Page 4 of The Princess and the Pack

“Come now, Highness,” Oran intones in his low, steady voice. “What harm can come to the princess with her betrothed and his most trusted companion near?”

Though I can’t see his face, I hear the sly grin snaking across his lips. This alpha is devious, testing the limits of his friend’s patience, and I’m in no mind to stop him by doing the sensible thing of going back to bed.

“Oran,” the prince warns.

“Cillian,” Lord Rafferty retorts, mimicking the severe edge of his tone.

A silent conversation passes between them amidst the pauses in their alpha posturing. Cillian clearly wants me to leave, despite his earlier admissions. Oran, it seems, would rather I stay. Though they both may have their reasons, I also want a say in the matter.

Now that I’ve been caught, I have no plans to leave. I can spend this last night with my intended before my journey home tomorrow. I won’t see Cillian again for an entire year, after all—not until our wedding day—and it would be a shame to let such an opportunity pass.

So unless the prince is prepared to remove me from his study by force, I plan on making the most of my last night in Namara.

“I think I’ll sit awhile,” I announce, cutting the tension building between us all.

I don’t give either alpha a chance to reply before I push past both of their imposing bodies and settle myself in the middle of the settee at Cillian’s back. I do my best to put forth a brave face—one that shows I won’t be so easily deterred from the mission at hand.

Should they choose to join me? All the better. Otherwise, they know where to find the door.

“Cheeky,” Oran says, a proud grin on his face. He claps his hand on his companion’s shoulder before joining me on my right.

The settee has plenty of room to leave a respectable amount of space between us, but Oran sits so close that his thigh rests against mine. The heat from his body is a dangerous temptation—one I should turn away from. But something vital in my chest tells me escaping this man is impossible.

“Fucking hell,” Cillian sighs, taking in the sight of us together.

His shoulders slump in defeat, and try as I may to hide my smile, I preen at his acquiescence. I’m giddy as can be when he seats himself on my left, just as closely as his companion has.

I don’t know what lies ahead for the evening but pressed between these two alphas, I’m certain I won’t be disappointed.

“So tell us, Princess,” Oran drawls, toying with the ends of my hair. His delicate touch and warm breath on my neck are sensual—forbidden. But I can’t find it in me to pull away. “Have you ever let anyone taste that sweet little cunt of yours?”

The gasp of shock tearing from our precious princess’ throat has my cock aching with the need to rut her until she’s a weeping, boneless mess. I don’t know what spell this beauty has placed upon me, but I’m near-feral whenever she’s around.

When I first detected a wisp of the princess’ scent upon entering the study, I set my plan in motion to goad the prince. I had no real motives other than having Ivy learn of Cillian’s—and my own—infatuation with her. At least then she could decide whether she wished to accept such admissions. But I didn’t intend for it to go this far—not so quickly, anyway.

I would usually never dare to be so brazen, but this woman does wicked things to my mind. Perhaps I want a turn to drive her just as mad as she’s made me—even if it’s only for one evening.

Cillian thinks we need to wait. He’s had me making a fool of myself for weeks, helping to keep her at arm’s length. But all I’ve wanted to do since I first laid eyes upon her was get her alone and well acquainted with my knot.

I’m greedy that way, but who could blame me? She’s stunning, my Ivy, with eyes as blue and deep as the sea. Her body is a delectable wonderland of soft curves; her lips the plushest, most inviting source of temptation I’ve ever beheld.

And her scent? Her scent drives me just as mad as the rest of her. Tart, baked apples drenched in the decadence of cinnamon, honey, and custard. I can practically taste how she would melt on my tongue, even now.

She ismy omega. Of that, I’m certain. No other explanation stands for why her perfume is so vivid, so distinct to both me and the prince. She may not be able to recognize what we have yet, but her scent tells me all I need to know.

Seated on the other side of my deliciously pink and panting princess, Cillian and the fire in his eyes threaten to strike me dead. But I don’t give a shite anymore. I’ve been a very good boy this past month, and I would be a fool not to act when she’s practically begging for us both.

Cillian is wrong—Ivy isready. Why else would she be sitting between us wearing nothing more than her slip of a nightgown? Any proper omega would have covered herself or fled by now.

But our woman isn’t as proper as one would believe, no. Her nipples have pebbled so beautifully at myimproperquestion. Ivy is aching just thinking of my tongue in her cunt, and I’ll be damned if I don’t give this woman everything she desires from now until the end of time.

“Well, have you, love?” I press, needing to hear the words from her pretty lips. “Or were you saving that for our prince here?”

“Oran,” Cillian growls, desperate to end this, but I’m undeterred.

Ivy squirms beside me, whimpering and pressing those soft thighs together—trying to soothe the ache brought on by my words.

Without another thought, my hands are there, touching the soft skin above her knees and pushing her legs apart. I can’t have her getting excited too quickly now. The thrill is in the anticipation, after all.

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