Trying to avoid tipping someone onto the floor, I worked to extricate my arm from underneath me. I lay on my right side, facing the windows, sandwiched between two wonderfully muscular male bodies. Harry had stretched out facing me, his head pillowed on his right elbow, his arm around my waist. His belly pressed against mine and his half-erect cock nestled between my sticky thighs. Etienne spooned me from behind. He was well on the way back to being hard as well, his pre-cum dampening the crevice between my ass cheeks. He had worked his left arm under mine, so that his hand gently cradled my breast.
I hadn’t told him to fondle me that way. I hadn’t even given my permission. On the other hand, I hadn’t forbidden it, either, and I had to admit his touch felt delicious. After Harry had untied me, the three of us had collapsed together, exhausted by our mutual passion. For a long time, no one had wanted to move. Now however, I was starting to feel restless—and horribly embarrassed.
Harry leaned in to kiss me. “I agree. In Lyon we’ll make sure to get a king. Next time I’d like to have a bit more room.”
“Next time? Harold Sanborne, what makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”
I pretended shocked indignation. I suspect I was not very convincing.
Harry chuckled and rolled over on his back, almost landing on the carpet. He stretched with lazy grace, then folded his arms behind his head. His cock pointed at the chandelier, taunting me.
“Come on, Emily! Are you trying to tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself?”
I gave his erection an energetic squeeze in lieu of answering.
Etienne nuzzled my neck—blast it all, he’d found that spot, too!—and murmured into my ear. “It might be presumptuous of me to say so, Ms Wong, but you seemed to be experiencing significant pleasure.”
My, he was getting cheeky. What had happened to my obedient slave?
When he rolled my nipple between his finger and thumb, I found it difficult to concentrate on that question.
“Of course, we’d never do anything without your consent.” Harry’s velvet-brown eyes sparked with mischief. “You’re the boss.”
“Consent? I didn’t consent to—this!” My limbs were too entangled with theirs to make the sort of dismissive gesture my protest required.