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Hart walks me backward, keeping my body in line with his as Malachi growls at being denied my body. Why are we denying him?

“I’m the only one who hasn’t tasted her,” he snarls low. My stomach clenches. Yes, let him taste. It’s only fair.

“I’m aware. There’s a chair back here,” Hart says. “One made for this.”

A chair made for this? How? A chair is surely a chair.

Malachi chuckles, the rumble pressing along my flesh. Hart bends, and I freeze. “Relax, Calamity. I’m right here with you.”

That’s true. Whatever this chair is, he’s not leaving me.

I allow my body to relax. “Good girl,” he rumbles as he takes a seat, keeping a tight hold of my hips to position my ass against his growing erection.

I squirm to get comfortable, making him growl.

“Stop that, or I will do more than hold you still while my brother feasts on you. I’d prefer to see your eyes when I slide my cock inside you, but I only have so much patience. ”

Malachi snorts as I freeze. I’m not stupid—this tension between us will snap at some point. But I too would rather see what is happening.

Hart’s hand wraps around my chin, and he pulls my head to the side to glide his lips over mine. Malachi uses my distraction to strip me bare below.

He grabs one of my knees and lifts it up to my chest and out. Hart’s free hand wraps under my thigh, helping his brother to position my leg. Something wraps around my knee and pins it in place.

I tear my mouth free. “What are you doing?”

Malachi nips my thigh, and I jerk in the restraint, trying to move from the bite of pain, but I can’t go anywhere. “Keeping you in place,” Malachi says before repeating the same with my other leg, ensuring I am wide and vulnerable.

“I wish I could see her,” Hart grumbles.

“Me too. We need to get one of these chairs,” Malachi agrees.

My muscles burn with how wide my thighs are, but I grit my teeth to avoid crying out. I want nothing to stop the promise of what Malachi is about to do.

A low feminine moan echoes in the air, making heat flash down my spine. Hart huffs a laugh in my ear. “You have a little voyeurism in you, Calamity?”

Do I? Maybe.

Malachi kisses the insides of my thighs. “Open her up for me, brother,” Malachi growls. “I want my tongue inside of her as deep as I can.”

Oh Blazes. I think I’m already on the edge, and he hasn’t even touched me there yet.

Hart’s hands skim down my ribs, over my stomach, and between my spread thighs. His fingers skim through the wetness gathered at my opening. “Fuck. Is this all for us? We haven’t touched you yet.”

Except Malachi has… all night, in fact. Sometimes, small caresses build and build until your body practically hums with need and want.

Malachi is unlike his brothers. He starts slowly, like he has all the time in the realm to savor every part of my flesh.

Like we aren’t on borrowed time from multiple narratives nipping at our heels to unravel what we have started to build.

He kisses me between my legs like he kisses my mouth, a steady pleasure, coaxing, teasing, but merciless in intent.

I cry out when he pulls back again and again, edging me around the precipice I’ve become addicted to in a very short time.

“Malachi, please.”

“There she is,” he growls. “You begging is exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

It is? Why didn’t he say? I could have been in a post-orgasmic bliss tempos ago. His tongue shoves inside of me again and again, in a carnal rhythm. Hart pinches my clit between his fingers and doesn’t let go. My eyes sting, and I curse him under my breath as he steals my orgasm.

“Ready, Calamity?” he murmurs with a nip to my ear.

I nod against his chest. He pulls my clit and then releases as Malachi holds his tongue inside of my clenching core.

Hart slaps a wet hand over my mouth, and I come with a roar into his palm.

Lights explode in the darkness, a kaleidoscope of colors.

Malachi groans low but holds himself still as I ride out my climax in Hart’s arms.

Someone unclips my leg before pulling my pants back on, and then my sexy, happy twin—who still has glistening lips—carries me out of the dark tent. He smirks at me as I lay slumped in his arms.

“What?” he asks with a raised brow.

“I just didn’t expect you to be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Dirty, delicious, devious, devastating.” He grins and leans down to press his lips against mine, so I can taste myself.

All too soon, we arrive back at the carriage where Gwyneth sits opposite Charming with Sir Sweeps-A-Lot standing sentinel between them.

Malachi drops down next to Gwyneth, while Hart takes a seat next to Charming.

Nobody says anything the entire journey back to the palace.

Charming mutters an excuse about it being almost midnight, a sore point for him, and makes his escape to his room, leaving the four of us to head to the knights’ chambers.

Malachi insists on carrying me, even though I’m fine.

I’m unsure if my legs still aren’t working, but other than that, I assume I don’t look like I got sexed up by two knights in a dark magic tent, because Gwyneth has said nothing.

Hart opens the door and leads the way in. Nash and Theo’s heads jerk up, their eyes widening when they take me in. Must be because Malachi is carrying me.

“I’m fine. We got a little lost at the circus, is all,” I explain. “Then my legs got tired, so Malachi carried me.” All true. It’s just the context that’s missing, but who needs context?

Theo’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Daphne,” Gwyneth says with a chuckle. “Perhaps look in the mirror before you try to spin a tale.” She shakes her head and darts off into Theo’s room.

I spare a look at the brothers. Yup, they aren’t buying it either.

I wriggle, and Malachi places my jelly legs down.

I wobble over to my magic mirror, currently devoid of a man intent on me being the fairest in the land, and gasp.

My tangled hair floats around my head, a deep flush kisses my cheekbones, and my eyes sparkle.

But that’s not the giveaway. Oh, no. It’s the multitude of bite marks and red splotches on my neck and the swell of my breasts.

The mirror man suddenly appears. He opens his mouth and slams it closed again before blinking.

“I know, dude. I know.” I am not the most fair; I am the most fucked in the land. Truly, madly, deeply, fucked.

Here lies Daphne Stone, a maiden most fair until she succumbed to four knights and endless orgasms.

There are worse and less memorable ways to leave this world.