Nolan’s rhythm grows more frantic, chasing something only he can sense. Each thrust reaches deeper until my world narrows to the precise moment when both alphas bottom out inside me, their bodies slamming together through the thin barrier of mine.
I let out a strangled sound, part scream and part song, and Kellen catches me with a sweet, aching kiss.
Elliot’s eyes are black with need. I watch the exact instant his restraint snaps. He comes to me, hand on my cheek, and I turn into his palm, greedy for him. The want is molten in my veins now, a need so sharp it eclipses pride, reason, everything but the urge to take and be taken. I open my mouth, and Elliot guides himself in.
He’s gentle, at least for the first few thrusts—one hand stroking my hair, the other bracing my jaw—but even Elliot can’t hold back forever. I hum around him, tongue curling to taste the salt and slick. The vibration makes him shiver. His hips start to move, and the fullness of it—the feeling of all three of them inside me, claiming every part of me at once—makes my vision go white at the edges.
My back arches, forcing Kellen deeper, and Nolan’s hands flex around my waist, holding me steady so he can drive home with even more force. The couch is slick with sweat, the air dense with the ripe haze of our mingled scents, and I feel the raw pleasure build in my core, pressure stacking on pressure until I’m certain I’ll explode.
Elliot’s moans are strangled, desperate. He mutters my name, then Kellen’s, then a string of filthy promises that make my toes curl against Kellen’s thighs. Every time I swallow Elliot down, his hips jerk, and he fights for composure, but it’s clearhe’s hanging on by a thread. Nolan’s thrusts are erratic now, and the tension in his arms says he’s about to break.
Kellen’s hands roam, soothing and grounding, reminding me where I am, who I’m with. I meet his gaze. The look in his eyes—pure adoration, pure want—nearly undoes me. He mouths “I love you,” and even though he doesn’t say it aloud, the words land with the force of a heavy crown, the one I will bear forever.
And then, all at once, I cum again. It’s cataclysmic—every muscle spasming, every nerve ending firing at once, stars bursting behind my eyes. My body clenches down on both Kellen and Nolan, milking them. Nolan’s control finally snaps. He growls, deep and animal, and I feel him spill inside me, heat pulsing in waves. Kellen’s jaw tightens and he follows, hips stuttering against me, hands clutching me like a lifeline. The sensation is so intense I nearly bite down on Elliot, but he doesn’t mind—he seems to savor the danger, the way I drag him closer until he’s choking on his own pleasure. His release comes quickly thereafter. I swallow it all, not letting him go until he’s spent and the room is spinning.
When it’s over, when the frenzy ebbs and the only sound left is our wild breathing, Nolan eases out first. He collapses onto the cushions, arm thrown over his eyes, hair dark with sweat. Kellen holds me upright, and Elliot slumps to the side, resting his forehead against my shoulder as he comes down from the high.
We flop a heap on the couch. For a minute, all I can hear is panting and the distant sound of palace clocks chiming somewhere in the east wing.
I’m still shaking, every muscle jelly, brain swimming with endorphins and disbelief. I did that. We did that—right after the queen warned us to go no further.
I smirk. There’s no going back now.
CHAPTER 17
Nolan
Today’s adventuresin private security include impossible working conditions. Fortunately, I’m an expert at impossible. And this job is swiftly becoming lessprivatesecurity and more security of my pack, which means I need to be an expert at impossible.
The studio is on the top floor of an “architectural marvel,” which is code for open beams and exposed ductwork, with a truly staggering number of reflective surfaces. I sweep through the main entrance ahead of Piper, my hands loose and unassuming, and make a high-resolution mental scan of every person, backpack, and threat vector.
We’re thirty minutes out from live, and everyone around us is vibrating at a frequency that could boil water. Piper walks a little ahead of me, her hair a pink cloud over a tailored white suit that probably cost more than my Jeep. She only slept for a few hours last night, but she beams for every crew member like they’re about to become her best friend. It’s almost alarming how quickly she can switch on. At least I know it’s never fake for me.
Our whole pack is here. Kellen is in another greenroom with Elliot. He’ll be on stage with Piper in a bit. Until then, we’reushered down a hall past a makeup station. I nod to the intern wearing an earpiece, who gestures us into the greenroom next to Kellen’s.
Elliot ducks his head out as we move in and nods at me. I send Piper inside after clearing the room and then briefly meet Elliot at the door.
“Are we still good on the post-performance plan?” he asks
I nod. “Van’s in the ground floor garage. Alternate is two floors down with a decoy. If they run the schedule tight, we’re in and out before anyone can make a TikTok.” I do not mention the three threats I filtered off social media last night, nor the spate of increasingly unhinged fan mail that’s been making its way to Piper’s PO box. No need to make her more nervous.
“Perfect. See you then.” Elliot gives me a fist bump an then we’re both back inside our clients’ respective greenrooms.
Piper gives me a tight-lipped smile when I return. Her eyebrow raises a half inch. I shake my head. Nothing for her to worry about.
There’s a knock a few minutes later, and the producer leans in. “Two minutes, Ms. Sumner.”
Piper straightens and rolls out her shoulders. “Let’s do this thing. Somehow this is more nerve-wracking than a stadium show.”
On the way to the stage, I keep half a pace behind Piper and scan the faces of every tech and host. There’s always the chance of a rabid fan, or a “gotcha” journalist. I memorize every face, every shift in posture. No threats for now. Kellen and Elliot are led out at the same time so we approach set together.
The set is a recreation of a cozy living room full of muted golds and pale blue. The host, a woman in a pantsuit, grins at Kellen and Piper with the calculated warmth of a professional liar.
“And we’re live in five—four—three?—”
Piper’s public smile returns, the one she wears on the covers of magazines. The host launches into her script: “We are so thrilled to welcome Prince Kellen Hale and the radiant Piper Sumner!”
The interview starts with softballs. Kellen fields every question with calm assurance, each answer so perfectly inoffensive it’s like listening to a computer-generated diplomat. Piper, by contrast, turns every question into a performance, hands flying and voice switching from breathy sincerity to sly mischief and back. They banter. They tease. They talk about their “first date” and play nice with the queen’s request that we don’t make this about the pack she wishes didn’t exist.
