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My heart clenches. He is too, too pure. My eyes flash up to Rory, and I see his wicked flicker of a smile, the mockery that acknowledges that, for years before, Rory and Danny were predator and prey. You don’t lose those roles so easily, no matter if you end up on the same side, loving the same people. You don’t. Those identities were planted deeply the first time Rory attacked and Danny defended himself. They took root and a garden of pain bloomed.
“I’ll cut you a deal,” Rory says, and for some reason, perhaps the scythe-like curve of his smile which seems a tad on the gloating side, I expected this. He expected Danny to fail. And so the real truth of Rory’s agenda is revealed: “Fuck my bride,” he whispers, not looking at me once as I remain spread like an executive’s lunch across the table, mere inches from his pretty pink mouth and the tongue bargaining me away, “andI’llsay the words for you.”
Danny must glance around the library again, because Rory chides, “No one’s coming.” He can’t know that. I don’t believe anyone could. No matter how many shifts his followers have put in, trying to track the teachers’ moves, this is still maddeningly risky. Fucking in the library is bad enough, but totalk— the way Rory talks? I know the ceaseless stream of dirt that belies his smart, clear mind and his smooth, defiant tongue. Rory can corrupt and revel in it.
“This still requires you, D-boy. While I talk the talk,” he murmurs, his voice dropping and acquiring a hypnotic lilt, “you still need to…” Rory raises my chin with the tip of his fingers, his eyes roaming my face. Not out of love, which he conceals for tonight, but for what feels like imperfections, signs to cause dissatisfaction. I’m like a doll, a toy, something to be used, with no expectations from me. It’s strangely liberating. With a quirk of his lips, Rory finishes, “You still need to fuck what’s mine.”
Blood spikes hotly down my veins. I wish I could control it, to give all of me to Danny in protest. But I can’t even think straight, with everything narrowed into the magnetic way Rory so easily wraps the world around his wants.
“Fin, look in my bag,” he says, without removing his eyes from mine, and I hear Finlay obeying him, crawling under the desk and undoing a thick clasp. Rory’s hand sculpts the outline of my face, tracing without touching, as Danny runs fulsome palms across my ribs and beneath my hiked-up pajama top. “You already look out of it,” he notes, not unkindly, and as Finlay hands him something, he adds, “This won’t take long at all.”
I gaze at the item in his hands – a red foil packet. My eyes narrow. He carried condoms in his bag today. Does that mean he knew this would be happening? That he suspected I’d be burning for him, for anyone, after what went on in the library? Because if so, well, he’s not wrong. He’s irritatingly correct in his intuition, as usual. But that doesn’t mean I have to make this easier for him. It doesn’t have to meanI won’t take long at all.
“Are you just going to talk?” I snark. “Or will you at least do something, like take off my top?”
“When I want you undressed is of no concern to you, little saint.” Rory’s amused lips lean a hair’s breadth from mine, his fingers divinghardinto my hair. He tilts my face up to look at him so that my whole world is entirely Rory. “The only talkingyou’llbe doing are the words ‘please’ and ‘sir.’ Understand?”
Everything burns.
‘Sir’ is a new one, and for one wild, heart-stopping moment I’m transported to Lochkelvin manor, whispering the word ‘sir’ in politeness, not plea, past midnight to a man sharing Rory’s face and Rory’s eyes, but with skin older and lined with the gravity of true power.
Rory holds the foil packet between two long fingers. “You know what this is, yes?” he asks Danny, clipped and cold, as though Danny is unworthy of what it contains. There is the insinuation that, at any moment, Rory may refuse their deal and just take me over the table himself. At this point, this far gone, I wouldn’t mind. “Put it on.”
Danny leans forward to accept the packet from Rory’s outstretched fingers, his hands caressing my hipbones as he leans forward. I see the nervous quiver in Danny’s reaching fingers, the defeated drop of his hand as, with a growing smirk, Rory jerks the packet away from him.
“I’m not just going to let you fuck my fiancée, D-boy, though she might. You’re going to have tofightfor it.”
I see the moment Danny’s searching hand regains confidence. When it turns into a fist. He brings what sounds like his knee to the table beside me, to launch himself closer to Rory. His fist captures Rory’s teasing fingers, enveloping them, and he snatches the condom out of them.
“Good boy,” Rory says mockingly, eyes dancing, and I hear Danny’s loud, self-conscious swallow.
Danny’s hand sculpts my backside, traveling down my bare cheeks and landing underneath, tracing my hair like it’s vital, like parting ivy from a secret garden to the source of all that is holy. His careful fingers find the cleansing warmth, the slick blissful heat. The sound of me rings out across the library, wet and pure.
“No.” Rory’s voice cuts like a blade. “I said put the condom on.”
Fingers withdraw from me, removing their buds of pleasure, but not without one last secret caress straight down my parted lower lips, tender enough to make me wriggle, bold enough to make his fury known.
The night shifts into stilted sounds. The tear of the packet, the slide of the rubber. Elastic stretches behind me, and then follows the soft gust of dropped fabric. I watch Rory carefully but his gaze remains as neutral and unreadable as before, all his lusts kept under lock and key when he plays the role of emperor for the night. Finlay, however, has no need for locks or keys, and instead blows out a quiet, admiring breath. I know then that Danny must be fully naked. There’s the snap and stretch as he sheathes his cock, binding it in the tight, see-through cover, a fleshy sound as his hand slowly shuttles along it, and, if possible, the groans Finlay makes get louder.
Rory’s eyes snap across to him, irritated. “Do you want to go down on your knees and suck him off?” From how he says it, it sounds like it should be a threat, a punishment. I don’t know if Finlay would see it that way.
“Dinnae think I’ve seen it this close up afore,” Finlay murmurs, distracted. “Some men get a’ the luck.”
“Enter the saint.” Rory’s voice is fussy, annoyed, and I know Finlay’s comments will have only added to that. I want to speak. I want to say I need more prep than Danny’s scepter burying deep toward my belly. But Rory heard me earlier, as plainly as church bells: already tonight, I’m as soaked as if all three chiefs around this table had licked and sucked me into a hundred ecstasies. “Spread your legs,” Rory advises in a softer tone, and I do.
Danny’s hand slowly feeds the blunt tip of his cock into my stretched opening. Pain scissors into me, my eyes fluttering as I try my best to position my hips. But from this angle, the bulk of him is his truth. There’s no way of hiding from it, of arranging myself neater, shallower. My body is fixed across the table, a dripping cunt waiting to be filled. He’s so big, and everything deepens at this angle. Tears prickle my eyes, and I know in an instant Danny would stop this if he had the slightest idea, if he could see the shockwaves of hurt and pain reverberating across my face.
Rorydoessee them, however. He watches me steadily for a long time as Danny, with an aching grace, slices into me. My world blackens around the edges but I focus on Rory’s eyes, the glitter of the silver, the flash of concern and silent mercy I know is in there.
And then Danny presses flush against me, his hips canting against my backside, and all of him is in me. It’s the most erotic and intimate I’ve felt in so long, another’s flesh slick against mine. Pain morphs into a deep, primal pleasure, like the flip of a thousand counters from one color to the next. It engulfs me, not in waves but all at once, the rip-roaring beast of Danny’s towering secret grinding inside me, stretching my inner chamber wide for Danny in a way that none other has ever needed.
26
Ipress my cheek to the cool, soothing wood grain, panting my exultation. My nerves are already shot and on the verge of shattering. My vision starbursts. I’m overstretched, stuffed with Danny’s enormous cock. My thighs are quivering against the table edge as I’m forced to hold myself upright. Danny gently slides his hands around me, a saccharine contrast to the monster carving deep roads inside me, his fingers a soft cage around my lower belly. He hinges forward where I do, and his hands spread, spread up, beneath my top, to fondle yearningly at my breasts. I surge against him, glossy with the kisses Danny trails up my spine. With his teeth, he plucks at my pajama shirt, his hands too busy toying with my nipples to assist. I arch my back, trying to help, trying to get the damn top off me, because all I want is skin and hands and hard wood and fucking, and finally,finally, as I duck my head and yank down the row of buttons it comes free.
I’m naked. Danny is, too.
His chest lies on top of me as his hands still cling possessively to my breasts. Heat spirals around us, a protective, sensual shield. It’s a large roomy library in a drafty castle in January, and I’ve never been so soothed with the warmth of another, body heat protecting us both.
