Page 56 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

I reach around and clasp my hand around her throat. “No begging.”

Just like my belt, the pressure of my hand flips a switch in her. She’s still vibrating with want, but now she’s quiet. Submissive. She’ll do anything, anything we want when she’s in this zone.

The bed stops shaking. Roland’s long hair brushes the back of my fingers. He kisses her wetly before he whispers, “Go to sleep, kitten.”

I tilt her chin toward me and take my turn to close my mouth over hers. Our girl sighs sweetly. When I lift my gaze, Roland is there. Even in the dark, I can’t miss his blue eyes. He closes the circle, leans over, and claims my lips in his.

“You too, mate.”

“Mm” is all I can say. My cock twitches. She melts for me. I melt for him. Only a couple of days ago, I was trapped in my lair and watching them through the camera lens. Now, the three of us share one bed.

But something this good can’t last forever. They fall asleep together as careless as newborn kittens. I watch the ceiling and wait for the bottom to fall out.

I wake up to the smell of toast burning.

I hold Rory in closer, and she sighs softly against me. She’s cuddly soft. My fingertips brush against Roland, who is pressed up against her. The two of them in bed, the birds chirping outside, the smell of breakfast downstairs…

Wait. Breakfast?

Who the hell is downstairs?

Immediately, I’m awake. I jump out of bed, yank my pants over my hips, and take my gun out of my holster.

“Ben?” That’s Rory’s voice, lit with panic. “Is everything okay?”

Roland chimes in, “What’s going on?”

“There’s someone downstairs.” I flip off the safety on my pistol. “Stay here.”

I exit the bedroom and put my back against the wall. Quietly, I make my way down the staircase. I can hear someone moving about, a yellow light leaking out from the open kitchen. My focus becomes laser sharp. I crouch down under the first-floor ceiling so I can spot the intruder.

Even with his back to me, I recognize that distinct white hair. I exhale slowly, put the safety back on, and lower my gun. With that, I shake it off and let my bare feet clomp downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Buongiorno,” Tanner says. He’s sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, tearing into a croissant. He motions to the paper bag. “Would you like breakfast? Couldn’t help myself and bought the lot of them.”

“You could have phoned,” I tell him.

“Could I?” Tanner turns to me and narrows his eyes. “You realize the queen is seconds away from calling this a kidnapping, don’t you?”

“Tanner?” That’s Roland’s voice behind me; he and Rory stumble down the stairs, half-clothed and bed-headed. My jaw clenches. They’re terrible at following orders. “Did my mum send you?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Tanner stands now respectfully. “She’s worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Roland says curtly. “You can see that.”

“All due respect, sir… the queen of England didn’t send me here to relay a message.” Tanner glances over the three of us. “Vacation is over. Get dressed and pack your bags. It’s time to go home.”

28

Roland

Italy fades away into the clouds as my private jet climbs higher.

Arrivederci, Sorrento.

It was a limencello-infused, sticky-kiss dream. But eventually, a prince has to return to his castle.

Even if his castle is also his prison.

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