Lords of Mercy: Royals of Forsyth U (Royals of Forsyth University Book 3)

“She takes her prenatal vitamins and I cook all her food—all natural, nothing packaged or processed, organic when possible. We follow the diet given by the doctor.” I say all of this while the nurse fusses with the machine, flipping switches and adjusting knobs. I really wish she’d give me something here. “The birthing classes start next month, but Story is already taking pregnancy yoga. Twice a week. Her last blood tests were—” I pause to flip through the folder, trying to find her latest lab results, but they’re all mixed up in insurance papers and legal forms. “They looked… fine,” I lamely finish.

“Sounds like you’re doing everything right.” The smile she gives me is a little pandering, and that only causes my blood pressure to rise. Higher. Here we are, being the model almost-parents, and we can’t even get a little validation? She turns to Story, giving her a warm look. “The technician will be here in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Story winces and shifts on the bed. “I’m just eager to get it done so I can finally pee.”

The nurse laughs, acting breezy and annoyingly carefree. Story had to drink an entire bottle of sugary juice beforehand to both fill her bladder and provide a marker for the insulin test. “I’ll tell her to hurry.”

The instant the door closes, I pounce. “Are you comfortable? That table looks like something they picked up off the side of the fucking road. Do you need a pillow? We really should have done this at home. My mother’s doctor makes home visits. I’m sure—” I lean over Story, trying to adjust the exam table, but she swats me away.

“Tris, Jesus Christ, I’m fine.”

“You seriously need to chill,” Rath says, frowning at a chart on the wall. It’s a graphic showing the stages of a pregnancy, and the four of us have already isolated Story’s position in the timeline. Our baby is the size of a lemon. He tilts his head, squinting at the fetus drawing. “It’s just a sonogram of a lemon-sized clump of cells.”

“Just a—” I snap, fighting back the wave of anxiety. It’s new and difficult to control. Story is only fourteen weeks pregnant and I’m already about to go insane. I don’t know how these other two can seem so casual about it all. “It’s a test, dickhead. That means you can pass, and it means you can fail.”

I rest my hand on Story’s belly, but there’s not really a bump there yet. If the doctors in this town were a little more prone to bribery, then maybe we could have gotten this sonogram earlier. But they kept insisting it was useless before ten weeks, and then pushing me off until this afternoon. Ever since we got the news, I’ve suffered through a string of emotions. Usually, I keep it a little closer to the vest, but now that we’re here, I can’t help but feel nervous about what the sonogram will show.

“Bro, we got her the best doctor, vetted by you personally.” Killian is kicked back comfortably on the stool by Story’s other side, fiddling with the end of her braid. “The practice has a dietician, midwife, doula—the whole deal. They provide home visits, give Story excellent care, and didn’t even blink at the fact this kid has three dads. There’s no reason to micromanage this. It’s out of our hands.”

“Out of our hands?” I gape at him, flinging a hand out toward her stomach. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one measuring her macros, controlling her dairy intake, ordering her lab tests, making sure she eats enough iron and—”

“That’s why we have the dietician,” Killian says, shooting me a glare. “We hired him specifically so you wouldn’t do any of that.”

Rath wanders over to kiss her forehead. “You ever think all your stress is stressing her out?” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s not good for her or the baby.”

“I’m not stressing,” I lie, pulling at my hair. “I’m just being realistic.” I don’t list the possibilities that could happen today. Spina bifida. Heart problems. Brain malformations. Story’s eyes meet mine and I see a flicker of worry cross her face. Shit. Maybe Rath has a point. I suck back my concerns and take her hand. “But it’s going to be fine.”

“Hey, guys?” She squeezes my fingers, tossing the others a look. “Can Tristian and I have a minute alone?” The three of them share a look that I know well enough by now. It’s the ‘Tristian is being crazy’ eye-roll, so they leave without argument. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one taking this seriously.

When the door shuts behind them, I say, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to—”

“Hey,” she says, looking up at me from the table. “I know you can be a little neurotic. I love that about you, because sometimes when I’m feeling down or out of sorts, you’ll do something completely bonkers like steal all of my sodas and replace them with vitamin water, and I’ll remember that you love me.” She slowly amends, “But, Tris, this is getting out of hand, even for you. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” I look around the room, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how many atoms there are in the observable universe? I can’t even say the number, because it’s too big. But somehow, while one of us was railing you with a premium creampie, a few of those atoms hooked up and began creating life.” This will never stop blowing my mind, and when I collapse onto the stool Killer just vacated, I wonder how anyone isn’t terrified by that. “It’s a blip, Story. Two little things went right, against all odds, and then a baby happened. It’d take nothing,” I bring my fingers together in a snap, “to snuff it out. I don’t know how we aren’t having panic attacks on the reg.”

She stares at me, eyebrows slanted miserably. “Because you’re the only one trying to fight the universe, Tristian.” She reaches out to take my hand, dragging it over her stomach. “You can’t keep looking at it like that. It’ll drive you insane.”

I fold her hand in mine. It’s warm and soft. Smooth knuckles. Creamy skin. When I look her in the eye, I hope like hell she’ll forgive me. “I know we promised not to wonder who the father is,” I begin, voice quiet like a sordid confession. “But what if it’s mine?”

The flash of hurt in her eyes—hurt I caused by breaking the promise—is extinguished just as quickly as it arrives. It probably has something to do with the bald terror in my eyes. “Would that be so bad?”

It seems like this fear has been swelling within me for weeks now. Haunting me at night while I try to sleep. Nipping at my heels in the mornings when I wake. Ever present throughout my day. I stare at our interlocked hands, feeling weary but too determined to give in to the exhaustion. “My genes are defective, Story. It’s why my mom had to stop with Izzy and Lizzy, even though she wanted more.” Reluctantly, I meet her gaze, finally putting my fears to words. “What if it’s twins, and the problem my mom had passes through me?“

Her face crumples. “That’s what you’ve been freaking out about? You think it could be twins?”

“It could be,” I stress, darting a glance at her belly. “Do you have any idea the complications that come with a multiple birth labor?”

Her grip on my hand tightens, drawing my eyes to hers. The small, sad smile that greets me is enough to make my chest clench painfully. “You told me once that losing your brother didn’t have any effect on you. But you lied.” Before the protest on my face can form into words, she hastily adds, “Not intentionally. I just know you well enough now to understand. It’s a big part of the reason you take such good care of yourself. You feel…” Her eyes search mine as she chooses her words carefully. “You feel grateful, Tristian. You see life as this precious, fragile thing, because you think it could have just as easily been you.”

I’ve been naked in front of this woman more times than I can count, but I’ve never felt so exposed before. It makes my shoulders shift uncomfortably, but I don’t slide away. “It’s a problem we need to consider,” I say.

“I’ve considered it.” She nods, holding my gaze. “But Tristian, we also need to consider that I’m healthy. That you’ve found me excellent care. That I have three partners to help me through this.” She lifts our fists, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of my hand. “I have faith in us,” she says, giving me a watery smile, “and I want this to be good, Tris. I want this to be happy. I want to bring this child into a world where we can enjoy our triumphs. Okay?”

I push the hair off her forehead, overcome by a wave of emotion.

God, I love this woman so much.

I just want to bask in that forever, pick her up and carry her out of here to live in ignorant bliss with my two best friends. But there’s a hard tap on the door, and a moment later, the technician is sweeping into the room with the guys right on her heels.

“Everything okay in here?” she asks, lowering the lights.

I take a step back, needing a little air. “We’re good.” Still, when Killian grabs my shoulder, giving me a firm, supportive shake, I let him take a little bit of the weight.

The technician circles the exam table and takes her place on the stool, giving Story an encouraging grin. “Just lift up your shirt when you’re ready.”

Story grabs the hem of her sweater and reveals her belly, shimmying her waistband low. Even though there’s no bump yet, it’s clearly not as flat as it once was, a soft roundness beginning to appear below her bellybutton. Rath takes one of her hands and Killian the other, but I pace at the end of the bed, unable to stand still.

I watch as the technician puts on her gloves and pours a heaping glob of gel on the highest point of Story’s stomach. I glance down as she places the wand in the gel, spreading it around, but the sound of the sonogram, the wishy-washy amplification draws my attention.

Freezing, I ask, “Is that…?” and the technician sends me a grin.

“The heartbeat,” she confirms, adjusting the wand. I wish I had something a little more sentimental or glamorous to compare it to, but the truth is, the rhythm and sound is almost exactly like our washing machine back home—just with a little more echo.

Story tears her eyes away from the monitor to look at me, a gentle awe filling her gaze. “It sounds strong!”

Killian is similarly transfixed, leaning closer to the image on the screen. “I think I see it.”

The technician hums. “Actually, that’s her pancreas. But if we move over a few inches…” The wand presses into her belly, making an indent. “Ah, there it is…” Our gazes all lurch to the screen, but try as I might, I can’t make out anything. The technician does us the favor of pointing out, “Right here, see? That’s the head.”

It takes me a minute to make it out—everything looks so fuzzy and undefined—but when I finally spot it, I nudge in beside Rath and gawk at the image. “There’s only one?”

Story’s hand finds mine, and we knit our fingers together. “Twins run in Tristian’s family,” she explains.

The tech flashes me a look, nodding. “Well, let’s see. Here’s the womb. Here’s the fetus. And…I don’t see another embryo.” She flashes me a gentle grin. “Looks like just one baby for you.”

My shoulders sink in relief.

In a quiet, deep voice, Rath asks, “Is it okay? Is it growing like it’s supposed to?”

The technician hits some buttons, and the screen freezes, like maybe she’s taking still images. “At this stage of development, your baby is beginning to sense light and form taste buds,” she explains, the little blob on the screen coming in and out of focus. “From what I can see here, I’d say everything looks perfectly normal so far.” She raises an eyebrow at Story. “I’m pretty sure I even see the sex.” Looking between the four of us, she asks, “Do you want to know, or would you rather be surprised?”

We haven’t talked about this yet, and my back goes rigid at the possibilities. Rath and Killer look equally as paralyzed at the choice.

Story is the one to snort, saying, “I think we’ve had enough surprises for a lifetime. Go ahead and tell us, doc.”

The technician laughs, nodding. “Then allow me to introduce you all to,” she tilts to monitor, showcasing our little lemon, “your healthy baby girl.”

“Just sneak me in through the back,” Killian says, reaching for the door handle.

I grab his arm, stopping him—not that it’s a difficult thing to do. He’s cradling his ribs like he’s personally holding them together. “Oh, hell no. I’m not lying to the mother of our child because you’re too much of a pussy to take the heat on this.”

He falls back against the seat, sending me an exhausted glare. It’s accentuated by the blood running down his temple and the split in his lip. “She’s going to freak out.”

“Yes, she is.” I undo my seatbelt and step out of the car, walking around the front to get to Killer’s side. The look he gives me when I wrench his door open says magnitudes already. “The longer you stall, the more she’s going to worry.” I point up to the house, lights glowing through the windows. “She’s been waiting up all night.”

Rath’s up there with her, which is… something. But it’s just after midnight and neither Killer nor I came home this evening, all tangled up in a little misunderstanding with a few of Lionel’s boys that ended with some gunfire, so yeah.

She’s going to freak out.

“Come on.” I haul him out of the passenger seat, largely ignoring the pained grunt he makes as he lets me take his weight. Then it’s my turn to make a pained grunt, because I came out of that scuffle a lot less bloody and battered, but Killer weighs roughly the size of a tractor trailer.

Rath meets us at the door, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a hard glower. “Those motherfuckers,” he growls, springing forward to catch Killian’s other side. “Please tell me someone died for this,” he says, voice strained as we lumber over the threshold.

“One,” Killer answers, hissing as we lower him to the ottoman. He wrestles with his jacket, saying, “Help me get this off before she—”

But Story is already there, watching us from the entryway. She looks soft and delicate, her hair pulled up into a messy knot. She’s wearing a simple pair of panties and a tight tank top, and I know it wasn’t intentional—this is how she dresses comfortably—but she looks like an erotic slumber party caricature.

Her hand flutters over her mouth. “Oh, my god…”

“This isn’t my blood,” he rushes out, struggling to pull the sleeve off. “Some is, but not… uh, most. It’s not as bad as it looks.” He shoots me a hard look, jerking his chin.

I give it to her straight. “He’s got a cut on his scalp from a bullet graze, and his ribs are probably bruised. Other than the split lip and the crooked nose, he’s good as new.” I give him a firm pat on the back.

“Nothing happened to my nose,” he argues, yanking his jacket from my grip.

“Oh.” I shrug, trying to keep my voice light. “It’s just like that, then.”

He holds up his hands, as if Story is some wild animal. “I’ve already been stitched and had x-rays. That’s what took me so long. I’m fine.”

Despite those assurances, her lip is still wobbling even as she does her best to put on a brave face. “Dimitri, could you bring me some towels and some warm water?” To me, she says, “Pull out the big bed?”

It’s not often we sleep downstairs, but sometimes we’ll do a movie marathon, or get too drunk to bother with the stairs, and we’ll pull out the big bed. It’s a mattress that rolls away into the bookcase, and I immediately begin hunting down a set of sheets for it. I get a crystal clear memory of that night at the cabin—Christ, Killer was shot then, too—as we all rushed about and tried to come down off the adrenaline high of almost dying. Much like then, my dick is hard and my head is pounding, and the only thing I want to do is crawl into bed and press up against something naked and wet.

When I return, she has his shirt off, fingertips skating over his left side. They hover over the old gunshot wound, the one he got from Ugly Nick, and then across to the letter brand on his chest. The tattoos and scars and self-inflicted damage tell a story—his story, our story—and I remember that not so long ago, we were all at odds. Now we’re a family.

Rath walks into the room, already dressed again and shrugging on his leather jacket. The handle of his pistol hangs out of the waistband of his jeans. “I’m heading out to go make sure everything is under control.”

“Alone?” Story asks, eyes wide.

“No. One of the boys is picking me up.” His phone vibrates. “That should be him.”

“Be careful,” she pleads, hauling him in by the lapel of his jacket.

“I will.” He bends and kisses her cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He nods at me and Killian before heading out the back door. Story refocuses on her brother, eyeing the stitches.

“I’m fine,” he tells her, taking her hand and weaving their fingers together.

“Someone shot at you,” she says. She lowers their entwined hands to her belly. “I know this is your job. I understand the risks, but you have soldiers for a reason, Killian.”

Her eyes flick over to me and I see the accusation there. I shouldn’t have let this happen. She’s right. “Sweetheart, you know how it is. Everyone’s measuring dicks and they’re jealous that Killian’s is so big.” I give her a wink. “As you’re aware.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Seems to me it’s time for a regime change with the Counts. Lionel Lucia has been a problem for too long.”

“Working on it, babe,” Killian says, cupping her cheek. He leans in and brushes his lips over hers tentatively, like he’s assessing exactly how mad she is. When her lips part, his tongue sweeps in, claiming her fully.

His hand dips between her legs, rubbing the crotch of her panties. Looks like I’m not the only one with an adrenaline boner. He groans against her mouth. “You’re still damp. Rath fucked you good?”

“So good,” she says, hips rocking against him. Her nipples tighten, peaking beneath the thin tank, and I abandon the sheets to get me a piece of the action.

My palm presses into the middle of her back, sweeping down as I duck in to whisper into her ear. “You and the baby too tired for another round?”

She tilts her head for my mouth, arching her back into Killer. “Nope. Wide awake.”

Killian frowns at that, but it’s not enough to stop him. We’re both too pumped up on the action. The fight to survive, the need to fuck. It’s all connected in some fundamental lizard-brain way. He cups her tits, massaging them gently, and she lets out this soft little moan. “Keep that up and I’ll come right here.”

I never knew I was a tit guy until she got pregnant. Now I can’t get enough of them. None of us can. They’re sensitive as fuck, and sometimes, when she just needs to get off, a little sucking and pinching is all it takes to make her come.

“No shame in that,” Killian says, taking one into his mouth. He sucks and laves until she pushes him off.

“Not tonight.” She looks between us. “I want to feel you inside.”

I sweep aside the strands of hair on her neck and plant a kiss on the warm skin. “Big bed?” I prompt, wanting her splayed out in front of me.

Killian stands and lifts her with him, muscles rippling under his ink with the last of his energy. Shirts, shoes, pants are discarded from one room to the other, until we’re at the end of the bed with Story sandwiched between us. Killian pushes at the hem of her shirt while I lower her panties, cupping her ass in my palms. “How do you want it?” I ask her, because god, at this point, we’ve come inside her a million different ways. On a night like tonight, she may need something comforting or something raw. Whatever she wants is what she’ll get.

Killian’s fingers tug and toy with the nipple of her swollen tit as he strokes himself, waiting like a dog who’s been promised a treat.

She looks over her shoulder at me. “I want to taste your cock,” she says, licking against my lips. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

“Yes, mama.” I thumb her bottom lip, balls clenching at the easy way she takes me in. “I won’t be gentle. Promise.”

She grins at the name, then looks back at Killian. “And I want you buried inside.” She grabs his cock and rubs it between her ass cheeks. “Deep.”

Killian’s eyes glaze, but he snaps out of it. “Are you sure. Can that hurt the baby?”

Her expression melts. “I keep telling you. The baby is fine. Protected inside by fluids and cushion. At most, she’ll feel like she’s getting a little massage.”

I help her on the bed and Killian gets behind her, both on their knees. I stand by the edge, working my cock, getting it nice and hard. I cup her tit in my hand while guiding the tip of my cock to her lips. Killian positions himself behind her, doggy style, slotting his cock between her legs. She hums from the sensation, and opens her pink, puffy lips, tongue darting out to taste me. I grab the back of her neck and say, “That’s right. Taste how much I want you.”

My days as sex referee are mostly over, but I do give Killian a nod to let him know she’s ready. He’s been the most hesitant about sex since she got pregnant—worried about the size of his cock or being too rough. Now, I’m more like an OBGYN, telling him it’s okay to rail his little sister even with a bun in her oven. “Fuck her, daddy,” I tell him. “Give mama exactly what she needs.”

These two have always gotten off the hot and taboo of their relationship. Fuck, I get off on it, too, but our roles are changing rapidly. One mama and three devoted daddies. Killian’s hips draw back and then plunge inside. The action forces her forward, and she takes me in, her hot mouth surrounding my shaft. I swallow hard and rock into her, grabbing the base of my shaft and fingering my balls.

“Can you feel Rath in there?” I ask him, knowing it turns him on.

“God, yes,” his neck strains as he pauses, stretching her around his cock. He’s holding back.

Story looks up at me with wide eyes, her mouth full of me and I ask, “You want him deeper don’t you, mama?”

She nods, a muffled, “… yes,” around my cock.

“Give her what she wants, daddy.”

The battle visibly wages within him. The urge to pound into her fighting with the need to treat her as delicately as he believes she needs. Story releases me, a long sticky string of spit connecting us, and looks over her shoulder. “Killian, I can take it. Fuck me. Please, big brother?”

The begging always gets to him, but it’s the endearment that flips the switch in his eyes. He clenches her hip with one hand, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. His other hand vanishes between her legs and she moans. “Always so goddamn wet,” he says, leaning over and kissing her side of her neck.

He rears back with powerful force, pulling almost all the way out, and then plunges back in. She yelps, then gives me a twisted, thankful grin, and unhinges her jaw. I guide myself back in and fall into rhythm, mesmerized by the three of us together. It’s a goddamn beautiful sight that makes my balls clench and my cock swell. There is nothing in this universe better than watching my woman get fucked. Nothing.

Once I’m close, I reach out to lay a hand on Story’s back. Killian’s hand falls on top of it, fingers twining with mine. The action draws us closer, all three of us, and my balls tighten and twitch, caught up in the heat and movement. How did I get so lucky to be a part of something so intense?

Story cries out around my cock, her nose wrinkling as her breath comes out in short, choked bursts. I still for a moment to let her breathe, but I reach for her tits, massaging them between my hands, drawing her closer and closer to pleasure. She cries out again, hips bucking against Killian’s hand until she groans in a mixture of pain and pleasure, latching back onto my cock and lazily sucking through her orgasm.

Killian grabs onto her hips, her muscles now loose, and lifts her back onto his cock. Any worries of needing to be gentle go right out the window. He fucks into her hard, hips pounding erratically as he buries himself deep inside, cock pressed to the hilt. My eyes slide down his body, over the tattoos, to the tight muscles that anchor him to her backside. When these two fuck, it’s always a sort of art. She moans against my dick, breath hot and slippery.

“Can you take both of us?” I ask her, forcing her eyes up. They’re glazed from her orgasm, but she knows what I mean. Not our cocks. That, she’s already handling. I mean our cum. Our Lady loves cum and doesn’t want to miss a drop.

She nods, her mouth too full of me to verbalize it, and I squeeze Killian’s hand. “Fill her up,” I tell him, painfully holding my load until the right moment. I sense the roar before it rips through his throat, a rumble deep in his chest as his orgasm begins. I grab the base of my cock and the back of her neck and say, “Hold on, mama.” Giving her a warning.

The cum shoots through us and I’m lost in the sensation, barely aware of Killian other than his loud groans as he pumps into Story. Slick heat rushes through me, starting at my balls and pulsing through my length. Story flattens her tongue to catch it all, letting it accumulate where I can see it. “Good girl,” I tell her and she swallows it down, throat bobbing with the motion. When she’s done—when she’s drained us dry and taken every drop we have to give—I lean down to kiss her, pushing my tongue in her mouth to steal a taste of my own bitterness. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “And you, too, big brother.” Smirking, she breathlessly adds, “Daddy.”

He gives an exhausted laugh, but when he hunches over her to push a kiss to her temple, his voice is nothing but serious. “Always.”

None of us are going to sleep well until Rath is home, safe and whole. But we collapse onto the mattress anyway, naked and slick with sweat and old blood. Killian runs a finger up her inner thigh to push his cum back into her, and I know instinctively that he’ll go again. After she’s limp and sleeping, warm in my arms, he’ll rock back inside of her as I watch. Rath will come in and take her again, hard and fast, until they’re both too fucked out to do anything but lose consciousness. And then tomorrow, we’ll wake up and do it all over again.

A lot has changed between these past few years.

But the way we love never will.