Page 25 of Bound and Beguiled

Kynan’s biceps flexed—the tattoos worked into the dark fur swelling—as he crossed his arms and glowered at me. Behind him, Carys blew me a kiss with both hands.

I didn’t whimper. It took a superhuman amount of willpower, for which I deserved a cookie, but I didn’t faint at Kynan’s show of manly strength. I may have quivered. A little.

“It’ll be fine,” I said. “I’llbe fine. We’ll probably still be in bed when you get back.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Kynan purred, his voice caressing things low in my body as his black eyes drank in the four of us cuddled together.

“We’ll behave until you get back,” I promised. If I hadn’t been quivering before, I was now.

“Aw, man,” Emyr griped.

I pinched him. I think I got somewhere more tender than intended, because his yelp wasn’t as playful as his complaint had been. My lips twitched, but I held Kynan’s hot stare as he stalked over.

His hands landed on the mattress on either side of me, his body coming down until it eclipsed all else.

“Stay here,” Kynan commanded. “Stay safe. All of you.”

Efa snorted and Mared mumbled something, but all I could do was stare. My heart pounded as fast as the mouse I was named for.

“We will, Sir,” Emyr promised, no hint of teasing in his voice.

“Good, Pet.”

Kynan’s eyes flicked from mine to land warmly on Emyr, and I dragged in a shuddering breath. When they returned, I’d scraped together enough sense to form words of my own.

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s my good girl.” Kynan’s kiss was a benediction better than any blessing I’d received in my long years of devotion to Ymet. His lips were glossy from my tongue when he pressed them to Emyr’s, and I clamped my teeth together before I told Carys to go away.

Then Kynan and Carys were gone, the door firmly shut behind them, leaving me to regret the promise I’d made. I throbbed. And I was naked in bed with three people who wanted me just as much as I wanted them...who were also naked.

I’d volunteered for torture. Great.

“Well, if we’re not going to play, we might as well get up,” Emyr groused.

“A little sensitivity, Princeling,” Efa admonished, flicking one of his long, velvety ears.

He scowled at her. Then he followed her gaze to my face. I tried not to look like a whipped puppy. I failed, obviously, because his expression softened.

“I’m only teasing.” Emyr nuzzled my cheek, then bounced to his feet, nipple rings glinting as he stretched. “Ugh, gotta pee.”

I snorted out a surprised laugh as he wandered off to the bathroom, sitting up and doing some stretching of my own. Last night had been a workout. I melted as Mared’s clever fingers started working my shoulders, unerringly finding stress knots I’d been carrying for months.

Efa chuckled at my low groan, and a thought burrowed through the pleasure-pain.

“Why do you call him Princeling? If it’s not rude to ask,” I back peddled through another groan as Mared’s thumbs dug into the hollows beneath my shoulder blades.

“Not rude at all.” Efa shrugged, lounging against the headboard without an ounce of shyness. “Emyr means king. He was insufferable about it when we were younger. Tried to get me to call him ‘Highness’.”

“Only once,” Mared interjected. “If I recall, you sat on him and squished his face in the mud until he thought better of it.”

“And got extra chores for a week, since the little shit tattled on me. Not that I didn’t make him pay for that too. He tried to get everyone to call him King, so I called him Prince. When he shot up the summer he turned sixteen and wouldn’t stop bragging about his height—”

“As if he had any control over it,” Mared said, snorting.

Efa waved her hand expressively in agreement. “I started calling him Little Prince. Eventually it evolved into Princeling. Just part of my life-long journey to keep his ego in check.” She grinned, the bright, happy curve taking any sting out of the words.

I had a sudden, uncomfortable suspicion.

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