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“Y-yes. I’m ready.”

“What about you?” he asks Hunter. “You ready to fuck your Baroness?”

Hunter’s tongue swipes over my clit one last time before he pulls away and I swallow a frustrated groan. “Isn’t this enough? Can’t I make her come like this?”

“You can, but I told you, tonight, Ari isn’t coming unless it’s on your cock.” He smirks. “You don’t want to keep your girl from coming, do you?”

In the mirror, I see Hunter’s hands tighten into fists, a thin string of restraint holding him together. Our eyes meet.

“It’s too soon.”

“It’s not,” Damon tells him. “She’s ours. She can take everything you need to give.”

Hunter rises suddenly, shoulders stiff. I think for a minute he’s going to flat-out refuse, but then I hear the sound of his belt and zipper loud in the room. I know this is where it gets difficult for him. Once he starts thrusting, his primal urge takes over. He wants it hard and fast. He wants his hands wrapped around my throat. He wants us both to cling to the edge, chasing demons, teetering towards oblivion.

We’ve met death before.

But this is different.

This is what happens when two lives meld into one. Physical and emotional.

That’s what makes this hard.

Because I want everything he wants, too.

22

Hunter

Sex shouldn’t be this hard.

I should be able to fuck this girl–my girl–and enjoy it. Not overthink every single second. Not need my best friend to dictate my every move. And definitely not have to fight the sick urge to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until the light fades from her eyes just so I can fucking come.

I fist the base of my cock, staring down at the glistening heat of Nettie’s pussy. She’s soaked, dripping, waiting for me. Her head is turned to the side, watching me in the mirror with those wide, trusting eyes. She’s ready. She wants this.

God, I want her so fucking much. I want to feel her against me, hear her lose herself in me, watch that stubborn little spark in her eyes disappear beneath the weight of everything she’s feeling. I’ve been holding myself back for so long that every second I’m forced to wait feels like another test of how much control I actually have and how much I can afford to give up.

“Fuck her, Hunt,” DK says, drawing me from my thoughts. “You’ve dragged this out long enough.”

My head snaps toward him. Something inside me hardens, and I yank my jeans back up, tucking my throbbing erection back inside. “You’re not going to force me into this. You have no right.”

DK crosses his arms over his chest, his expression going flat. “Would you say that if I were Timothy?” His eyebrow lifts. “Would you push back on him if he were King right now?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” his voice is quiet, controlled. “What isn’t fair is you not trusting me the way you would trust him.”

My jaw clenches, and DK walks around Ari, who is still on her hands and knees, face partially obscured by her mask. She’s waiting for us to sort this out. He stops close enough that I can feel the challenge rolling off him.

“I’m in control of this room and everything that happens in it,” he says. “Which means that I tell you when to suck on her tits, or when to eat out her sweet little pussy, and right now your King is telling you to fuck your Baroness.”

There’s no heat in his words, just authority, which somehow makes it worse.

I laugh darkly. “So that’s what this is?”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“You wearing the crown and deciding everyone has to fall in line?”