Chapter 10: Daddy commands
The deep, dreamless silence was shattered by a sharp, electronic trill. It cut through the room, abrasive and demanding. Nyelle flinched in her cocoon of warmth, a soft sound of protest escaping her lips. Silas’s arm tightened around her. Ja, nestled against her front, groaned, his face buried in her hair.
“It’s the King. Answer it,” Ja mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
The trill came again, insistent. It was the specific, secured frequency of the tablet on the nightstand. The only person who ever used it.
Silas was already moving. With a reluctant sigh, he untangled his arm from Nyelle and leaned over her, his body a mountain of shadow in the dark room. The blue-white light of the screen illuminated the hard planes of his face as he accepted the call. He didn’t speak. He simply looked into the camera for a beat, his expression unreadable, then turned the tablet.
“Mama,” he said softly, placing it in her hands. “It’s for you.”
The screen glowed, a window into another sterile room. Malice filled it. He was back in his cell, the concrete wall a grim backdrop, but he was leaning close, his face dominating the frame. His eyes, dark and intent, scanned the shadowy tableau before him: Nyelle’s sleep-softened face, her bare shoulders, and the two men curled around her in the rumpled sheets.
A slow smile touched his lips. “Did I wake you?”
The sound of his voice, tinny through the speaker but undeniably his, unspooled something tight in Nyelle’s chest. The hollow ache from the clinic rushed back, fresh and sharp. Her vision blurred instantly. “Daddy,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“Hey now. None of that.” His tone was soft, but his eyes were taking inventory. “You got my best men right there with you. Why do you look like you lost your favorite toy?”
“Because I did,” she choked out, a hot tear slipping down her temple and into her hair. Ja shifted, wiping it away with his thumb, but he kept his eyes on the screen, his body still wrapped around hers. “It was so fast. You were there, and then you were just… gone. And I was so empty.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I wish you were home. I wish this was your bed.”
“I know, baby. I know.” Malice’s gaze flicked to Silas, then Ja, a silent command passing through the digital space. “But I’m right here. And I see you’re in good hands. They taking care of you?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Good. But let me make sure.” He settled back, the predatory ease back in his posture. “Silas. You got her back against your chest?”
“Yeah,” Silas rumbled, his voice close to Nyelle’s ear. He adjusted behind her, pulling her more firmly against him so his chest was a solid wall of heat against her spine.
“Ja. You facing her?”
“Right here, boss,” Ja said, his usual lightness tempered by a low, attentive tone. He propped his head on his hand, his other arm draped over her hip.
“Perfect.” Malice’s smile widened. “Now, Mama’s still sad. I can see it. That’s my fault. I left her needing something.” His eyes locked on Nyelle’s through the screen. “We gotta fix that. You hear me? We’re gonna fix that right now.”
Nyelle’s breath hitched. The emptiness inside her began to churn, transforming into a different kind of ache.
“Ja,” Malice said, his voice dropping into a smooth, instructional cadence. “Start with her mouth. She needs to be kissed until she forgets how to cry. Until she forgets everything but the taste of you. Do that for me.”
Ja didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, his hand cradling her jaw, and covered her mouth with his. It wasn’t the gentle kiss from before. This was deep, languid, and thorough. A claiming executed under a watchful eye. Nyelle moaned into it, her free hand coming up to tangle in his hair. The tablet rested against Silas’s thigh, the screen angled so Malice could see everything.
“That’s it,” Malice murmured, his voice a husky prompt through the speaker. “Look at her. Silas, put your hands on her. She loves your hands. Show her they’re mine, too.”
Silas’s big palms smoothed up her sides from her hips, over the dip of her waist, until his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts. He kneaded them gently, then more firmly, his touch igniting sparks along her nerves. He ducked his head, kissing the juncture of her neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin.
Nyelle broke the kiss with Ja, her head falling back against Silas’s shoulder, a gasp on her lips. The dual sensations, the direct view of Malice’s intense, approving face, made her dizzy.
“She’s responsive tonight,” Malice observed, a note of pride in his voice. “Good. She should be. Ja, move down. I want your mouth on her tits. She’s sensitive there, especially now. Make her arch.”
Ja trailed a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, over her collarbone. He took his time, laving one nipple until it was a tight, aching peak, then drawing it deep into the warmth of his mouth. Nyelle cried out, her back bowing, pushing herself more fully into his attention and against Silas’s hands.
“See that?” Malice said. “She loves it. Silas, help her feel it more. Get your fingers on her. Get her wet for me. I want to hear it.”
Silas’s hand slid down from her breast, over the plane of her stomach, through the thatch of curls below. He found her slick and hot, just as Malice predicted. He pressed the heel of his hand against her as two fingers slid inside, a slow, curling thrust that drew a broken moan from her throat. The sound was loud in the quiet room, mixed with the soft, wet sounds of Ja’s mouth on her.
“Louder, Mama,” Malice commanded, his own breathing slightly uneven. “Let me hear what they’re doing to you. Ja, switch. Let her feel your tongue somewhere else. Now.”
Ja kissed his way down her trembling stomach, his hands hooking under her thighs, spreading her wider. He looked at the screen, at Malice, for a final nod before he lowered his head.
The first flat stroke of his tongue made her scream. It was electric, blinding. Silas held her hips steady, his fingers working in a counter-rhythm inside her. The world narrowed to sensation and the glowing rectangle of the screen, to Malice’s dark, consuming gaze.
“That’s my girl,” Malice coaxed, his voice a rough whisper. “Look at me. Look right at me while he eats my pussy.”
Nyelle forced her eyes open, her gaze swimming, finding his on the screen. The intimacy of it, the obscene distance bridged by technology, shattered her. She was laid bare, physically and emotionally, for him. Her pleasure was his to direct, to witness, to own.
“She’s close, boss,” Silas grunted, feeling the tight, fluttering tension coiling in her core.
“Not yet,” Malice said. “Ja, stop.”
Ja lifted his head, his lips glistening. He was breathing hard, his eyes glazed with lust.
“Silas, get her up on her knees. I want to see her. All of her.”
With effortless strength, Silas maneuvered her, turning her so she was on her knees facing the foot of the bed, her back to his chest. He pulled her hips back, holding her steady. The tablet was propped on the pillow now, giving Malice a perfect, unobstructed view.
“Ja,” Malice said, his voice thick with authority. “You’re going to fuck her. And you’re going to do it slow. You’re going to make her feel every inch. You’re going to make her beg for it. And you’re not going to let her come until I say.”
Ja moved behind her, his hands gripping her hips. He nudged at her entrance, the broad head of his cock slick with her arousal. He pushed in, a slow, devastating invasion that stretched her beautifully. Nyelle whimpered, her head dropping forward.
“Eyes on me, Mama,” Malice snapped, but his tone was fervent, not angry. “Watch me watch you get fucked.”
She lifted her head, her eyes locking with his on the screen. Ja began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that was pure torture. Silas held her, one hand splayed on her belly, the other pinching and teasing her nipple. Every nerve ending was on fire, every thrust a plea for release that was being deliberately, expertly denied.
“Please,” she sobbed, the word directed at the screen, at Malice. “Daddy, please.”
“Please what?” he asked, his face a mask of controlled desire.
“Let me come. I need to come. Please.”
Malice watched her for another agonizing moment, watched Ja’s controlled thrusts, watched Silas’s possessive hands on her body. He gave a single, slow nod. “Now. Let her go.”
It was the permission they were all waiting for. Ja’s rhythm broke, becoming faster, harder, driving into her with a force that shook the bed. Silas’s fingers found her clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles. The orgasm ripped through her, violent and consuming, a white-hot detonation that tore a scream from her lungs. She held Malice’s gaze through the storm, seeing his own satisfaction, his triumph, as she shattered.
Ja followed with a guttural groan, his body slumping over her back. Silas held them both, his own breath ragged against her neck.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their panting and the faint hum of the tablet.
Nyelle went boneless, supported entirely by the two men. Her eyes were still on Malice, heavy-lidded and sated.
“Better?” he asked softly.
A weak, tear-streaked smile touched her lips. “Better.”
“Good.” He leaned closer to the camera, his image pixelating slightly. “The emptiness is gone. I filled it. Even from here.” His gaze encompassed all three of them. “You remember that. All of you. Get some sleep.”
The screen went black.
In the sudden dark, Ja carefully pulled out and collapsed beside her. Silas guided her down, rearranging the sweaty sheets, pulling her back into the shelter of his body. Ja immediately curled around her front again, his leg thrown over hers, his face nuzzling into her hair.
The hollow ache was gone. In its place was a deep, satiated exhaustion, and a profound, complicated warmth. She was surrounded by their scent, their heat, their steady breaths. But the ghost of Malice’s commanding presence lingered in the air, in the tingling of her skin, in the space between her heartbeats. She was held by two, but owned by one. And in that moment, the contradiction didn’t tear her apart.
It held her together.
It held her together, and she sank into a sleep so deep it felt like drowning in velvet. When she surfaced, it was to the gentle pressure of lips on her shoulder blade and the warm, solid weight of an arm across her waist. Gray morning light softened the room. For a blissful second, there was only the peace of their breathing, a synchronized rhythm in the quiet.
“Think she’s alive?” Ja’s voice was a sleep-roughened murmur near her ear.
“Barely,” Silas rumbled behind her, his chest vibrating against her spine. His hand drifted down, palming the gentle curve of her belly. “We worked her hard.”
Nyelle smiled into the pillow. “I’m alive enough to need a shower.” She stretched, feeling the pleasant ache in her muscles, a testament to the night. “You two made a mess.”
Ja chuckled, nuzzling her neck. “Our mess. And you loved it. Come on, up.”
The shower was a vast enclosure of slate and steam. They moved together in a wordless, fluid dance, under the spray. Ja’s hands, slick with sandalwood soap, glided over her shoulders. Silas knelt before her, the water sluicing down the hard planes of his back as he pressed his mouth to the small, firm swell of her stomach.
His kiss was reverent. A vow. “Strong,” he said, the word echoing off the tile.
Ja’s hands joined Silas’s, both sets of palms cradling the promise there. “The heir to the Knight empire,” Ja whispered, his lips following Silas’s, his tongue tracing a faint, wet line. “Our heir, too.”
Then Ja looked up, water caught in his eyelashes. “And our queen.” He said it like a revelation, sealing it with another kiss to her skin, higher, just below her navel. The declaration wasn’t light. It was bedrock.
They moved lower together, a synchronized descent. Hot water rained over them as their mouths found her. There was no taking turns. It was a shared feast, a dual claim of intimate territory. Silas’s tongue was broad and demanding; Ja’s was clever and precise. The confluence of sensation, the sheer, wet heat of their focused attention, built a pressure in her core that was immediate and overwhelming.
She came with a sharp cry, her hands fisting in their wet hair, her knees buckling. They held her up, easing her back against the cool tile, kissing their way up her trembling body.
She captured Ja’s mouth first, tasting herself on him, a dark, addictive flavor. She kissed him deeply, hungrily, before turning to Silas, sharing the taste between them. Then she sank to her knees on the shower floor.
She took Ja first, her hand stroking him to full hardness before guiding him into her mouth. She loved the weight of him, the salty-slick taste of his skin under the spray. He groaned, his head thunking back against the wall. “Fuck, baby. Just like that.”
She worked him with a devoted focus, one hand moving on Silas, who watched with dark, hungry eyes, his thumb brushing her cheek. When Ja’s hips stuttered, his fingers tightening in her hair, she took him deep, swallowing every pulse as he cursed softly into the steam.
She didn’t pause. She turned to Silas, who was already rigid and ready. He was thicker, and she opened wider, taking him with a practiced ease that made him hiss. “Good girl,” he grunted, his hand cradling her head, not forcing, just holding. His release was quieter, a deep, shuddering groan, and she drank him down too, until he gently pulled her back to her feet.
She was floating, sated, but Silas was still hard against her hip. He turned her, pressing her front to the wet tile. Ja was there instantly, his mouth on hers, kissing her with a desperate passion as Silas lifted her, one arm under her thigh, and entered her in one smooth, filling thrust.
The stretch was exquisite. Ja’s cock, already spent, pressed hot and insistent against Silas’s pumping thigh as they kissed, the intimacy of the contact, the utter lack of boundary, sending a fresh, shocking bolt of desire through her.
“More,” she begged against Ja’s mouth. “Silas, please.”
His pace was relentless, each drive knocking a gasp from her lungs that Ja swallowed. She felt the coil tighten again, impossibly fast. “I’m gonna—Silas, come in your pussy. Fill your pussy. Now.”
The command unleashed him. With a final, deep grind, he obeyed, spilling into her with a guttural sound that seemed ripped from his core. They stayed like that, pinned between stone and muscle, until her legs shook.
They washed her with meticulous care, soaping every inch, rinsing her hair. Towels were warm and rough. In the bedroom, Ja produced a bottle of lotion that smelled of coconut and vanilla, and they took turns smoothing it into her skin, their hands worshipful. He dressed her in the items she’d laid out: the black lace thong, and the black half-tank that was less a shirt and more a strip of fabric that covered her nipples and left the long line of her torso, the curve of her belly, completely bare.
“Fuck,” Ja breathed, taking a step back to look. Silas just nodded, a slow, approving blink.
“Breakfast,” Nyelle said, her voice husky.
She moved through the sun-drenched kitchen with a new awareness of her body, of their eyes on her. She scrambled eggs, fried bacon, buttered toast. The domesticity was a surreal contrast to the morning’s raw passion. Ja sat on a stool at the island, devouring a slice of bacon. His gaze was a physical heat on her back.
She walked over to him, took his plate, and set it aside. Without a word, she hooked her thumbs in the sides of her thong, shifting the lace aside, and straddled him on the stool. She sank down onto him in one fluid motion, taking him so deep she saw stars.
He groaned, his hands flying to her hips. “Jesus, Ny.”
She began to move, a slow, rolling grind. She picked up his fork, speared a bite of egg, and brought it to his lips. “Eat your breakfast,” she whispered, riding him in a deliberate, consuming rhythm.
He obeyed, chewing, his eyes locked on hers. Every bite he took, she moved. She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear. “This is Daddy’s pussy,” she breathed, feeling him twitch inside her. “You know that.”
“We know,” he gasped, his grip tightening.
“But it’s your pussy, too.” She rocked harder, feeling the pleasure build, a sweet, familiar burn. “You take such good care of your pussy. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” he hissed, his control fraying. His hips began to meet her thrusts. “God, yes.”
It was her undoing. The filthy affirmation, the fullness of him, the sheer normality of the kitchen setting, tipped her over. She cried out, shuddering around him, and he followed with a sharp groan, pouring into her, his forehead falling against her chest.
She held him, catching her breath, before slowly lifting off him. She adjusted her thong, then silently handed him back his plate. He took it with a dazed, satiated grin.
Later, in the sprawling living room, the sunlight pooling on the deep rug, they took her again. This time, it was a languid exploration. Ja laid her back on the soft wool, his mouth tracing every line of the black fabric on her torso, teasing the skin at its edges. Silas watched, then guided her leg over his shoulder, his mouth finding her core from a new angle while Ja continued to lavish attention on her breasts.
They focused on her, only her. Their touches were a conversation, a negotiation of pleasure. Silas entered her first, a slow, deep possession, while Ja kissed her, sharing the taste of her skin. Then they switched, Ja sliding into the wet, welcoming heat Silas had prepared, while Silas kissed the salt from her throat.
It was a symphony of sensation built for her sole enjoyment. When the peak approached, it was a shared wave. “Now,” she pleaded, and they obeyed, their releases triggering her own, a convulsive, overlapping climax that left her blind and trembling.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs on the rug. Silas’s hand, big and warm, settled low on her abdomen. Ja’s followed, covering it.
“The ache is gone,” Silas stated, his voice rough with emotion. “Our queen. Our king’s woman.” He paused. “Our woman.”
Ja nodded into her hair. “Our heir rests right here,” he whispered, his fingers splaying over the place their child grew. “He’s ours, too.”
The possessiveness in his voice wasn’t threatening. It was a shelter. She was enclosed by it, by them, by the life growing inside her. The last threads of tension, the ghost of emptiness from Malice’s departure, finally dissolved. She was not just held together.
She was bound, irrevocably, to this chosen, complicated heart of her world. Protected. Possessed. And as the afternoon light faded, she fell asleep between them, anchored by the weight of their hands and the future they all cradled.