Page 73 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“There’s a condom in my bag,” he murmurs and pulls his hand out from between my legs. “Side pocket.”

I’m buzzing all over. I twist over the side of the bed and grope underneath it for his duffle bag. I find the strap and tug it forward. As I undo the zipper, Ben’s hand ventures under my shirt. He slips under my bra and rolls his thumb over my peaked nipple. I bite my lip hard to keep myself from whimpering. Every pinch sends another needy pulse between my legs.

It’s not in one side zipper, so I hunt blindly through another until my fingers brush the square foil. Eureka! I tug it out and roll onto my back, holding it up between two fingers like a victory flag. “Boom.”

“Good girl.” He takes it from me and rips the foil between his teeth. That shouldn’t be hot, but it makes me lick my lips. I feel the mattress under us move as he reaches down to adjust the condom over himself.

Ben kisses me. I sigh into his mouth as he shifts over me. He only gets part of the way on top of me, however, before he finishes our kiss with a sharp gasp. Moonlight bounces off his jawline, and I can tell it’s tense. His injury is acting up.

“You’re going to have to be on top,” he mumbles.

“Okay.” I pet his hair back.

Honestly, this is probably not the smartest time to have sex. What we both need is a good night’s sleep, a lot of rest, and definitely no physical exertion. But there’s an emptiness inside of me that only intimacy can fill, and I know Ben feels it, too. His strong hands and demanding lips heal me like nothing else. Ben fucks his pain away. I just need to be close to someone.

We trade places—Ben gets on his back, and I shrug out of my pants and underwear before straddling him. If anyone looked our way now, we’d definitely be caught, but I care about that less and less with every passing second. My need for him is urgent and so palpable I can taste it like metal in my mouth.

There’s not a lot of space between this bunk and the one above it, and I have to hunch over to keep from bumping my head. With my legs wrapped around his hips, I reach between his legs, take him in my hand, and stroke him. Ben—the silent, controlled one—barely makes a noise. If I strain my ears, I can hear his quickened breaths. But his cock responds to me with vigor, growing swollen and thick in my hand even under the latex. It sends a thrill through me, and I want to keep touching him and finding new ways to make him twitch.

But I want him inside of me more. My pussy is greedy and achy. I lift myself awkwardly in the small space and guide him inside of me. As I slide down his stiff pole, I can’t help but gasp. Oh God. He feels so good inside of me. At this angle, he feels insanely deep. I grip one of the wooden slats that hold up the bunk above me and start to rock over him.

The tip of his cock grazes a place inside of me that makes me crazy. Every time I rock back on his shaft, it sends pleasure tingling through me. I have to dig my teeth into my bottom lip to keep Ben’s name from spilling out of my mouth over and over.

I need this. I need to forget everything about the world. Soon, all I can think about is every inch of him inside of me. When I grind forward, my little clit lays flat against the base of him. The stimulation makes me drench myself, and I feel a hot flush blossom all the way up my face. My shirt is still on, but my bra is pushed over my tits from Ben’s fondling, and every now and then the fabric grazes my nipples. I feel that all the way to my molars.

Even in this intense pleasure… I feel like I’m missing something. I’m spoiled now, accustomed to four hands instead of two. Two lips, two cocks, two hard, needy men. As if he can read my mind, Ben’s hands slip up my thighs. He cups the round orbs of my ass and guides me to a faster pace over him. I obey. The mattress squeaks underneath us with every thrust, and it’s painfully obviously that we’re having sex now, but I’m too desperate to care. All thoughts dissipate when Ben’s hand ventures farther. He slips between my cheeks, and then his finger presses me there.

I can’t help the moan that escapes me now. His finger is spit-wet, and it circles my dark hole a couple times before easing inside of me. I grip so tightly to the wooden slat above me that I’m afraid I might break it. The sensation of Ben inside of me, both holes, filling all of me… it’s exactly what I need.

My cunt clamps down on Ben’s organ. I gasp and grind out my orgasm on him, pulsing and pulling at his manhood and his finger. I feel his iron-hard shaft throb inside of me, and a noise escapes him that sounds like half a moan, half a growl.

As our orgasms wind down, I hang over him, my hands on either side of his head. Ben pulls his finger out from me, and I whimper a small protest at the emptiness. We kiss here for a while, soft, lazy, satisfied kisses as he goes soft inside of me.

“That was amazing,” I whisper.

“It was.”

“I should uh… go clean up.”

“I’ll follow you.”

I want him inside of me forever, but I shift off him. We fumble around our bags blindly for a moment, and I use the light on my iPhone to give us something to see by. Ben slips on a pair of boxer briefs, and I toss my bra in my bag and use the length of my shirt to my advantage, wearing it like a dress. Ben snags a toiletry bag, I pluck out my toothbrush, and we slip out of our suite and make our way to the bathroom.

After being in the dark for so long, the fluorescent lights nearly blind me. I squint around—no one else here. We’re all alone. I take advantage of this rare moment of privacy to check into a stall, drop my panties, and try to clean up the fluids dripping down my legs. I can hear Ben disposing of the condom in the trash bin.

“Pretty sure this is next-level relationship status, by the way,” I tell him. “If you can jump straight from the sex to the cleanup phase, you’re practically married.”

“Need any help mopping up your pussy, sweetie?” Ben plays along.

I laugh and it echoes off the narrow stall. “I’ve got it. Thanks, honeybun.”

I clean myself off, flush the toilet, and step around to the sinks. There’s a line of about five sinks, side by side, and Ben has already stationed himself at one. Feeling domestic, I take the one beside him.

“Can I borrow your toothpaste?” I ask.

“Be my guest.”

I squirt some of his toothpaste over my toothbrush and wash out my mouth. I feel weirdly giddy, like a little girl at a sleepover.

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