Page 199 of Depraved Boys

Leopold’s mouth around my nipple stilled, and his other hand left my breast.

Sebastian drew back, taking away his warmth. “I want your first time to be a happier occasion.”

Heat burned in my cheeks. I’d never asked a man for sex, and even though his reasons for turning me down were valid, it still felt awkward.

“He’s right.” Leopold straightened and placed both hands on my shoulders, his fingers kneading my tense muscles. “But I can give you the next best thing.”

He settled me onto the bed, and Sebastian climbed on my other side. He cupped the side of my face with his large hands. “When we finally make love, it’s going to take place because we both want it. Not as a distraction from a shitty situation.”

Leopold scooted up to my side and nibbled at my throat. His cotton-clad erection pressed against my hip. I bit down hard on my lip and moaned.

Sebastian’s kisses turned from soft to demanding. I parted my thighs and pulled him between my spread legs. Even if he wasn’t going to take my virginity tonight, he might as well rub against it.

A deep moan reverberated against his chest, and his erection settled atop my sex, making my nipples tighten. I wrapped one arm around his neck, and with the other, I reached for the waistband of Leopold’s boxers.

He shuffled out of his underwear, and his hot, thick erection sprang into my hand. The same beautiful, hard dick I had worshipped with my mouth before Prakash had made that scared, urgent call.

And now he was sitting alone in a dank police cell, pining for freedom.

I shook off those thoughts and bucked my hips. Sebastian growled into our kiss and bucked back. The friction against my throbbing clit drew away all maudlin thoughts, and soon, I lost myself to the kings’ kisses.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Leopold snarled, his hips pumping against my fist and making his hot, pulsing length slide along my palm and curled fingers. “Squeeze me hard, make me shatter in your hand.”

I arched my neck, and his nibbling turned to wet, open-mouthed kisses. The head of his penis rubbed against my thigh with each thrust, but I could barely concentrate with Sebastian’s rhythmic thrusting against my aching core, against my needy clit, driving me further and further toward a precipice.

“Oh!” I lost the ability to form words. To think. To feel anything else but Sebastian’s strong, hard body, Leopold’s mouth on my neck, his hot thick length between my fingers, and the wet tip poking into my hip.

Digging my nails into Sebastian’s muscular shoulder, I rolled my hips in time with his thrusts. Pleasure surged between us in a wave so intense, I cried out.

“Fuck, Willow,” he groaned into my lips. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

If it was anything like the effect he had on my body, that had to be the biggest compliment since the time he had climaxed just by looking at my body.

One of Leopold’s hands snaked between our joined bodies, and he gripped my nipple between his fingers. The pain-pleasure sensation spread across my body like forks of lightning and pushed me over that edge.

The first spasm was so hard, it bordered on pain. My core muscles relaxed, releasing waves of pleasure that continued spreading long after the second spasm hit. I released my grip on his shoulder, and my arm flopped to the side.

A scream tore from my lips, but Sebastian swallowed it in his kiss. He rolled his hips, the movement drawing out my climax.

Leopold’s organ thickened in my fingers, pulsed, and warm, wet fluid splashed on my hip. “F-fuck!”

Sebastian continued his rhythm of rolling thrusts, never slowing, never easing off the pressure until his entire body went rigid. He threw his head back and roared.

Afterward, we took off our sodden underwear and settled into the crisp, cotton sheets. I curled on my side, resting my head on Sebastian’s muscular shoulder, and Leopold spooned behind me.

“They usually release suspects the next day,” muttered Sebastian. “But I’ve arranged for a lawyer to pay the police a visit in case they decide to keep Kash any longer.”

The next morning, we visited the police station. It took a lot of pestering for the bored-looking receptionist to take our request for an update on Prakash’s case seriously, and even longer for her to tell us whether a police officer would come out.

Just before noon, an altercation broke out on the street. Two young women, one of whom carried a toddler, screeched and shoved each other to the encouraging jeers of their friends.

A middle-aged woman in a tweed suit hurried past them with her head ducked. The messy salt-and-pepper hair bun looked familiar.

I shot out of my seat. “That’s Mrs. Benazir!”

We hurried out of the station, where our headmistress entered a red Aston Martin. Pushing aside speculations on why she drove such an expensive vehicle, I picked up my pace.

“Mrs. Benazir?” Sebastian shouted.