The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance Read online

“How long have you been having panic attacks?” I ask.

  We must look crazy—having quiet pillow talk on our knees in the den with my belt around her throat. It’s the only way I know how to communicate.

  “In high school… when my brother’s sickness started getting really bad. That’s when they started. But… physical illness trumped mental illness, and my parents only had enough money to take care of one of us.” A lopsided smile cuts across her lips. “Imagine if you’d been my therapist. I could’ve cut this stupid habit long ago.”

  My stomach clenches. I don’t need to think about bending barely legal Rory over a reclining therapist’s chair with my belt around her throat. I dab my lips with my tongue and change the topic. “How do you normally stop it?”

  She shrugs with one shoulder. “They stopped when I started traveling. I guess I…felt like I was doing something important. As long as I had a purpose, as long as Oscar could see the world through my eyes…then there was nothing to be afraid of. Now…”

  “You have cabin fever?”

  She let out a light, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

  “You’re important, Rory. All on your own. You don’t need to run anymore.”

  The moonlight reflects off her eyes when they get shiny and wet. “Thank you,” she says as a tear slides down her cheek.

  I catch it with my thumb and press a gentle kiss to her mouth. She’s so soft, so pliable right now. Completely under my control. My blood sings. I crave this. I need this.

  “Do you want to go back to bed?” I ask her.

  She nods. “Yes, sir.”

  Cupping the back of her head, I press a final kiss to her forehead. I loosen the belt from her throat and pull it over her head. Even without the collar, her eyelids droop and I can tell she’s still in a submissive state.

  Our pet. I’ll protect her. No matter what. Even if I have to protect her from herself.

  “Come.” I take her by the arm to help her off the floor and lead her back to bed.

  The bedroom is swathed in midnight darkness. Rory crawls into bed first, aligning her body with Roland’s. I follow after her.

  Now Roland wakes up. Finally. I can’t see much, but I hear him murmur, “Hey there. Can’t sleep?”

  “I’m okay now,” Rory whispers. Their lips smack together softly. The bedsprings creek. Rory gasps.

  “Good kitten.” Roland’s voice is deep in the dark. “Good kittens get pets.”

  Rory lets out a wanting, needy moan. Whatever Roland is doing to her, she likes it. A grin twitches at the corner of my mouth. Rory’s hair smells like coconut shampoo. I pet her hip with my fingertips, and she shudders.

  “You spoil her,” I inform him. We are parents who can’t agree on how to properly raise our child.

  “Can you blame me? Look at that cute face.”

  Rory’s breath comes in short, sweet pants. She takes in a sharp breath. It’s a wonderful warning that she’s on edge. The bed is trembling. “Please,” she whispers.

  I reach around and clasp my hand around her throat. “No begging.”

  Just like my belt, the pressure of my hand flips a switch in her. She’s still vibrating with want, but now she’s quiet. Submissive. She’ll do anything, anything we want when she’s in this zone.

  The bed stops shaking. Roland’s long hair brushes the back of my fingers. He kisses her wetly before he whispers, “Go to sleep, kitten.”

  I tilt her chin toward me and take my turn to close my mouth over hers. Our girl sighs sweetly. When I lift my gaze, Roland is there. Even in the dark, I can’t miss his blue eyes. He closes the circle, leans over, and claims my lips in his.

  “You too, mate.”

  “Mm” is all I can say. My cock twitches. She melts for me. I melt for him. Only a couple of days ago, I was trapped in my lair and watching them through the camera lens. Now, the three of us share one bed.

  But something this good can’t last forever. They fall asleep together as careless as newborn kittens. I watch the ceiling and wait for the bottom to fall out.

  I wake up to the smell of toast burning.

  I hold Rory in closer, and she sighs softly against me. She’s cuddly soft. My fingertips brush against Roland, who is pressed up against her. The two of them in bed, the birds chirping outside, the smell of breakfast downstairs…

  Wait. Breakfast?

  Who the hell is downstairs?

  Immediately, I’m awake. I jump out of bed, yank my pants over my hips, and take my gun out of my holster.

  “Ben?” That’s Rory’s voice, lit with panic. “Is everything okay?”

  Roland chimes in, “What’s going on?”

  “There’s someone downstairs.” I flip off the safety on my pistol. “Stay here.”

  I exit the bedroom and put my back against the wall. Quietly, I make my way down the staircase. I can hear someone moving about, a yellow light leaking out from the open kitchen. My focus becomes laser sharp. I crouch down under the first-floor ceiling so I can spot the intruder.

  Even with his back to me, I recognize that distinct white hair. I exhale slowly, put the safety back on, and lower my gun. With that, I shake it off and let my bare feet clomp downstairs and into the kitchen.

  “Buongiorno,” Tanner says. He’s sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, tearing into a croissant. He motions to the paper bag. “Would you like breakfast? Couldn’t help myself and bought the lot of them.”

  “You could have phoned,” I tell him.

  “Could I?” Tanner turns to me and narrows his eyes. “You realize the queen is seconds away from calling this a kidnapping, don’t you?”

  “Tanner?” That’s Roland’s voice behind me; he and Rory stumble down the stairs, half-clothed and bed-headed. My jaw clenches. They’re terrible at following orders. “Did my mum send you?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Tanner stands now respectfully. “She’s worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” Roland says curtly. “You can see that.”

  “All due respect, sir… the queen of England didn’t send me here to relay a message.” Tanner glances over the three of us. “Vacation is over. Get dressed and pack your bags. It’s time to go home.”

  28

  Roland

  Italy fades away into the clouds as my private jet climbs higher.

  Arrivederci, Sorrento.

  It was a limencello-infused, sticky-kiss dream. But eventually, a prince has to return to his castle.

  Even if his castle is also his prison.

  I curl my fingers at my lips as I watch the clouds zip past in puffs of white. Rory and Ben have vanished into the aft cabin. Tanner sits in the back, and every now and then I hear his newspaper flutter as he turns a page. I tap my signet ring against the window just to hear it click.

  Rory falls into the seat in front of me and whirls it around so we’re facing each other. Gravity has a weird effect on her. It seems to pull her down more rapidly than anyone I’ve ever known, making her ginger hair fly out around her. For such a small girl, she throws her body around like a wrecking ball.

  “Ben’s taking a nap,” she announces. “Apparently he didn’t sleep well last night and isn’t worried about snipers when we’re 40,000 feet in the air. Did you know you have a full-size bed back there?”

  The edge of my mouth lifts. Rory always knows how to make me smile. “Yes. I’m aware.”

  Rory cranes over to glance once at Tanner before she turns her attention back to me, dropping her voice so we can talk privately. “You look anxious.”

  “That’s because I am.”

  “Is it about your mom? I know it’s hard going back, but… she’s your mom. She’ll forgive you.”

  “Going back isn’t the hard part.” I turn my gaze to meet Rory’s. “She’s not going to take it very well when I tell her I have no intention of staying at the palace.”

  “You don’t?” Rory chirps.

  I shake my head. “How would you feel about running away with me?�
��

  For a second, Rory gawks. “Running away… from the palace? Can you do that?”

  “I’m the prince. I can do whatever I want. We’ll leave the palace. All of it. We can spend a month on the Greek Islands. Soaking in the sunshine. Sipping martinis on the beach.”

  Rory’s nose crinkles. “I don’t want martinis.”

  “No?”

  “No. I want adventure.”

  “We’ll hike the Nepalese mountains, then. Meet some Buddhist monks. Explore the ruins.”

  Her eyes seem to glitter at that. “Now you’re talking.”

  “I don’t care where we are,” I explain. “As long as I’m with you and Ben, I’m happy. We’ll shag our way through every country.”

  Rory fidgets in her seat and rubs her hands over her skirt. “Just… don’t jump into this. It’s not all peaches and cream. Before I ended up at the palace, I’d been three months without a private shower. That’s showering in communal bathrooms with a plastic curtain separating you from strangers. I got bitten by bugs and lay awake at night praying they weren’t venomous. I got ripped off by probably every taxi driver in the world. Without fail, I’ve gotten lost in some of the sketchiest places where no one spoke English. Are you sure you’re up for that? Up until now, everything’s been handed to you on a silver platter.”

  “And look how well that’s turned out for me,” I interrupt bitterly. “I’m tired of living that way. I never wanted my life handed to me. I see that now. I look at you and… you make me hungry. I want to see the world with you, Rory.”

  “Have you talked to Ben about this?”

  “Not yet. But he’ll follow us.”

  “Why? Because you order him to?”

  My mood darkens. “No. Of course not. Because he loves us, and he’d follow us to the ends of the earth. That’s Ben.”

  Rory stares out the window, her eyes following the streaks of white. She’s quiet for a long moment, contemplative, but then finally, she utters a single word. “Okay.”

  My muscles tighten with surprise. “Okay?”

  A small smile graces her lips. “Yeah… where do you want to go first?”

  That smile. I want to kiss that smile. I hook my hands underneath her knees, draw her forward, and close my mouth over hers. I can taste the curve of her lips. Here, my mouth still brushing hers, I murmur, “Right now… I don’t want to be anywhere but right here.”

  Rory gets up and curls into my lap, and I wind my arms around her as the plane purrs underneath us.

  Reginald doesn’t speak to me when we get to the hangar bay again. He’s traded in his personable smile for a deep scowl. I can’t blame him. He was duped by the prince of England, an arrogant boy used to getting what he wanted. Is his job on the line? I certainly hope not. I’ll put in a good word if it is. Pull some royal strings. No one should have to suffer for my pride.

  “Your Highness,” Reginald grumbles with mandatory politeness. “Welcome back to England. Did you enjoy your stay?”

  “Quite,” I respond as I step down the stubby ramp and onto British soil. “All except the surprise ending.”

  Reginald grunts out, “Very good, sir.”

  Rory follows behind me, Ben in the back. At the bottom of the stairs, Rory collides into me with a squeak. She’s like a baby giraffe learning to walk.

  “Careful,” I tell her and perch my arm around her shoulders. “I don’t want to have to peel you out from under the plane tires.”

  “Careful yourself,” Rory says. I’m not sure what she’s talking about until my eyes fix on the motley crew ahead of us. Three or four secret service agents swarm around my mother, all in black. They look like they’re part of a funeral procession.

  My stomach clenches. The look on my mother’s face is nothing short of murderous. Her bloodred lips curve downward like a saber. I remove my arm from Rory and let it fall at my side. The only thing that could make this worse would be flaunting Rory in front of my mother.

  “Mother.” I step forward and smile broadly. “What a delightful welcome!”

  “Silence,” she hisses. She tilts her chin barely a centimeter toward her bodyguards. “Kindly escort my bratty son and his incorrigible friends back to the palace. We can’t afford any more runaways.”

  A full-on militia comes around behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rory shrink and Ben go on full alert.

  “After you, sir,” one of the guards grunts roughly.

  I may as well have iron cuffs around my ankles. My feet drag heavily through the stone doorway and back to Buckingham Palace.

  29

  Rory

  Ben and I stand outside the closed doors of the sitting room like chastised children. Growing up, I was never grounded—my mom and dad mostly parented out of guilt—so it feels strange to have to huddle out here and wait for Roland. It’s especially awkward when the ruckus from inside the sitting room spills very clearly out.

  The queen, who is just about the most composed, quiet woman I’ve ever met, shouts shrilly at her son. “I didn’t know where you’d gone! Or who you’d gone with!”

  “I don’t have to give you every bloody detail of my life!” Roland’s voice booms back at her in their explosive verbal ping-pong.

  “Yes, you do! You’re the future king of England—act like it.”

  “Letting my mum boss me around… that’s kingly, is it?”

  I look at Ben. He stares dully at the bare wall across from us as I play with my fingers. “Does this happen often?” I whisper.

  “Every full moon,” Ben replies, his eyes unmoving.

  “You could’ve been hurt!” the queen cries out. “I’ve already lost your father. If I’d lost you, too—”

  “Oh, will you sod off about that!” Even I flinch at that. Roland rails at his mother, “I lost my father, too, and I sure as hell know he wouldn’t want me living like a bloody hermit! I won’t postpone my life because he can’t live his!”

  “Roland!”

  I jump in my place as the double doors fly open with a bang. Roland storms out, his hair whipping around his shoulders, eyes burning, jaw so tight he looks like he could split marble between his teeth. Ben and I stand to attention, but Roland barely looks at us. “We’re leaving,” he announces curtly.

  I pop off the wall, far too eager to be away from here. “Where to?” I ask.

  Roland only replies coldly, “A long-overdue family reunion.”

  There’s an echo in Windsor Castle’s royal vaults.

  Even standing still, not making a sound, the whole place vibrates with a low, whale-song hum. It’s so grand and austere here, with frescoes lining the walls and ceiling that date back centuries, and I find myself barely breathing. Ben stands beside me, forever composed, his hands clasped together in front of his lap. Even royal ghosts don’t spook him.

  Roland kneels in front of a long line of ruby-stoned tombs stacked up on the far wall. His palm lays flat on the stone that reads in flowing engravings: PRINCE CONSORT DUNCAN HUGHES.

  Roland’s head is bowed, his hair pulled back with a violet ribbon. He hasn’t said anything in a long while. Well. Minutes, maybe? But even thirty seconds of silence makes me uncomfortable. I keep a respectful distance for as long as I can, but… finally I can’t let him suffer in silence.

  I kneel beside him and cross my arms in front of me. “You must miss him,” I say.

  “Yes and no,” Roland replies. His voice is soft, somber. Apparently, he saves the shouting matches for his mother. “I don’t remember a lot from that time.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “The timbre of my father’s voice. Racing toy boats with him in the pond behind the palace. He always let me win.”

  I can see it in my mind’s eyes, the handsome king and his little prince, decked out in a tailored sailor suit, pushing their tiny boats along. The image makes me grin. “He must have loved you very much.”

  “Bizarrely… I miss my mother more.” Roland’s gaze lifts from the floor and fli
ckers across the gravestones. “The way she used to be. Something in her died that day and never came back. I used to think that if I just did what she wanted… if I stayed inside, kept up with my studies, if I could even just get her to smile… then maybe we’d be a family again. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  His hands dangle at his knees, so I reach across and take one of them in my own. He doesn’t pull back, so I squeeze. “You have a family now. You get that, right?”

  Roland finally looks back at me. Some of the warmth has returned to his eyes, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile. “Let’s go out,” he says. “I can’t stand the thought of going back to my mother right now.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” There’s Ben—the quiet party in the back. Our conscience, only occasionally chiming in to remind of things like reason and responsibility.

  Roland releases my hand, rises to his feet, and steps away from the tombs. “Lighten up, Ben,” he says and pats the other man on the chest. “You look like someone died.”

  Just like that, Roland is back to his old tricks. Shoving his damage under the rug and masking it with good humor. Who am I to say anything? We’re two animals with the same laugh-so-we-don’t-cry instincts.

  Ben looks less amused. His lips crease with disapproval.

  “He’ll be fine,” I assure him. I try to sound confident enough for the both of us.

  “Right,” Ben says, but his eyes never leave the prince.

  “Posse, assemble!” Roland calls back, his voice echoing in the cavernous halls. “To the pub!”

  I swallow. The prince is falling apart, the bodyguard is at the end of his tether, and I’m frantically trying to keep us all in one piece… How can this go wrong?

  30

  Ben

  We end up at a club called Liberation, and I’m trying not to lose my shit.

  Rather than slip in inconspicuously, Roland strolls right up to the bouncer and shakes his hand. The poor bloke looks like he’s seen a ghost. There’s a line around the block, and everyone whispers and snaps pictures on their phones as the bouncer ushers the three of us in.