For a long time, Story sleeps through it. She’ll sigh or twitch, toes tickling the hair on my calf, but she doesn’t rouse. I think about playing asleep, but decide I can’t muster the motivation for pretense. Killer knows I’m awake, will sometimes raise his heavy, sex-darkened gaze to mine, like he’s inviting me to react to a secret he’s been keeping. But I don’t. I watch because it’s all starting to make sense.
This is how Killer makes love to her.
I know it’s a fucked up thought to have, but a part of me envies him. Not for the King thing—it was never a title he wanted to wield alone, anyway—but because he doesn’t have to deal with his father’s disapproval anymore. He doesn’t have him looking over his shoulder. Doesn’t have a legacy dangled over his head and the weight of the obligation that comes with it. I don’t want my dad to die. I want him to trust me to do what’s right for my name. Unfortunately, he made it clear a few hours ago that he still doesn’t think much of Story. Of Rath. Of South Side’s new King, and my place at his side.
Success to a man like my father means marrying a woman from an influential family and contributing to the Mercer empire, and only the Mercer empire. He disapproves because he’s realizing that Killian becoming King is the first step to the three of us—the four of us—building our own.
I lift my hand, sweeping a lock of hair away from the apple of her cheek as he rocks into her body. “Sweetheart,” I whisper, and Killian doesn’t stop me. He could. It wouldn’t take anything but a quick glare. Instead, his forehead drops to her shoulder as he digs his dick inside her, letting me rouse her from slumber. “You want to watch your big brother make love to you?”
She wakes slowly—so sweetly that I wish I could freeze the moment in time, that split second of sleepy-happy-horny on her face as she stirs. “Killian,” she mutters, eyelashes fluttering. It’s not a question. She probably knew he was inside of her the second he entered.
Killer reacts by thrusting deep, crushing her hips into me. I bend my knee just enough to press my thigh against her clit, and she responds with this tiny, feline-like writhe, curling her hand around my shoulder for leverage. Killer’s restraint is almost more powerful than his full-on strength, and Story remains limp and docile under the brunt of it, eyes glazed from lust just as much as sleep.
He looms over me to duck in for a kiss, licking into the seam of her mouth. He fucks her like that for a while—long enough that my cock fills again, throbbing at the thought of taking her right after. She’s riding my thigh as he rides her, gasping as their movements grow pointed and a little less controlled. When she comes, mouth opened in a silent cry, I can’t really be held responsible for the suggestion I’m about to make.
“We could go all night,” I whisper, hand wandering to my stiff cock. “We could chain-fuck you like this. One after the other. Pumping you so full of our cum that you won’t even be able to hold it all.”
Killian makes a rough, eager sound, pulling back to slam into her. I know he’s coming when she claws at my shoulder, pushing her ass back into him like she’s desperate to take his load as deep as it can possibly go.
I watch appreciatively, smirking. “Hail to the King.”
I know it’s love when Killian doesn’t even blink at the mess we’ve all made of his sheets. He collapses onto us, chest heaving, toes flexing out of their curl.
“Shower,” he pants out, giving her cheek one last kiss.
I wasn’t lying about us going all night, but something like that is going to require sustenance. Proper hydration. Possibly towels. Killian’s two steps ahead of me, climbing out of bed to lumber his way toward the bathroom. Moments later, I hear the shower sputter to life.
Story rolls over and stretches her arm to the side, as if she’s searching for something. She frowns at the empty spaces on either side of us. “Where’s Dimitri?”
“He left a few minutes ago.”
She gives the vacancy a series of slow, drowsy blinks. “Why?”
“Probably just got the munchies after smoking.” I trail my hand down her leg, feeling the sticky jizz on her inner thigh. “Okay, up we go.”
She makes a protesting sound as I pull her from the bed, her knees still wobbly. I catch her, tucking her beneath my arm to lead her toward the bathroom. “Killer can clean you up. I’ll go hunt down our wayward pothead and see about some clean sheets. That sound good?”
She looks up at me, mouth pulled into a loose pout. “And something to eat?”