Page 20

So I begin.

I let the strap go and drop my slip the rest of the way, slow, because slow feels like power and all their money can't take that away from me. I let the black polyester pool at my waist, then slide it down over my hips and off. I kneel there in the lamplight showing off my red mouth and everything from my collarbone down, all my webcam gives.

I run my own hands up my ribs, over my breasts, thumbs dragging until my nipples pull tight, and I keep my voice flat and bored the whole time. Like I'm not affected. Like I'm a pro who knows precisely what she's doing to three men who can't touch me.

It's a good act. It's already getting hard to keep up.

"HouseMoney." I let one hand start a slow crawl down my stomach. "You've been quiet almost a full minute. That's a personal record. Tell me what you're doing. Right now."

Beck doesn't need to be asked twice because Beck doesn’t pass up a chance to flap his gums.

"I've got my hand around my cock, Your Highness," he says, easy, shameless, delighted, "and it's been there since the second you took that strap down. I am trying very hard to be a good boy and go slow like you, but you're kneeling there playing with those gorgeous tits and making it real difficult." He draws a ragged breath. "You want the truth? I'm looking at that mouth. That red, wet, indecent fucking mouth. I've paid a small fortune to sit here and not have it, and right now I'd pay it all twice for thirty seconds of watching you wrap those lips around me and look up while you do it⁠—"

"I didn't ask for your feelings, HouseMoney." Sweet as sugar. I hear him laugh and swear in the same breath. But my own hand has already slipped lower while he was running his mouth, fingers sliding down through my wet, swollen flesh, and a sound escapes my lips that’s not part of the act, dammit. I need to keep some things to myself.

Whatever. I'm fairly sure this stopped being an act a few minutes ago, anyway.

"Keep stroking," I tell him, and slide two fingers along either side of where I'm slickest, parting my pussy lips just enough to give the webcam a view of what the guys are buying. "Slow. Match me. You go when I go."

I push one finger inside myself, draw it back out, and let them hear the wet of it.

"You are going to kill me," Beck breathes, and keeps going, that big, confident voice of his fraying at the edges.

I let him go a while because I’m dying to see that swagger crack into something raw, and I work myself in time with him. After a minute, I cut him off at the knees, because I can.

"Stop. Hands off. Not yet."

He makes a sound like a man going under. God, the power of it. It pools low in my belly, hotter than anything my own fingers are doing.

"KindRegards. Your turn, honey. And don't you dare be polite about it."

"I—okay." He pauses. "I've got my hand on my cock. Have since the second we moved into the private room." Then lower, like a confession he can't hold back. "I think about you, Diablo. Not just like this. Sometimes I just want your voice. But tonight, it's exactly like this. I've got my cock in my fist and I'm picturing my mouth on that pretty pussy you're showing off right now. I wouldn't rush it. I'd get you on your back and lick you slow and mean until your thighs shook, and I would not stop, not when you asked, not when you begged, not until you came all over my⁠—"

His voice cracks clean in half, and he stops, breathing hard.

And that one gets me, the sweetness of it, the way even his naughtiness is attentive. My hips roll into my own hand and I bite down on a sound.

"Good boy," I manage, and I hear him groan like I reached through the speaker and grabbed his dick myself. "Keep that hand moving. But don't you dare come."

Then, last, because I've been saving him. I want this one the most and wish I didn’t. "NoComment. How are you?"

Silence. Of course. The one who never gives anything away.

"You heard the rules, NoComment." I spread myself open and let them see more, all of me, and drop my voice into a register I would never let Agnes use out loud. "Everybody tells me what they’re doing. Even you. So talk, quiet man. What are you doing to yourself right now?"

For a second, I'm sure he's going to hold out, and God help me, this is its own sort of ache, worse than any of them touching me would be.

Then he speaks, low, precise, and stripped of that iron control. This undoes me faster than anything Beck or Theo said.

"Exactly what you told me to. Nothing." I hear his breath, barely restrained. "I haven’t touched myself once, because you said not until you say, and I'm not going to be the man who breaks your rule." He groans lightly. "But I'll tell you what I'm thinking, since you asked. I've watched you every night and tonight, you gave me an order, and I'm following it, hands off, no matter what it does to me because control is my thing, and you are someone I’d like to hand it to. This isn't me being obedient. It's me choosing you."

The whole room goes still, and my head spins, and for one second, I honestly think I'm going to tip over.

Elias is the only one who obeyed. The silent one. The controlled one. And it is, for Christ’s sake, the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me because it isn't sexy at all. It's devotion, plain and total, all dangerous and exposed. I clench hard around my own fingers, and stop performing.

I don't decide to do it. I just do. The bored voice, the game, the wall between the woman running this room and the woman kneeling here soaked and shaking for three men she can't stop wanting? She’s gone. Exited the building. What's left is just me. More Agnes than Diablo, not that there’s any way to tell them apart anymore.

This cannot be good.