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I throw the pan aside and leap on her, pulling my fist back and slamming it into her face. She’s shielding her broken nose, her hands taking the brunt of the force, but I can’t seem to care. I swing out again, lips pulled back into a snarl, and everything–all of the degradation, fear, and anguish–comes pouring out. It’s wild and flailing, and I’m almost glad no one from West End is here to see it, because it’s sloppy–impulsive–driven by nothing but this bitter lava coursing through my veins.

Strong arms grip me from behind, tearing me away, and I know it’s Wicker. I can tell from the smell of him, that sharp cologne I’d smelled earlier in Lex’s room. I shove my hand back and feel for the knife clipped to his pants, easily snatching it out.

Suddenly, the arms are gone, and I’m barreling back to Heather.

Blood streams down her chin, eyes clenched tight as I grip her by the hair. Panting with exertion, I snarl out, “Maybe the last few Princesses have been so soft that you’ve forgotten your place, so let me be clear.” Feeling the suspended energy of the party, I know everyone is watching, listening, but I wait for her pained, welling eyes to blink open before continuing. “I’m holding you personally responsible for every bitch in East End. You better tell them that the Princes are off limits, because if any of you so much as breathes near them, I’m going to find you and stick this knife into your tit.” I shove the blade beneath the B-cup she’d been so eager to upgrade before. “Ask me if I’m serious.”

She winces, chest bouncing with a sob, and gives a rapid nod. “They won’t. Theywon’t!”

My nerves are still flaring when I stagger to my feet, turning to make sure the other three also got the message.

Wicker, who’s standing a few feet away, has taken off the sunglasses, eyes tracking my every movement. His jaw is slack, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. He’s drunk, that’s for sure, but not so blitzed he’s not fully aware of everything that just went down. Before I can move, his hand clasps around my wrist.

“Settle down, Princess,” he says, twisting it hard enough to force the knife out of my grasp.

“Okay, maybe you did learn a couple things,” Lex mutters under his breath. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s checking the time, then fixing his brother with a relieved look. “It’s midnight.”

“Thank Jesus.” Wicker’s fingers thread between mine and he tows me from the room, every single person watching as we pass. He shoves his hand down his pants, revealing more of that curly thatch of blonde hair above his pelvis. I track the movement and see him squeeze the base of his cock. He shifts and the tip peeks obscenely out of the waistband, glistening and red. “I was hard before you got here, but fuck, Princess, watching you go after that girl, I about came in my pants.”

“You’re not… mad?” I stumble, trying to keep up with his long gait. Strong hands catch my hips and I realize that Lex is right behind us. He releases me with a slow drag of his fingertips over my ass.

Wicker stops at the landing, dragging me up the last two steps, then whirls around to push me up against the wall. The movement is jarring, but the shape of him pinning me in is even more disconcerting. He’s still shirtless, a hand coming up to press against the wall beside my head, and I get a full view of his broad chest. Wicker might look all sleek and compact in a suit, but like this?

He’s bigger and stronger than he seems.

“What can I say?” His fingers dip under my skirt, pushing between my folds. “Jealousy’s a turn on.” His eyes dilate, more black than blue as he invades my center. He pauses only briefly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a lazy, drunken smirk. “You’re wet for me already, Red? Or did cold-cocking that girl get you hot?”

I almost say no, that Pace’s cum is still inside of me, a thick reminder of earlier, or that his fingers are the ones that got me hot and bothered again. But I glance at Lex and the hard look he gives me is enough to keep my mouth shut. It’s Wicker’s turn. This is all about him.

“I was wrong about you not wearing panties,” he says, ducking down to nip at my bottom lip. “The whole room saw your pussy when you threw yourself on Heather.” He pushes a finger inside, pumping twice, and jerks his chin at Lex. “This is our pussy.”

“Everybody downstairs!” Lex shouts, waving everyone past like a menacing traffic cop.

Everyone seems to know better than to gawk at the Prince and Princess as they abandon the line for the bathroom, or emerge from dark corners, lips red from making out. Still, my cheeks are on fire, every inch of my flesh burning, even though I know this is an act of power. I belong to him, and he wants everyone to know it–most of all me. The last person walks by, and Wicker pushes up my skirt. He looks down at me with dark, smoldering eyes, licking out to wet his lips. “This is for standing up for your Prince.”

Then he drops to his knees.

His palms flatten against my thighs, spreading me apart, and I wobble, grabbing for his bare, muscular, shoulders. I’m already gasping in shock before his tongue even darts out, but the heat of him against my core, hot and slick, transforms it into a cry. My fingers dig into his flesh, desperate for purchase as his tongue spears into me.Oh god.

I close my eyes and sink back against the wall, unsuccessfully trying to catch my breath as he laps against my nub. I wonder if he even realizes what he’s tasting–Pace’s cum is surely still inside of me–but I quickly lose the ability to care. For all his frantic, horny energy, Wicker is downright leisurely as he draws my hips forward, making out with my pussy. That’s the only way I can describe it. His sensuous licks are so intense and consuming that it’s as if he’s kissing a woman passionately on the mouth.

The lowest of grunts forces my eyes open and I see Lex watching us, eyes glued to where Wicker’s mouth is devouring me. A jolt runs through me, and I’m hurtled back to our time together in the clinic, the dirty words he whispered in my ear.

“Have you ever had your pussy licked, Verity? I bet you’ve thought about it, haven’t you? How it’d feel to have a guy’s tongue on you, right here.”Panting, I thrust my fingers into Wicker’s hair, too captivated by his brother’s dark stare to look away from it.“It’d be wet and warm. You’d feel his breath, the sounds he’d make, the vibrations.”

I suck in a breath as Wicker teases me, and Lex’s gaze snaps up to mine. He swallows and pushes a stray lock of that long hair behind his ear. Something in that basic, delicate move, sends a ripple of electricity from my core to my limbs. I’m robbed of all my senses, just the harsh pleasure that I can’t get enough of. My hips rock forward frantically and I seize, clit pulsing against Wicker’s tongue.

If I had enough sense to, I’d probably resent the sound I make, keening and agonized as I come. It feels ripped from my core, the hours of being impaled on Pace’s cock as he teased me making the release all the more acute.

I float back down to earth, feeling dark, sinister laughter vibrate between my legs. Wicker rises, mouth shiny, teeth white, grin smug. “What do you say, Princess?”

My brain is lost under a cloud of fog, but the only thing I can think of is, “Thank you?”

“Good girl.” He tweaks my breast with one hand and unbuckles his pants with the other. His next move is fluid. He removes the sheath and hands the knife to Lex, then grabs me by the waist, lifting me in his strong arms. He carries me down the hall, and suddenly, his mouth is on my neck, sucking with his teeth. My wet center heats against his lower belly, and over his shoulder, I see Lex tip his head back, exhaling. Relief at getting his brother under control? I don’t know, because Wicker kicks open a door, enters a room, and tosses me on the bed. The door slams shut as I bounce, steadying myself with my hands.

His pants drop and I reluctantly take him in. I know it’s the orgasm still zinging my nerves with aftershocks, but in a purely physical sense, a secret, guilty part of me thrums in anticipation of what’s coming.

His body is a masterpiece. The hard planes of his chest. The ropey ladder of his abdomen. The deep, cut lines of the ‘V’ situated between his hips. My belly flutters at the lean muscle slashed down his forearm that tenses as he strokes his erection.