Breath hitching, he did as she bade. Grinding as deep as she could take, he indulged his knot.
Pulling back, he rocked onto a spear of flesh made slippery with slick. The passage easier than he would have ever through possible. Burning with the ache for more as it battered and stretched.
Harder.
Deeper.
He only barreled forward when the terror of being impaled by that monstrosity spilled over, and so was rewarded with Renegade.
He withdrew when he grew bold and daring, and so was punished by Giaus.
“Fuck,” he rasped, back arching as he rocked to and fro. Slippery front to back, bewildered by sweat and limbs and a tight glove overfull with another’s cock.
Mewling, Renegade didn’t bother herself to wait. She came, gushing, her legs quivering with the violence of it, and Sin was taken by the sounds drawn from her throat.
One clawed fist darted between his legs. A horrible flashback that delayed his own spillage, until Giaus laughed. “Frightened little prince,” he drawled, and bore down. Filling him all the way to the top of his knot, the king began to work when Renegade’s eyes rolled back. Fucking him without violence, because she could feel it.
Groaning, Sin felt Giaus’ shaft thicken even as it pummeled. “Shit,” he hissed, and went still. Buried inside one mate as the other bred him from the back. Forced him to feel the edge of a building knot, and wonder if he’d be made to take that too.
Helpless but to endure the power of another’s rut.
A sordid moan escaped his lips, then. As he indulged the wonder that was a Hathorian embrace… that another male was about to fuck him into absolutely titanic orgasm. Shameless, for he had no more secrets to suffer for.
Not here, where his obsessive want was tempered by a king. Contained by a queen.
Three savage strokes, and Giaus succumbed with a grunt and yards of shuddering muscle. Buried deep, he made sure Sin felt every kicking pulse. The flex of swollen balls growing unburdened as he emptied himself inside Sin’s bowels—and spared him the cruelty of his knot.
And then, panting along the back of his neck, Giaus let go that royal sack, and unleashed a tsunami. Uttering a commanding chuff that rattled through his skull and found a quiver in his balls.
Untethered, Sin roared, vision sparkling as he gave everything he had for his chance to breed the queen. “Take it,” he rasped, and set his knot behind the ledge of her pelvic bone. Rocking gently through her slick and lathered walls. “Please.Please.”
“Begging now?” Giaus panted, and eased back. Careful now that the moment had cooled. Leaving Sin to be milked inside that clenching Hathorian sheath. “Frightened that she might reject an unworthy mate?”
Sin hushed the king. “She’ll hear you, myLiege.” And then, when it was clear that she was beyond hearing, he uttered a hoarse chuckle, rolling so he could adjust Renegade where she was impaled and knotted on his lap. Letting her slumber, his claws carding through sweat-damp black silk. “Self-preservation,” he said at length. And then, “She’ll kill us both if she finds out.”
To this, Giaus hummed, but that was all.
And for a moment, as a comfortable, satisfied silence fell over the trio, Sin thought he saw the glimmer of something gold flash in the queen’s eyes. Thought he’d felt her tense, where a moment before she’d been boneless across his chest.
But he couldn’t see in the dark and wasn’t sure.
“Torches,” Sin murmured through a yawn. “She wants torches.”
And then, lounging in their nest, he pressed one palm to the velvet cone of her outer ear, took a shallow breath, and exhaled life into twitching muscles he’d never used before. Letting his breath hum through his sinuses, a haunting melody bubbled up. A song for the death queen who’d given him life. It was passion he’d never known, devotion to a delicate creature he’d spend the rest of his life cherishing in the way only a Sultan’s son might.
A general who’d been a prince, unafraid to purr for his queen.
18
Three times the moons had waxed.
Three times they’d waned as she’d watched the Queen’s Landing transform from a simple riverside clearing into a fortress.
A wall ringed their den in safety. Designed to her exact specifications, it stood twenty feet above her head. Any tree tall enough to fall and become a ladder for an infected wanderer was felled in a circumference around the wall.
And there, built atop a great outdoor dining room, they’d erected a turret twice the height of the wall—where they could see an enemy coming and act before their doom was through the gates.
Renegade had ordered it done with a smile.
