Page 9 of When Kings Fall

Niamh is still licking the spoon when a drop of chocolate lands on her chin. I see it, and so does he. Without a word,Diarmuid closes the distance between them. His hand lifts, thumb brushing against her chin with the lightest of touches, wiping away the smear of chocolate. His eyes never leave hers, and for a moment, the air in the kitchen thickens. I hold my breath, watching, waiting. I can’t see Diarmuid’s gaze, but the way he sucks his thumb and all the chocolate off it tells me he is aroused by Niamh, and that makes something primal erupt in me, almost competitive.

I’m standing before I know what I’m doing, walking toward them as Diarmuid brushes a kiss across Niamh’s lips. He groans with pure pleasure, and I squeeze my thighs together, pressing down on the yearning that is growing rapidly with each passing second. I slide next to Diarmuid as he places his hands on Niamh, running them roughly up her sides and across her breasts; she throws her head back and moans.

Without looking, Diarmuid reaches for me, and I’m pulled in beside him as he continues caressing Niamh; his mouth finds mine, and I taste the sweet chocolate off his tongue. He releases Niamh, and I’m airborne. Placing me on the large counter, Diarmuid smiles up at me, but it’s more of a snarl. I’m waiting for his mouth to find mine again, but he does the same with Niamh and places her on the counter.

“Now I have you both.” He declares, placing a hand on each of our faces before he leans in and presses his lips to mine. His teeth graze my lip, and I grip his shoulders, pulling him closer; a hand slides along my thigh; I know it’s Niamh’s without looking at it. She runs her hand higher until she touches my throbbing core. I’m hungry for them; I’m yearning for more. I think of the men stationed around the house as I groan, but the thought grows distant as Diarmuid sinks his tongue deep into my mouth, and Niamh pushes the palm of her hand against my core.

Diarmuid’s warm mouth leaves mine, and the loss has me reaching for him, but I watch as he hungrily devours Niamh’slips. His hands push her dress up past her mid-section; if she’s afraid of anyone seeing, she doesn’t show it as she allows him to expose her small underwear. Her hand continues to grind against my core as Diarmuid trails kisses down her neck until he’s buried between her legs. She gasps as he hunkers over her; her palm digs heavier into me, almost painful, but I want this.

When Diarmuid raises his head, the want has darkened his eyes. He lifts me down first and kisses me, pushing his hard erection against my stomach. I slam my body against his, grinding, needing him inside me, but just as I’m ready to reach for his trousers, he shits, breaking the kiss, and lifts Niamh off the counter also. He kisses her before his hand slips into mine, and he leads us toward the stairs. The thought of having to make it the whole way to the bedroom has me yanking on his arm, and he turns, his own want overtaking him, and I’m pressed against the wall. His kisses are rough and deep.

My hand slides down, and I feel the full extent of his excitement. More hands join mine as Niamh gets his trousers unbuttoned, and my blood roars to life as I get my hand inside his pants; there is nothing dividing me from his meaty flesh. Niamh pulls down his trousers quickly, and I sense her moving to her knees. Her mouth touches my hand, her tongue flicking out, and I release his cock so she can take him in her mouth.

Diarmuid moans loudly, and his large hands grip the bottom of my top that’s yanked over my head and discarded on the ground. His mouth moves to my chest, pulling down the cups of my bra; he sucks in a nipple, and I hiss as his teeth graze the swollen bud. He groans into my mouth, and the sound of Niamh sucking his cock has me wanting to join her, to taste Diarmuid’s large shaft in my mouth. Diarmuid rubs my other breast, his palm brushing against the sensitive, hard nipple, and I cry out. When Diarmuid releases my breasts, his hands sink into Niamh’s hair, and with a small amount of force, he liftsher head. She smiles up at him. I want to replace Niamh, but Diarmuid seems to have other ideas. He kicks off his shoes and discards his trousers and boxers, leading us into one of the living rooms. It’s quicker than going upstairs. He kicks the door closed behind him, and I zero in on his cock that glistens with Niamh’s saliva. He doesn’t stop me as I kneel down and take him in my mouth. I gag as I try to take all of his cock in my throat. I suck and lick until I can’t take anymore. As I rise, Diarmuid pulls Niamh against his body and kisses her wildly. I watch them kiss and see the movements of his hands along her side until one hand disappears under her dress. Niamh cries out, and I take off my trousers, wishing I had worn a dress today for easy access. I’m standing in a white thong when I approach Diarmuid. His eyes are on me, my hand presses against his chest, and I push him until he releases Niamh and lies down on the couch behind him that I’m guiding him to. I climb up on him, not giving him a moment, and take his cock in my hand before placing it at my opening. My wetness drips onto his cock, and it slides in easily with no effort, filling me. I cry out the moment I am fully seated on him and start riding him hard. His hands grip my hips, guiding me.

Niamh is straddled over his face, and Diarmuid’s face disappears as she grinds herself into him. I can’t stop the smile as Niamh and I look at each other; it's our way of celebrating. This is the first time that the three of us have been physically together since Niamh’s trip into the river.

I close my eyes as I rise and fall on Diarmuid’s cock, each stroke bringing me closer to the release I seek. Niamh’s frantic movements match mine, and she cries out first, coming on Diarmuid’s face. The smell of sex, the sounds of our pleasure, has me moving faster and harder. Diarmuid’s groans are rising, too, as I continue to move up and down until my thighs ache, demanding I stop, but I don’t, not until I reach that final highand the world shatters as Diarmuid cries out, too, flooding me with his cum. My hands slam down on his chest as I try to control my own orgasm, that’s almost too powerful, but as I slowly come back down, Diarmuid is looking at me. Niamh is sitting close to his head, and when he smiles at me, I can’t stop the laugh before I collapse on his chest.

All of the recent danger and threats of separation had made us ache for each other.

With Wolfe finally being gone and gone for good, there is hope that things will calm down. That we can take the opportunity to explore what life could be like if this arrangement were permanent.

Well, not this exact arrangement. In the history of the Hands of Kings, no King had ever chosen two Consorts. I can’t look at Niamh right now as I lie on Diarmuid’s chest with a well of guilt at imagining her not here.

I’m slipping into a light dress when I hear the bathroom door creak open. Diarmuid steps out, still slightly damp from his shower, his fingers deftly buttoning the cuffs of his crisp white shirt. I watch him for a moment, taking in the sight of him so composed, so powerful, yet there's something unspoken in the air between us.

“How long?” I finally ask, trying to keep my voice steady, though the words feel heavier than I intend.

“It could be hours,” he replies without missing a beat, his eyes briefly meeting mine as he continues to fasten his cufflinks. “It could be all day.”

“Oh.” The single word escapes my lips, almost inaudible, but it says everything I can’t—everything I won’t. My heart sinks alittle, though I try not to show it. Before I can retreat into my thoughts, Diarmuid crosses the room in a few long strides and pulls me against him. His kiss is firm, reassuring, as if he’s trying to transfer some of his strength to me.

“I promise I will make it up to you,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

I look up at him, searching his eyes for something more. “Is there anything I can do to make your day go faster?” I ask, half-hoping there’s a way to keep him here just a little longer.

He shakes his head, a small, regretful smile playing on his lips. “No chance. Victor wants the brothel rebuilt, and I need to meet with my brothers today.”

I stiffen slightly at the mention of Victor. “Does Victor know that you just sent every one of Wolfe’s workers out of the country?”

“Not yet,” Diarmuid replies, a dark edge to his tone. “But he will find out soon enough. He probably has someone watching the house in France.”

The implications of his words settle in, and I can’t help the worry that bubbles up inside me. “Then, should we be preparing for this? Are you going to be punished? What is the punishment for doing something like this?”

Diarmuid’s eyes flash with something I can’t quite read—determination, maybe, or defiance. Instead of answering, he grabs me again, his lips finding mine with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

“I am a King and a Don,” he says firmly when he pulls away, his voice steady, his gaze unyielding. “Victor will have to respect my decision.”

I want to believe him, to feel reassured by his confidence, but the lingering unease in my chest won’t quite dissipate. I nod, forcing a smile, and watch as he departs, his presence already feeling too far away.

I follow him to the balcony that overlooks the grand foyer, my hands gripping the railing as I watch him disappear through the front door. The house feels too big, too empty without him. I stay there, staring down at the empty space, my thoughts swirling, until I hear the soft padding of footsteps on the stairs.

Niamh appears at the bottom, her hair damp and tousled, a towel slung over her shoulders as she climbs.

Niamh’s footsteps grow closer, and when she reaches the top of the stairs, she looks up at me with concern etched in her features. “Is everything alright?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.

It’s typical of Niamh to check in with me, even when I know she has enough on her own plate to worry about. Her situation is precarious, to say the least. If she doesn’t succeed in this trial, her sister will face the same grim fate. I’ve noticed how, when she thinks no one’s looking, her brow furrows, and her eyes carry a weight that speaks of silent suffering.

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