Still painfully hard.
“...have to fucking bleach my eyes out,” he was muttering when I finished.
Heat blossomed in my cheeks, embarrassment causing my stutter to come out in all its stutter glory. “Whattt dooo youu wanntttt?”
“You dressed, asshole?” he asked, still refusing to look in my direction.
I nodded before remembering he couldn’t see me.
“Yeah.”
He spun on his heel, jabbing a finger into the air as he spoke. “Rule number one for masturbation. You fucking close and lock the door. This wouldn’t have happened if you had done the damn sock rule.”
“Sock rule?” I lifted a brow. Was I supposed to masturbate wearing socks? I couldn’t see how that would add to the experience, but I was a novice. There was still a lot I had to learn.
“For the love of…” Bash gripped his hair, pulling at the strands. “Just don’t fucking masturbate with the door open, man, and don’t fucking scream her name!”
Ah. That was the root of the issue.
Bash was jealous.
I tried to hide my smirk as his chest heaved and color rose to his cheeks. It wasn’t anger, not entirely, but an envy that ran soul deep.
After all, I hadn’t been the one to reject our mate. I hadn’t run her away.
I had been the one to taste her sweet nectar, feel her heavy mound in my hand, listen to her soft cries…
“Fucking dammit!” Bash kicked at the door frame. “You’re thinking about it again! Fucking asshole. Dick. Vagina.” What his curses lacked in creativity, they made up for in gusto. “I can’t get her fucking body out of my mind! The way she looked when you went down on her. The fucking noises-”
He cut off suddenly, as if aware of what he had unintentionally admitted to.
I was a sexual creature by nature, and even I was shocked. Motherfucking Bash had watched. Bash. Of all people. The same man who spent most of his days having orgies because he hated sitting on the sidelines. He had watched, and if the heat in his eyes and the tent in his pants was any indication, he had gotten off on it.
I didn’t know whether I wanted to blush or question him if I had done a good job. That would probably be weird. Right?
Men did not ask other men if he did a good job sucking on the clit of the girl they had both mated with.
“We’re not talking about that,” Bash said, for once not sounding smug and confident. I was not used to Bash being anything other than a drunk asshole.
Blinking at him, I agreed, “Okay. Sure. Z’s orgasm is off the table for discussion. Got it. Not one word on her delicious taste. Or the feel of her nipple.”
His eyes narrowed, and I blanched. What the hell had I said now?
Smoothing his features, Bash entered my room fully and went to sit on the bed, grimaced, and then sat in the plush armchair. He kicked his feet up and rested his arms behind his head.
“I talked to my father today, and he gave me some interesting information about our little assassin.”
I squinted, wondering if I had heard him right.
Bash hated his father. The only time he would ever willingly talk to him was if he was desperate. After what he had done...
Anger burned briefly in my stomach before I smothered the flames.
The Kings were assholes. It wasn’t just known but expected.
If they didn’t do one asshole thing a moon cycle, I would question their sanity. And if it wasn’t practically psycho, I would assume they were having a good month.
“What did he say?” I stuttered out, mentally cursing my disability.
I hated my stutter, hated how less of a man it made me feel.
Z noticed it, but she never made feel less for it. She reminded me repeatedly that my stutter was a part of me, a part she cared for, and shouldn’t be reprimanded.
“Stop with the fucking dreamy smile and listen!” Bash snapped his fingers in front of my face. The asshole was especially moody today.
Probably because he couldn’t get hard if his life depended on it.
I smirked, glancing down at my own erect cock. Yup. Still got it.
“For the love of…” Bash jumped from the chair and hit me on the back of the head. “Stop thinking about your damn dick.”
Wincing, I lifted my gaze to him once more.
“Sorry.”
“Brothers…” a lilting, musical voice said from the doorway. Cloaked entirely in shadows, features inscrutable, Ryland glided through the door, taking residence in his usual corner of the room. “Did you hear the news?”
“About Z?” Bash asked, quirking a brow. “I was just telling Killian.”
I tapped my fingers against my thigh. I couldn’t deny that I was worried. Now that she was the official assassin of the kingdom, her life had only gotten worse. She would be forced to fight repeatedly and not just for her life, but for the lives of all the people she hated. The spell Bash’s dad placed on her assured that she would not only be loyal, but be compelled to do their bidding.
“What’s going on?” I stuttered. My nerves always made my stutter more pronounced. And what was more nerve-wracking than hearing dire news about your mate?
Ryland made a noise - as if he was about to speak - but was cut off by Bash’s grunt of impatience.
“For fuck’s sake! Stop trying to steal my spotlight, and let me talk, dammit!”
Even when we were kids, Bash was a drama queen. Nothing changed with age, so it seemed.
Ryland chuckled softly from his usual stalker corner.
“A test,” Bash blurted, as if afraid Ryland was going to try once more to take over this conversation.
“A test?” I echoed.
He nodded curtly. “One from each of the Kings, designed to prove her competence and loyalty to the kingdoms.” This was all
