Chapter Fifty-Six

***REMI***

With my hands tied behind my back, a red, rope leash around my throat, and Rhodes fucking my mouth relentlessly, I begin to wonder, just for a moment, if perhaps the twins are the wrong men for me.

Tears are streaming down my face as Kallias guides me on his brother, and Rhodes is moaning. Hungry.

I have no control over his pace, no say in the matter whatsoever.

But Rhodes is absolutely fucking desperate for me.

And that is more than enough to keep me from giving up.

When he finally comes, it pours straight down my throat and when he pulls out, I gasp for air.

He staggers and drops to the couch, head lolled back at the ceiling like some sort of statue of Greek or Roman ecstasy. He’s a picture of male beauty, the Adam's apple of his throat bobbing as he enjoys his pleasure.

The pleasure that I gave him.

Beyond the castle, snow flurries around outside in an excited frenzy, almost as hasty and hyperactive as I am.

Almost.

I pant out several more breaths as Kallias comes around and wipes the tears from my face. “Such a good girl, aren’t you, Offering?”

“Untie me,” is all I say. “So I can serve our King.”

Kallias smiles at me. “As you wish.”

The weight of the ropes is released, and I rub at my wrists. The feeling in my arms returns, and my gaze drifts over to Keiran.

Rhodes is a youthful beauty, like a hero of the Gods. His eyes are like Kallias, bright and warm and full of seductive starlight.

Keiran is the opposite. Purely ancient. Immortal.

If the twins resemble an ancient warrior made to serve the gods, Keiran is the god himself.

He’s stretched out on his throne, his gaze distant. He’s wearing lean black clothing, embroidered in silver, which only adds to the beauty of his tattoos.
I’ve never observed them so closely. Dark swirling ink laces down his arms and several tendrils peek out around his throat and collar.

It’s not as many as Xaden, but it’s enough to terrify me.

He is a dark, lost God.

And I am his savior.

His Offering.

I move to stand for him but he tsk-tsks me and shakes his head. The gesture makes me feel like a child, but I’ve reached the point in the evening where I’ve stopped caring.

“Did I tell you to get up from your knees?” he says. My stomach drops. I know where this is going.

“Crawl to me and offer yourself, little Offering whore.”

A storm of desire and guilt and shame floods me.

Crawl to him, of course, that’s what the Dark God would want. A being formed of mountains and darkness only wants to meet me if it is within his mountains and darkness. I cannot enter his house and expect what I know.

He will push me to my limits, that is Keiran.

To expect anything different would be a disservice to us both.

Now all I have to decide is who Remi is.

A victim or a player.

The tension in the room is palpable. The powerful, shadowy magic of four males hovering in the air in unified darkness.

It calls to me, that darkness. It calls to the darkest part of my soul.

As I bring to them light, and something I’d dare to call goodness. I know I draw it out of them, in the slightest.

The fabric of the rug before Keiran’s throne is the softest thing my palms have ever touched.

As I crawl, I try not to think of how many others have done this for him before. Try not to think of how many have come before me, and how many will come after.
For now, it is just me and the King. My light and his shadows and stone.

Or it was.

Until another storm.

The soft and stable sound of Xaden’s blade being lazily sharpened comes to a halt. I nearly stumbled over my hands and feet just at the thought of him watching me, my back arched and ass on full display like original sin.

Suddenly, I’m not just impressing the King, but his second in command as well.

Maybe if I put on enough of a show, Xaden will finally cave.

The wisp of darkness in my soul rumbles. I want to take from these men, too.

I want to be wanted and spoiled.

When I reach the King, he slides his hands to his knees and presents me with his belt buckle. The metal clanks. Keiran leans back and watches.

I’d think the King bored, uninterested until I see how he’s strained against his pants.

The heaviness of his cock as I reach for the zipper lights my every nerve on fire.

I’m burning as I yank the zipper open, burning as his cock springs free.

I know he would have wanted me to ask permission, but I don’t care. I position myself on his mouth the second it’s before me and begin to press my lips over the swollen head of his cock.

His body tenses beneath me.

Rising up, I take him in my hand, and stroke him slowly, as if worshiping and memorizing every ridge, every vein.

His jaw clenches.

“I don’t want to share,” I tell him.

His nostrils flare.

“Never again will I find you with some Isle whore on your lap when I’m in this castle. Not when it can be me on your lap.”

I sit forward and open my lips just a mere inch from his cock, then blow out a teasing breath. He throbs in anticipation of my mouth wrapping around him.
“Say it won’t happen anymore, Midnight King.”

He shifts. I sense the feeling that he isn’t the type of male to compromise with anyone, that he hasn’t compromised in centuries.

“Put that pretty little mouth on my dick and maybe I will.”

I inch forward, drag the tip of my wet tongue over the glistening slit of his dick.

Restrained breath escapes him.

We both know he could take me in a heartbeat. With or without my consent. But this is a game we’ve been playing for centuries. Me and his magic, and my ancestors.
And I intend on making the most powerful male in the realm admit that I am his and he is mine.

I go through the motions like I’m going to lick him again from base to tip, but keep my mouth just barely against him. Almost touching, not quite hitting.
The groan that rumbles in his chest moves the mountains, and the low-lit chandelier hanging over us shakes.

“Offering,” he says.

“Yes?”

Even though I’m basically torturing him, the Midnight King appears to be a man of bliss. His blue eyes slip closed, and he summons a deep, settling breath.

“The only pussy I will have is your pussy,” his eyes pop open, and I get scared, the King uses my weakness as a chance to hook his arms underneath mine, and whir me onto his chair.

Not just any chair.

Kieran kneels before me on his throne.