Page 55 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“You are safe.” I want to tell her that, over and over. You are safe, you are safe, you are safe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.

She seems to get it. She’s stopped panting. She’s stopped panicking. Instead, she’s submissive. Compliant.

“My panic attack,” she notes, incredulous.

“Yes. It is.”

She looks at me like a child looks at a magician. Pure wonderment. “How did you know to do that?”

“I saw it in your eyes,” I inform her. “When I first took you to the palace. And again, here. On your knees, licking my cum from Roland’s hand. You crave submission.”

She looks lost for a second, and her gaze swims before refocusing on me. “You’re… really good at that.”

“How long have you been having panic attacks?” I ask.

We must look crazy—having quiet pillow talk on our knees in the den with my belt around her throat. It’s the only way I know how to communicate.

“In high school… when my brother’s sickness started getting really bad. That’s when they started. But… physical illness trumped mental illness, and my parents only had enough money to take care of one of us.” A lopsided smile cuts across her lips. “Imagine if you’d been my therapist. I could’ve cut this stupid habit long ago.”

My stomach clenches. I don’t need to think about bending barely legal Rory over a reclining therapist’s chair with my belt around her throat. I dab my lips with my tongue and change the topic. “How do you normally stop it?”

She shrugs with one shoulder. “They stopped when I started traveling. I guess I…felt like I was doing something important. As long as I had a purpose, as long as Oscar could see the world through my eyes…then there was nothing to be afraid of. Now…”

“You have cabin fever?”

She let out a light, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

“You’re important, Rory. All on your own. You don’t need to run anymore.”

The moonlight reflects off her eyes when they get shiny and wet. “Thank you,” she says as a tear slides down her cheek.

I catch it with my thumb and press a gentle kiss to her mouth. She’s so soft, so pliable right now. Completely under my control. My blood sings. I crave this. I need this.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” I ask her.

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

Cupping the back of her head, I press a final kiss to her forehead. I loosen the belt from her throat and pull it over her head. Even without the collar, her eyelids droop and I can tell she’s still in a submissive state.

Our pet. I’ll protect her. No matter what. Even if I have to protect her from herself.

“Come.” I take her by the arm to help her off the floor and lead her back to bed.

The bedroom is swathed in midnight darkness. Rory crawls into bed first, aligning her body with Roland’s. I follow after her.

Now Roland wakes up. Finally. I can’t see much, but I hear him murmur, “Hey there. Can’t sleep?”

“I’m okay now,” Rory whispers. Their lips smack together softly. The bedsprings creek. Rory gasps.

“Good kitten.” Roland’s voice is deep in the dark. “Good kittens get pets.”

Rory lets out a wanting, needy moan. Whatever Roland is doing to her, she likes it. A grin twitches at the corner of my mouth. Rory’s hair smells like coconut shampoo. I pet her hip with my fingertips, and she shudders.

“You spoil her,” I inform him. We are parents who can’t agree on how to properly raise our child.

“Can you blame me? Look at that cute face.”

Rory’s breath comes in short, sweet pants. She takes in a sharp breath. It’s a wonderful warning that she’s on edge. The bed is trembling. “Please,” she whispers.

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