Page 50 of Every Eligible Man

Fair enough.

The animals, displaying a rare moment of self-awareness, have been evicted to the driver's bench with Mira. One-Eye perches on the roof. Bastard claims the seat next to Mira, somehow fitting his bulk in with dignity. Susan and Gerald curl together in Mira's lap, still chittering reunited joy. The rats line up along the back of the bench like tiny, perverted gargoyles.

I hear Mira pick up the reins, her voice flat with resignation. "To the castle. The long way. As requested."

"This is going to be amazing," Squeak announces, his tiny voice muffled through the carriage wall. "I can hear clothes ripping already."

"I can't believe we're missing it," Nibbles moans.

"We're not missing it, we're providing support," Twitch corrects. "Emotional support. From a safe distance. Where we won't get crushed by anyone's ass."

One-Eye sighs from the roof. "I have lived too long."

The space is approximately six feet by four feet. I alone take up nearly half of it. Adding Slade and Wreck means someone's elbow is always in someone else's ribs. Adding Cinder, who is already tearing at her own dress, means physics is about to become a group project.

"Move your leg."

"That's not my leg, that's my cock."

"Why is there a goose feather in my mouth."

"Bastard was sitting here earlier, don't ask questions."

Someone needs to take control of this situation.

That someone is always me.

"Enough," I say, and something in my voice makes everyone pause. "Cinder. Straddle my lap. Slade, get her bodice off. Wreck, stop bouncing and wait your turn."

"But."

"Wait. Your. Turn."

Wreck pouts but settles. Slightly.

Cinder finally gets her dress off, or rather, off enough, leaving her in nothing but her corset and a truly unhinged expression. She straddles my lap because I'm the biggest and therefore the most logical foundation for whatever architectural disaster we're about to construct.

She grinds down on the thick bulge in my half-removed breeches, and I have to close my eyes for a moment. Four days. Four days of thinking about her, dreaming about her, waking up hard with her name on my lips.

"You owe me," she reminds me, working at my laces with frantic fingers. "You left me mid-orgasm."

"The magic was…"

"I don't care about the magic. I care about this."

She finally frees my cock, wrapping her hand around the shaft and squeezing. I groan. I can't help it. Her grip is perfect, firm, demanding, exactly what I need.

"This is mine now," she says, stroking slowly. "All three of you. Mine."

"Possessive," Slade observes from beside us, already stroking himself. "I like it."

"Shut up and get over here. I want your mouth on me while he fucks me."

"The logistics of that in this space…"

"Figure it out."

The carriage lurches forward. Mira has started driving, apparently deciding that motion will not deter the activities.