Double Team: A Menage Romance Read online

  For once.

  I watch as she slides her fingers slowly between her legs, then pauses. “Don’t stop,” I tell her.

  “I’ve never done this in front of someone,” she says, her voice a whisper, so low I can barely hear it.

  The fact that she’s on display, right in the music room, with her legs spread open, is enough to make me hard as a fucking rock. But the fact that she’s never touched herself in front of anyone before is enough to make me insane.

  “You’re going to make yourself come in front of me,” I say, my voice gruff. “Right here.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” she protests.

  “You’re the one who set this up, luv,” I say. “You had me meet you here. Now, stop being coy. Spread your legs so I can see you.”

  She looks up at me in the window, the phone to her ear. For a second, I think she’s going to close her legs, stand up, and walk out of the room.

  But she doesn’t. She spreads her legs wider. When the fabric of her dress falls between her legs, momentarily covering her, she pulls it up farther on her thighs, suddenly less timid.

  “Slide your fingers over your clit,” I tell her, my voice low, watching as she obeys. Her eyelids fall closed, the phone still at her ear, as she touches herself.

  She’s like a fucking piece of art, spread out on the piano the way she is, in that red dress that’s practically obscene, her legs open.

  Touching herself for me.

  “Are you wet?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  Her breath comes in short pants, and I repeat myself. “Tell me, Belle.”

  “Yes,” she says. “I’m wet.”

  “Is this how you touch yourself when you’re alone?”

  “No,” she whispers, her voice breathy.

  I will my hand to remain where it is on the cell phone, my other hand on the window, my fingers pressed lightly up against the glass. I will my hands to remain where they are, no matter how much I want to unbutton my pants, draw out my cock, and run my hand down the length of it while she touches herself.

  I’ll remain in control.

  “Show me what you do when you’re alone, Belle,” I say. “Touch yourself the way you do when you’re alone. When you’re thinking about me.”

  “I don’t –“ she starts to say, but stops.

  “I know you think about me, Belle,” I say. “You think about me sliding my fingers inside your wet pussy, the way I did that afternoon, don’t you?”

  She doesn’t answer, but I watch as she draws her hand away from her clit, spreading her legs open wider as she slides her fingers inside herself until her palm is pressed flat against her mound.

  Fuck, this girl is going to give me a heart attack. I can already picture the headlines:

  Prince Drops Dead in Royal Observatory, Pants Around His Ankles, Cock in Hand.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking about, Belle,” I say, as her eyes close. Her mouth falls open, tongue running along her lower lip, and all I can think about is what I’d like to put in that smart little mouth of hers.

  “You,” she whispers. “I’m thinking about you.”

  “Tell me, Belle,” I say. “Are you thinking about my fingers sliding in and out of your slick pussy?”

  “Yes,” she says. Her hips buck against her palm as she fucks herself with her hand, tossing her hair back as she closes her eyes, no longer caring if I’m here or not. I watch her as she loses her inhibitions more, giving herself over to pleasure, her chest heaving as her hand moves faster.

  “But you don’t really want that, do you, luv?” I ask. “You want more, don’t you? You want my cock inside you, filling you up.”

  “I want…” her voice trails off as she bites the side of her lip.

  “Say it,” I order. “Say you want my cock inside you. Tell me how much you want me to bend you over that piano, to pull that dress of yours up around your waist and fuck you until you come around me. You want to feel my bare cock inside you, pressed against you until you can’t hold out, until you come and you’re milking me of everything I have.”

  She drops the phone, and it clatters on the marble floor, spinning in circles. But she doesn’t seem to notice.

  My eyes stay fixed on her face as she brings herself to the edge. I’m transfixed, watching her expression. Her breasts heave as her breath comes shorter and shorter. Then, at the last moment, she opens her eyes, and looks straight into mine.

  And she comes.

  Her lips, painted red to match her dress, form a perfect “O”. Her head back, hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes wide open and meeting my gaze, she comes. I can hear her on the phone, the small moan she allows herself, still in control at the very last.

  I want to rip that control from her.

  I want to make her scream. I want my name on her lips. I want it to be my name she moans when she comes.

  I want that more than anything.

  When she's finally finished, she slides off the piano and picks up the phone. Putting it against her ear, she doesn't speak. I hear her breath, short gasps as she comes down from her orgasm. “You never said it,” I tell her.

  “Said what?”

  "Please."

  “I already told you,” she says. “I’m not going to beg.”

  20

  Belle

  It’s the big night – the night of my mother and King Leopold’s engagement party. Next week, we’ll head north to the summer estate, where we’ll be shielded from much of the media flurry that will inevitably follow the official engagement announcement.

  We’ll go to the summerhouse.

  Suddenly, I’m including myself in the future royal plans, as if I'm staying for the summer.

  Who am I kidding? Last night, I fingered myself in the music room while Albie watched. Even from where he stood, through a window and an entire floor higher, I could see he was hard as a rock watching me, a very large bulge in his pants.

  Of course I'm going to stay for the summer.

  I'm not thinking clearly right now, obviously. My rational mind is clouded by unruly desire, my ability to think clearly diminished by my lust for my stepbrother. I'm not rational at all, not anymore.

  But that doesn't mean I want to give in to his demand – to beg him to fuck me.

  Even though every part of me is begging for it, lusting for it.

  "You look…well, good enough to eat."

  The voice is deep, sultry, soft – so soft that I'm the only one who can hear. At least, I hope so, anyway. I whirl around, or try to, but Albie’s hand is on my waist, guiding me around the corner, and down a service hallway of outside the main ballroom where the engagement party is being held.

  "Albie, what are you doing?" I hiss, pushing against him, but he holds my arm, his lips near my ears.

  "We only have a second," he whispers from behind me. The service entrance is empty, but anyone could walk through at any moment. I should be terrified of that – terrified of the possible repercussions, of the potential public embarrassment.

  Instead, a surge of adrenaline rushes through me, a secret thrill at Albie's hands on me. The heat from his body radiates onto mine, and every cell in my body is on high-alert, acutely sensitive to him, aware of his every breath.

  "We need to go to the engagement party, Your Highness," I say.

  "Spread your legs."

  "Excuse me?" I must be hallucinating, driven mad with lust. He did not just tell me to spread my legs right here in the hallway within twenty yards of the ballroom where our parents -- the King and Future Queen of Protrovia – together with everyone who's everyone in this country, are celebrating their upcoming nuptials. Because that would be insane.

  "You heard me, luv," he whispers. "Don't think. Just do it."

  But Heaven help me, that's exactly what I do.

  I stand here, in my ridiculously expensive designer cocktail dress, with my stepbrother's arm around my chest, pulling me tightly back against him, and I spread my legs.