Kiernan positioned himself between her thighs, and I knelt behind him and ran my hands down the line of his back.
I slicked my fingers and worked him open. His head dropped forward, and Ophelia stroked his face while I stretched him. He pushed back against my hand, impatient, demanding more without words. I gave it to him.
When he was ready, I slicked my cock and pushed forward. He groaned as I seated myself fully. Beneath us, Ophelia gasped as he pushed inside her.
“Move,” he said.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I gripped his hips and thrust deep, angling to hit the spot that made him curse. Kiernan was between us, taking and giving at once. I found my rhythm, and he matched it, driving into her as I drove into him.
“Harder,” he demanded.
Ophelia cried out beneath him, her back arched, and her nails raked down his arms.
“I’m close,” she gasped. “Kiernan—Oliver?—”
“Let go,” he told her. “Come for us.”
Her orgasm hit hard. She screamed his name, then mine. Kiernan kept moving through it, drawing it out, and I kept building toward my own release.
He buried himself deep inside her and clenched around me as he came. The sensation pulled me over with him.
We collapsed together. He rolled to his side and pulled us both with him, refusing to break contact. I pressed against his back, and Ophelia curled into his front.
We lay there until the candles burned low. Eventually, we cleaned ourselves and the room, dressed, and returned to Greymarch through the tunnels. We climbed the stairs to Kiernan’s bedroom—our bedroom—without encountering anyone.
The bed was vast, and the sheets were already turned down. We stripped again, then climbed in with Kiernan in the center, Ophelia on one side, and me on the other. Our legs tangled under the covers.
I lay awake after they drifted off. Moonlight crossed the ceiling, and Kiernan’s chest rose and fell against my palm. I closed my eyes and slept.
—Ophelia—
I woke to warmth on both sides, and the unfamiliar weight of the collar at my throat.
For a moment, I didn’t move. Kiernan’s arm was draped across my waist, Oliver’s back pressed against mine, and pale winter light filtered through the curtains. My whole life, I’d woken in temporary places—embassy residences, safe houses, hotel rooms that looked the same in every city. This was the first time I’d woken somewhere permanent.
I let myself feel it. The solidity of the bed beneath me, the sound of their breathing, the way neither of themstirred when I shifted slightly. They slept like men who trusted the world around them. I wasn’t sure I’d ever slept that way.
Kiernan’s eyes opened, and his gaze held mine, unhurried.
“Good morning, wife.”
The word landed somewhere deep in my chest. “Good morning, husband.”
Oliver stirred behind me. “Too early for talking.”
“It’s nearly ten, other husband,” Kiernan said.
“Still too early.”
Kiernan’s mouth curved, and he reached across me to grip Oliver’s hip. “Get up. There’s another gift.”
That got Oliver’s attention. He propped himself on one elbow, suddenly awake. “Now?”
“Now.”
After we put on robes and slippers, they refused to tell me where they were taking me.
They made me close my eyes while they led me through the castle, one hand in each of theirs. We stopped, and heavy-sounding doors creaked open.
