Page 55 of The Kings
“Fuck,”I gasp, the word a ragged whisper torn from my throat. My bed becomes an altar where Raphael, Tarquin, and I worship each other. Raphael’s lips trail fire down my neck as Tarquin’s hands, those skilled, criminal hands, explore me with a possessive hunger that mingles pain with pleasure.
“Eliza,” Raphael breathes against my skin, his voice rough with desire. His fingers dig into my hips, leaving marks that will remind me of this moment for days to come. “Tell us if we hurt you.”
“God, you feel so good,” Tarquin groans, his words vibrating against the sensitive flesh of my collarbone. The press of their bodies against mine is relentless, a tide of need that is about to sweep me away.
“I’m good,” I murmur, not even feeling the pain as their lips trail over me, my hunger for food sated, but not for them. Never for them, it seems.
As we lie tangled in the middle of the bed, our kisses are deep and desperate as the heat between us swells to an almost unbearable pitch.
Raphael’s fingertips glide over my back, tracing the outline of the skull and rose tattoo. The touch is soft, but it ignites a trail of fire that ripples through me, sending shivers down my spine. It’s a heady mix of pleasure and pain, a reminder of who I am and what I stand for.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my shoulder. “It’s more than ink. It’s strength. It’s defiance.”
I tilt my head to give him better access, lost in the sensation of his fingers dancing across my flesh. Raphael understands the significance of this design; it’s not just body art, it’s a symbol of the Hughes legacy that I carry on my skin—a mark of power and death intertwined with beauty.
His lips follow the same trail as his fingers as Tarquin devours my mouth, his hand slipping between my legs. His fingers glide over my clit, and I arch my back, pressing my breasts against his hard, tattooed chest. These two men are something else, and a small part of me longs to call them mine in my heart, not just my body. But something keeps holding me back—fear of loving and losing. I loved my mother with everything I had, and she died, leaving me all alone to be raised by a father whom I sometimes wondered if he wished I was a boy, a son he had more in common with.
“Everything okay?” Tarquin asks as he sees me pull away slightly.
Smiling, I push the melancholy thoughts aside. “Yeah, all good.”
Accepting that, he thrusts two fingers deep into my pussy as Raphael reaches around to tweak and twist my nipples until all I can think about is them again.
“Fuck, Eliza,” Tarquin grits out between thrusts of his fingers. “You’re so fucking wet for us.”
Raphael grunts his agreement, his cock pressing insistently against my thigh. “She’s always ready for us,” he adds with darkamusement, kissing down the column of my neck to bite the spot just above my collarbone.
I can feel the heat pooling at my core, a warning flare that I’m close to bursting. “Don’t stop,” I manage, my voice barely more than a breathless plea.
Raphael shifts his position slightly and, without any further preamble, when Tarquin removes his fingers, he thrusts into me from behind, filling me completely in one deep stroke.
I cry out at the pleasure spearing through me, sharp and sweet.
“More,” I moan.
Raphael’s thrusts are relentless and deep, each one pushing me closer to the edge. Tarquin’s gaze is locked on mine, his eyes dark with hunger. He slides his cock into my mouth, and I suck him greedily, tasting him, feeling his cock throb against my tongue.
Their rhythm is synchronised, a perfect dance of push and pull that leaves no part of me untouched, unclaimed. Raphael’s hand snakes around to my clit, rubbing in tight circles that send electric jolts through me.
“Eliza, you take us so well,” Raphael groans from behind me, his voice thick with lust. “Perfect fucking fit.”
Tarquin lets out a low chuckle as he watches me work over his cock. “Taking us like she was made for it.”
Who knows? Maybe I was. Born into a world of loyalty and betrayal, where love is a dangerous game and pleasure is just another weapon to wield—a truth I embrace as much as I fight against it.
It’s violent and beautiful.
“Eliza,” Tarquin gasps as I take him deeper, my head bobbing in time with Raphael’s thrusts. “Fuck, I need you.”
Raphael speeds up, thrusting harder, faster, plunging his cock into my soaking wet cunt that grips him as the wave ofmy orgasm hits me, crashing over me with the force of a raging storm. I scream out, clamping my lips down on Tarquin’s dick as my pussy clenches around Raphael’s. My whole body shakes as the pleasure rips through me, raw and primal.
Tarquin groans above me, his hips jerking as he fucks my mouth with abandon. I can taste the pre-cum, slick and salty on my tongue. Raphael’s fingers are still on my clit, coaxing another orgasm from me with ruthless efficiency. The room is filled with the sounds of our moans and curses mingling in the air like a sordid symphony.
Raphael leans over, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re going to be a good girl and come again for us, aren’t you, Eliza?” he growls. His words are a command that sends another surge of heat straight to my core.
“Yes,” I pant, eager to feel that high again. “Please, make me come.”
“That’s our girl,” Tarquin says with wicked approval. He pulls out of my mouth and slides down to capture my lips in a bruising kiss.
