to break us up, stepping back and sighing as he smooths his palms down the front of his vest. He's still sporting a boner, but I don't think anyone in this nightmare fest gives a shit.

  "No, I don't want that," I say with a sigh, running my fingers through my hair. "Besides, what would be the point? It's not like I'd fuck the King even if he did win." With a smirk, I hop off the dressing table and shove my skirt down my hips, heading for the door without waiting to see what the expression on Rab's face—or ears—is like.

  Nope, I don't want to know.

  And yet, my cheeks are warm and I know for a fact that there's a smile on my face I can't wipe off.

  The Torrid Tea Party is being held in a tower because like, of course it is, since this is a fairy tale on crack.

  In the Disney version, there'd be a glittering pink wonderland in that tower where I'd wait for nine shining princes with white-toothed smiles and shimmery gold hair to come and save me.

  In the Grimm version, I'd have a sleep spell cast on me and wake up giving birth after being raped. Yep. Did you know that's how the real Sleeping Beauty tale goes? Yeah, it's fucked-up beyond all reason.

  In this version, there's a winding staircase with flickering torches and stone stairs worn down in the center to little d
ips that threaten to trip me with each step I take. At the top, there's a heavy wood door with a gold handle in the shape of a heart.

  How shocking. More heart paraphernalia.

  I reach out to open it, and the door swings inward on its own, propelled by the long, graceful fingers of the Mad Hatter.

  "Hello Miss Alice," he whispers as he gives me a vampire grin and steps back to welcome me into the dark, hazy interior of the tower room. The incense is thick and smoky, and it smells like sandalwood and roses.

  I can't see much of what's going on inside, but I can hear Dee chuckling from the shadows. I ignore Raiden and step into the darkness, feeling it close around me. It's not as stifling as I thought though, more like a warm blanket being wrapped around my shoulders. As I stand there, trying to take it all in, my eyes adjust to the flickering candles and I start to see familiar faces sitting at a table in the center of the room.

  My eyes catch Tee's first, then Dee's, Chesh's, Lar's, North's … and the King's. I narrow my eyes on him, but he barely acknowledges me, leaning back in a black-on-black suit and looking like he's fucking bored out of his skull. On the opposite side of the table, March waits with a shiny black apple in his hand, yet another fairy-tale trope that scares the shit out of me. Sorry, but thanks, no thanks. He can keep it.

  I sit down at the head of the table (or is it the foot?), so I can be next to Tee, staring at the other men across a small pile of warm rocks with a kettle resting above them. It has two spouts and no handle which is weird as shit, but I'm still all twisted up over my encounter with Rab. I'm like a soda bottle that's been shaken, all fizzy and threatening to bubble over the top.

  Rab flops down on my left, purposely pushing his shoulder into mine as he passes.

  "I can’t believe you’re letting these mercenary fucks put us through the wringer," I tell the King, wondering what the hell his motivations are. I half-expect to see the Knave and her husbands lurking at the dark edges of the room with Dor. I'm pleasantly surprised to find them all absent.