Page 29 of When Kings Rise

“Where are we going?” Amira asks. I wait for shyness to soak into her gaze but only excitement and want is there.

I have the same want, and I hold out my hand, and she easily slips hers into mine.

“I believe the last time we were together, we got sidetracked,” I say, thinking about how the maid had struck her.

She nods. “You took care of it.” She stops walking and smiles up at me.

I reach out and cup her face. “You are mine to take care of.”

She inhales a quick breath that makes her breast strain against the soft, silken fabric of her flimsy dress.

I lead Amira toward a secluded sanctuary known only to a few. The fountains, now silent and drained for the season, offer a hidden alcove of privacy.

The farthest fountain, hidden from the view of the manse's windows, is where I take Amira. Here, the oversized vases that once adorned the walkway are absent, leaving behind square slabs of marble that serve as pedestals. With care, I remove my hand from Amira’s and take off my coat. I spread my jacket over the cold marble, a makeshift bed.

Amira bites her lip as she glances down at the jacket, and as if sensing my intentions, she lies down and spreads her legs. The dress rides up higher, revealing tanned thighs.

The cold is forgotten as we both yearn for the same thing. I kneel between her legs, and her gaze remains transfixed on me. Like she doesn’t want to miss a moment. Dipping my hand and sliding it up her thigh and slipping one finger under the black panties she wears, I don’t stop until the warm folds give me access, and she moans loudly. I move my finger in and out before pushing in two fingers; when I remove them, I place my fingers in my mouth. I want to take my time with her, but our disappearance will not go unnoticed.

She spreads her legs further, the dress now riding at her midriff as I unbuckle my belt and push my trousers and boxers down far enough to release my raging cock. I need this release so badly, and Amira seems to be the only one willing. I will have all three, but tonight, it will be Amira.

The minute I bend down to place my cock at Amira’s opening, her hands find my shoulders, and she’s pulling me to her with a greed I can easily match. The minute I slide my cock in, her folds stretch around me, and I lower myself. Her fingers curl around my shoulders; her eyes widen at the sudden intrusion between her legs.

I can’t be gentle or slow, and I’m not.Amira lies still under me, her eyes tightly shut as I start to push my full length into her. Her teeth clamp down on her lip as if she is stopping herself from screaming out. I don’t want her to scream and draw attention to us. I pound faster and harder; her eyes snap open, and before she can make a sound, I press my lips to hers and grip her hips, demanding her body to open up further for me.

I don’t stop until I’m fully in, and then I fuck her like I want to. She cries into my mouth, and it’s delicious as I take her virginity under the fountain. The faster I go, her cries turn to whimpers before they morph into moans that have her opening her eyes and looking into mine. With our mouths barely touching each other’s, we breathe and pant as I fuck her until I release my seed into her body. She cries out only seconds later, her own release washing over my cock that’s still wrapped in her warm folds. The muscles tighten and clench around me like they are demanding every last drop of my cum, and I’m happy to oblige.

Afterward, we make our way to the main dining room. We arrive just before Victor, the man whose presence dictates the rhythm of the night. His voice is a familiar drone that I scarcely register. My focus is elsewhere, lost between Amira and Michael’s earlier words that Victor wasn’t coming. Was that message only for me? What was Victor playing at?

As we walk, I glance at Amira. On our way back, rain has started to fall, and one raindrop traces a slow, deliberate path between Amira's breasts. It's a distraction until we are ushered to our table.

Niamh, one of my brides, has her attention fixed on her plate, a deliberate attempt to remain unseen, unnoticed. Selene, however, offers a stark contrast. She isn't eating, her plate untouched, her focus not on the food but on me. Her eyes hold a tempest, fury, and accusation woven together in a silent rebuke that speaks louder than words ever could.

She’s furious.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Selene

AS I GUIDE Isaac Waryn toward the main dining room, a sense of guilt tugs at the corners of my heart. I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for leaving Niamh behind. It was never my intention. In my mind, I assumed she would know she was welcome to join us. It seems I assumed too much.

Next time, I need to just tell her to come. The last thing I want is to create distance between us over a misunderstanding. I would hate for Niamh to think I had intentionally left her with Amira.

Walking beside the priest, a habit from countless similar events, prompts me to almost offer him my arm. But the memory of his clerical collar stops me mid-gesture. Sure enough, Father Waryn continues with his hands clasped behind his back, maintaining a respectful distance. I smile at a few people who are curiously looking our way. I know my dress is very fitting here. The rich blue ballgown is the exact same color as my eyes.

"I’d imagine that you feel embarrassed about what we just witnessed back there," Isaac says while looking over the crowd also, and nodding at people whom I have no idea who they are.

He's referring to the earlier incident—an uncomfortable moment that I wish could be erased from memory. "You imagine correctly," I admit, the words heavy with apology. "I’m so sorry for her behavior, Father. She wasn’t raised right."

Isaac glances at me. "I may be a man of the cloth, but I wasn’t born in a monastery. New love is a strong emotion that can make us do all sorts of foolish things."

His words catch me off guard, sparking a defensive reflex. "I beg your pardon, Father, but they are not in love." My tone is sharper than intended, a reaction to the assumption that doesn't fit the reality. Amira is cruel and trying to grab attention. None of us know Diarmuid, so whatever any of us are feeling, it isn’t love.

Isaac's next question halts me in my tracks. "Then, if I may ask, what is the situation between you?"

"Father?" My voice betrays a flicker of confusion, mingled with apprehension.

Taking a moment, I let my gaze wander through the ornate hallway, appreciating the brief bit of privacy before we reach the bustling main dining room. The silence here is a stark contrast to the lively chatter that awaits us, and yet, my heart races with a nervous energy. The thought of engaging in conversation with a priest, above all people, makes me want to run.

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