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He couldn’t stand the thought of a future that didn’t have Sylvia in it. Or Lancelot.
Yet the truth remained…that was what lay ahead of him.
While it wasn’t unheard of for members of the Masters’ Admiralty to be bound in marriage to people from other territories—in truth, the new fleet admiral had already done that twice in just a short time—it was actually quite rare. In all likelihood, the admiral of France would choose Hugo’s partners from within the territory. Just as Arthur, the admiral of England, would choose Lancelot’s partners.
“Your brothers are upstairs,” Lancelot said, though Hugo could tell his resistance was fading.
“That’s your worst argument yet,” Sylvia said, flipping to her back between them. She rested her injured hand on her stomach.
“There are three of them. And two of us,” Hugo said, only half joking. “But you’re right. This could be our last night together.”
As he spoke, he sat up, pulling the covers off her as he did so, kneeling next to her on the mattress. “Anything you want, Sylvia. I’ll give you anything you want.” Then he hastened to add, “Within reason,” recalling the dark fantasy the three of them had played out in her living room. “You’re injured, so I’m afraid we’ll all have to settle for nice.”
She grinned at his joke. “Take off my panties.”
He slid the silky scrap of material down, tossing the panties over his shoulder, making her giggle.
Then she parted her legs. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
“Where?”
Her eyes darted downwards. “Here.” She gestured with her good hand, pointing to her sex. “Kiss me here.”
Hugo moved between her legs, bending down. He ran his tongue along her slit, then glanced at her face, delighted when her eyes closed with a blissful sigh.
As he continued to stroke her—inside and out—with his tongue, he caught glimpses of Lancelot, very slowly, very gently, pulling her T-shirt off.
Once she was naked, he placed her broken hand back on her stomach, his arm snaking around her waist, so he could hold her as Hugo drove her crazy with hungry lips on her pussy.
Sylvia lifted her legs, resting them on Hugo’s shoulders. He added more fuel to the flames, rubbing her clit with his thumb as he speared her pussy with his tongue. She was wet and hot, her hips gyrating as she sought more stimulation.
Lancelot’s arm tightened, holding her against the mattress. Sylvia liked the idea of bondage, and while neither of them was about to tie her up in her current condition, there was no denying she enjoyed being held down by Lancelot, forced to take everything Hugo gave her without the ability to move. If only they had more time to explore those fantasies of hers. Fantasies that had fueled his own darker desires.
She cried out, the sound louder than was prudent, given the warrior triplets sleeping just above their heads. Lancelot rose up slightly so he could kiss her, drowning out her groans and moans.
She twisted her head after several minutes, sucking in a deep breath. “Please. Need you.”
Lancelot looked down at him. Hugo lifted his head for a split second, just long enough to shake it. She was coming this way first. He wanted to taste her orgasm, know that he’d driven their woman out of her mind.
Lancelot cupped her face with his large palm. “You’re going to come for us, love. Going to show Hugo exactly how much you like his kisses.”
She was shaking her head almost mindlessly. “Him. Inside,” she demanded.
“Beg,” Hugo demanded. “Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to keep kissing you.” Hugo turned his head and nipped her thigh. “This isn’t just a kiss, is it? I’m feasting on you.” He bent, taking the plump mound of flesh above her clit in his teeth and tugging, then releasing, only to dip lower and press his tongue into her. She tasted clean and salty. “I’m fucking you with my tongue.”
Sylvia’s back was arched, her breath coming in uneven pants that synced with what he was doing to her body.
“Gentle,” Lancelot told him.
“Beg,” Hugo ordered Sylvia.
“Please fuck me,” she breathed. “I want you to eat my pussy. I want to rub myself against your face and come all over you. I want you to fuck me with your tongue and bite my clit and then shove as many fingers as you can in my pussy while you suck my clit.” The words tumbled from her mouth. There was no artistry to it, yet it was poetry. The poetry of need, of unfiltered, raw desire.
Hugo spread her labia, exposing her clit. Dipping his head, he sucked her clit and the surrounding flesh into his mouth. He drew hard on her, sucking rhythmically so her clit rubbed against the edge of his teeth. She shrieked in pleasure, and Lancelot sealed his mouth over hers.
Hugo softened his mouth, his tongue finding a rhythm as he worked her clit. She was there, ready to break apart, to die the little death. He would take her there. He shifted, driving two fingers into her body to the hilt as he continued to work her clit with his tongue.
She came loudly, Lancelot’s kisses doing little to mute her cries of delight.
