Her moans are a drowning thing. More performance than pleasure. Higher and higher, her screams echo. Unsteadily they fall until she seems to remember her role she’s playing, and then they pitch all over again.
“Oh, just come already. It’s sex not a theater production,” I complain.
Zilo nudges me to quiet down as the four of us lurk outside the Prince’s chambers. “Shh,” he hisses.
I roll my eyes.
“As if anyone could hear us right now. The wolves in my realm are probably picking up on Moaning Martha in there.” My arms fold hard.
“Are you jealous?” Romey asks, leaning against the wall at my side as he folds his arms and really studies me.
“Uh, I guess I’m supposed to be. Yeah. So jealous right now.”
His smirk that’s normally so cruel is almost infectious. It pulls at my own lips simply from seeing him smile. He so rarely really smiles. He smirks and cackles all day but so seldomly ever seems happy.
“You should be jealous,” Zilo snaps, ripping the meager happiness right from us. “You’re losing, Cersia.”
Losing. Wow. Okay. I hadn’t realized a one-night stand was the prize here.
“She should be about in the mornings,” Avian advises.
What does that even mean?Be about what in the mornings.Be about what?
“Yeah, and she should wear more perfume. It’s about the pheromones,” Roman adds with a glint in his pale green eyes that tells me he’s being a total cock eater right now.
“That’s a good idea,” Zilo says while pushing his glasses up to really think this puzzle out. “Maybe tighter pants. Tight pants are always good on a mate. Shows the bearing hips.”
Bearing hips?
The three of them nod dickishly in unison.
“No underwear too,” Roman adds to my list with another exaggerated I’m-A-Fucking-Tool nod.
“How do you know the difference?” Avian asks.
“It’s a panty intuition. You wouldn’t get it,” Roman says without hesitation and total honesty.
Panty. Intuition.
Give me a fucking break.
I glare at his obnoxiously pretty face. Him and his besties are a happy little triad of stupidity. And I’m just the voyeuristic idiot watching as they thoroughly fuck me into another bad idea.
“Maybe I should forgo the clothes entirely,” I suggest with a shrug.
“That might help, really.” Roman’s eat-shit smile is so taunting it’s infuriatingly cute.
It’s a nice reminder that I still hate him.
Intensely.
“Ya know, I’ll figure out how to get the petty attention of a Prince myself. I don’t need your puppy clicker training on how to make a man notice me. Thanks.” I’m walking away while they’re mumbling between dramatic sex noises about how women are oblivious to what menreallywant.
Like it’s hard.
Eleven
Dueling Seduction
