As he watches us, Basten’s eyelids are heavy, his chest rising and falling in hard breaths. His hair’s come loose from the tie at his nape, and strands hang over his eyes.
I reach out a hand to him.
He steps forward. Slow. Deliberate.
Then drops to his knees.
“Open for me, little violet,” he commands.
Shivers of pleasure tear through me as I swallow a needy moan, unable to keep from bucking my hips like an animal.
Behind me, Rian’s hold tightens around my throat and waist. He murmurs more sinful prayers against my skin as his lips trail down my bare neck.
Basten grabs my skirt in his fist, shoving it higher around my waist, and with one seamless move, wrenches my panties down to my knees. He slides them down the rest of my legs so slowly it aches. I whimper, gripping the throne’s armrests with white knuckles.
I’m wet. Soaked enough to make a whore blush. But this beast inside me, the fae, it’s wanton. It doesn’t know shame. Or restraint. It justhungers.
“Taste me,” I moan to Basten, writhing in Rian’s lap. Rian’s hand tightens on my hips, fingers dipping down my thigh closer to my core, teasing the soft, sensitive flesh there.
Basten grips my thighs, holding them apart with such confidence as if they belong to him. He plants his lips to my inner knee, scorching a line of hot kisses along my thigh toward the glistening center demanding his attention.
“Gods, yes,” I pant, arching back into Rian’s chest.
“Fuck, songbird,” Rian moans hotly against my neck. “I always knew you were secretly debauched.”
“Rian,” I pant, writhing in his lap. “You’re just lucky I let you find out.”
Basten’s tongue finds my swollen heat, and I cry out. I reach back to grip the back of the throne, holding on for dear life. Basten tortures my pussy relentlessly. Sucking. Licking. Flicking his tongue over my clit until I start to see stars.
My body responds with a rush of hot energy.This—this is what I’ve needed. Better than food. Better than offerings. I need Basten and Rian served up on a platter, offering me every wild delight inside them.
Gods, it’s sofaeit makes my blood sing.
Basten pulls away, and I whimper in objection. I throw my leg around his shoulder, hooking him like a shepherd’s crook, trying to drag him back.
He chuckles darkly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, wildcat. I’ve just started. You want worship? I can do more with my tongue than speak prayers.”
He stands up, grabs me by the wrist and pulls me to my feet, guiding me by the chin to meet him in a kiss. I lean into him, sliding my tongue over the seam of his lips, asking for entrance.
He opens his lips for me, and I press my incisors against his bottom lip—not hard enough to break the skin, just enough to make him groan.
“Rian,” Basten barks, sharp and commanding. “Get the fuck on your feet.”
Rian adjusts the rock-hard cock straining at his pants, trying—and failing—to hide how worked up he is. There’s a hunger there I’ve never seen in him before. As if being told what to do—finally—is doing something to him.
As if the command itself lights him up.
Now that the throne is unoccupied, Basten guides me back into it, the hard oak cupping my ass, but then turns me so I’m draped across the armrests. The carved feathers press into my skin with a hint of pain that only stokes my need.
Basten jerks his head at Rian and says simply, “Like that time at the Velvet Vixen.”
The reference means nothing to me but clearly does to Rian.
Rian kneels by my feet, eyes blown wide, and tugs off my remaining shoe. He caresses my foot like he’s polishing gold, then kisses along the upper portion of my arch.
I gasp, toes curling.
Basten sinks to his knees on the other side of the throne. He takes my arm, nuzzles his face in my palm, and then drags his tongue down the length of my arm to my shoulder, sliding my dress strap down to free my breast, and capturing my bare nipple gently between his teeth.
