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I suck in my breath as he wraps his hand around my mouth, pressing his fingers between my lips. His cock slides into my ass, behind Eli’s. I can’t breathe. It feels so good.
Noah thrusts in deeper and I bite down hard on his fingers. The three of us move together, stroking and thrusting. I can no longer move between them without losing one of them, so I remain still, while Noah draws out of me as Eli – my precious Golden Boy – twists my nipple between his fingers and thrusts up into me with his long, beautiful cock.
The pressure heats and swells. I love this, I love having them both inside me – so deep, so painful, so erotic and forbidden. Noah drags his fingernails down my back and I scream and buck as the storm boils over and another orgasm rips through me.
This is what it means to be free.
Claudia
Eli shakes me awake at the crack of dawn. “Merry Christmas.”
“I hate you.” I toss a pillow at his head. Beside me, Noah swears under his breath, and Gabriel yanks the duvet over his head.
“You really don’t.” Eli grins, and a delicious memory of last night works its way through my body, curling my toes and pooling heat in my belly. I beckon Eli back to bed, but he grabs his shirt from the pile on the floor and starts buttoning it.
“What are you doing up? I didn’t know you were such a Christmas elf—”
“I want to check on the girls.” He hops on one leg to pull on his jeans. “Come with me.”
From her nest of blankets between my legs, Queen Boudica digs her claws into the duvet and shoots me an anxious look.
“Sorry. Cat gravity.” I point to Queen Boudica.
“You’re not sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Eli grabs his car keys and disappears into the hall. Noah throws a heavy arm over my chest, dragging me against him, and sleep draws me under once more.
Some hours later, I wake from a violent dream to the sound of a car pulling into the tunnel. I throw on Gabriel’s black hoodie, which stretches nearly to my knees, and pad downstairs. I meet Eli in the foyer. He’s holding Yara’s hand and pointing out all the architectural features of the house.
If Yara’s impressed by Malloy Manor, she doesn’t say a thing. I like that.
I set her up with a bedroom between Eli and Ms. Drysdale. This place is starting to resemble an Airbnb. Eli must’ve taken Yara shopping this morning because she’s wearing black skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a purple hoodie, and she has some bags of spare clothes and toiletries and books.
“What’s going to happen to the girls now?” Yara asks when she’s set down her things. Her lips purse with concern.
“I’m still figuring that out. I’m not handing you over to Nero, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be able to stay in America.”
“Some of the girls will want to go back to their families,” Yara says. She sits on the side of the bed and swings her legs. “Not me. I’ve got no family to go back to. Do you need a secretary or something?”
I laugh at her boldness. “Sure. I’d happily find a use for you. But you may not want to work for me when you find out what I do.”
“You save women from being sold as slaves. That’s all I need to know.”
I think about that. How simple she makes it sound, as if everything I do can be summed up as black-and-white. But it’s not as simple as that. I may be saving these women, but I’m still a criminal. I still relish the doing of reprehensible deeds.
This empire belongs to me now. I need to decide what that means, and who it’s set up to protect.
That night we open our Christmas presents around the tree. Gabriel orders Middle Eastern food out of some misguided idea it will help Yara feel at home. She opens the lid and bursts out laughing. “That’s what you think mahshi is? You Americans deserve to be shot for this.”
“We can order something else.”
“No, no, I will enjoy this strange thing very much.” She digs in her fork and smiles. “Thank you.”
Even though the boat’s arrival screwed up our Christmas morning plans, and even though there’s a giant-ass sword of Damocles dangling directly over my head, it’s still the best Christmas ever. George gifts me an incredible painting she’s done – it’s my face in profile, my golden hair streaming out behind me. Inside my silhouette are the crumbling pillars of a fallen Roman temple, twined with laurel branches. I hang it over Howard Malloy’s desk.
Eli shyly hands me his gift, a book on the first Roman Triumvirate of Octavian, Marc Antony, and Lepidus. Noah presents me with a new sword for my collection – a replica of a Viking Ulfberht sword made of the most exquisite crucible steel. Gabriel gives me a deep, pagan kiss and a promise that he’ll be gifting me with my combined Christmas and birthday present just as soon as it’s finished. I dare to hope for what it might be.
Antony and I follow our own Christmas tradition – we gift each other nothing but a nod of acknowledgment that we’ve survived another year.
My princes shower George with gifts too – a new podcast microphone, art books, a tattoo voucher. Even Madeline gets gifts from us – imported coffee and chocolate and a beautiful book Eli found celebrating women in teaching throughout history. Tears stream down her face when she turns the pages.
