When Kings Fall (The O’Sullivan’s Brides #3)

CHAPTER FIVESelene

CHAPTER FIVE

Selene

I SIT AT the kitchen table, staring down at the word puzzle in front of me. Diarmuid had gone overboard, ordering stacks of them as if I’d burn through each one in a day. It’s silly really, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. He knows I like them, knows how they keep my mind from spiraling. My wrists still ache, a dull throb that pulses up my arms, but I ignore it, focusing instead on the warmth of the kitchen around me. The scent of freshly baked buns fills the air, mingling with the richness of melted chocolate.

Across the room, Niamh moves quietly, methodically, not saying a word since she got home. She’s always like this when she’s stressed—either baking or swimming. It’s her way of coping, of shutting everything else out. I glance over just as she dips the spoon into the melted chocolate and licks it clean, her face expressionless, her movements almost mechanical.

The door swings open, and I feel the familiar energy before I even look up. Diarmuid. His presence fills the room in that effortless way of his, commanding attention without trying. Niamh doesn’t react, still too absorbed in whatever storm is swirling inside her.

Diarmuid’s eyes land on her, and I see it—the shift in his gaze. It’s subtle, the way his focus sharpens, like a predator locking onto its prey. He moves toward her with a slow, deliberate grace, the kind that makes my heart race even though I’m not the one in his sights.

Niamh is still licking the spoon when a drop of chocolate lands on her chin. I see it, and so does he. Without a word, Diarmuid closes the distance between them. His hand lifts, thumb brushing against her chin with the lightest of touches, wiping away the smear of chocolate. His eyes never leave hers, and for a moment, the air in the kitchen thickens. I hold my breath, watching, waiting. I can’t see Diarmuid’s gaze, but the way he sucks his thumb and all the chocolate off it tells me he is aroused by Niamh, and that makes something primal erupt in me, almost competitive.

I’m standing before I know what I’m doing, walking toward them as Diarmuid brushes a kiss across Niamh’s lips. He groans with pure pleasure, and I squeeze my thighs together, pressing down on the yearning that is growing rapidly with each passing second. I slide next to Diarmuid as he places his hands on Niamh, running them roughly up her sides and across her breasts; she throws her head back and moans.

Without looking, Diarmuid reaches for me, and I’m pulled in beside him as he continues caressing Niamh; his mouth finds mine, and I taste the sweet chocolate off his tongue. He releases Niamh, and I’m airborne. Placing me on the large counter, Diarmuid smiles up at me, but it’s more of a snarl. I’m waiting for his mouth to find mine again, but he does the same with Niamh and places her on the counter.

“Now I have you both.” He declares, placing a hand on each of our faces before he leans in and presses his lips to mine. His teeth graze my lip, and I grip his shoulders, pulling him closer; a hand slides along my thigh; I know it’s Niamh’s without looking at it. She runs her hand higher until she touches my throbbing core. I’m hungry for them; I’m yearning for more. I think of the men stationed around the house as I groan, but the thought grows distant as Diarmuid sinks his tongue deep into my mouth, and Niamh pushes the palm of her hand against my core.

Diarmuid’s warm mouth leaves mine, and the loss has me reaching for him, but I watch as he hungrily devours Niamh’s lips. His hands push her dress up past her mid-section; if she’s afraid of anyone seeing, she doesn’t show it as she allows him to expose her small underwear. Her hand continues to grind against my core as Diarmuid trails kisses down her neck until he’s buried between her legs. She gasps as he hunkers over her; her palm digs heavier into me, almost painful, but I want this.

When Diarmuid raises his head, the want has darkened his eyes. He lifts me down first and kisses me, pushing his hard erection against my stomach. I slam my body against his, grinding, needing him inside me, but just as I’m ready to reach for his trousers, he shits, breaking the kiss, and lifts Niamh off the counter also. He kisses her before his hand slips into mine, and he leads us toward the stairs. The thought of having to make it the whole way to the bedroom has me yanking on his arm, and he turns, his own want overtaking him, and I’m pressed against the wall. His kisses are rough and deep.

My hand slides down, and I feel the full extent of his excitement. More hands join mine as Niamh gets his trousers unbuttoned, and my blood roars to life as I get my hand inside his pants; there is nothing dividing me from his meaty flesh. Niamh pulls down his trousers quickly, and I sense her moving to her knees. Her mouth touches my hand, her tongue flicking out, and I release his cock so she can take him in her mouth.

Diarmuid moans loudly, and his large hands grip the bottom of my top that’s yanked over my head and discarded on the ground. His mouth moves to my chest, pulling down the cups of my bra; he sucks in a nipple, and I hiss as his teeth graze the swollen bud. He groans into my mouth, and the sound of Niamh sucking his cock has me wanting to join her, to taste Diarmuid’s large shaft in my mouth. Diarmuid rubs my other breast, his palm brushing against the sensitive, hard nipple, and I cry out. When Diarmuid releases my breasts, his hands sink into Niamh’s hair, and with a small amount of force, he lifts her head. She smiles up at him. I want to replace Niamh, but Diarmuid seems to have other ideas. He kicks off his shoes and discards his trousers and boxers, leading us into one of the living rooms. It’s quicker than going upstairs. He kicks the door closed behind him, and I zero in on his cock that glistens with Niamh’s saliva. He doesn’t stop me as I kneel down and take him in my mouth. I gag as I try to take all of his cock in my throat. I suck and lick until I can’t take anymore. As I rise, Diarmuid pulls Niamh against his body and kisses her wildly. I watch them kiss and see the movements of his hands along her side until one hand disappears under her dress. Niamh cries out, and I take off my trousers, wishing I had worn a dress today for easy access. I’m standing in a white thong when I approach Diarmuid. His eyes are on me, my hand presses against his chest, and I push him until he releases Niamh and lies down on the couch behind him that I’m guiding him to. I climb up on him, not giving him a moment, and take his cock in my hand before placing it at my opening. My wetness drips onto his cock, and it slides in easily with no effort, filling me. I cry out the moment I am fully seated on him and start riding him hard. His hands grip my hips, guiding me.

Niamh is straddled over his face, and Diarmuid’s face disappears as she grinds herself into him. I can’t stop the smile as Niamh and I look at each other; it's our way of celebrating. This is the first time that the three of us have been physically together since Niamh’s trip into the river.

I close my eyes as I rise and fall on Diarmuid’s cock, each stroke bringing me closer to the release I seek. Niamh’s frantic movements match mine, and she cries out first, coming on Diarmuid’s face. The smell of sex, the sounds of our pleasure, has me moving faster and harder. Diarmuid’s groans are rising, too, as I continue to move up and down until my thighs ache, demanding I stop, but I don’t, not until I reach that final high and the world shatters as Diarmuid cries out, too, flooding me with his cum. My hands slam down on his chest as I try to control my own orgasm, that’s almost too powerful, but as I slowly come back down, Diarmuid is looking at me. Niamh is sitting close to his head, and when he smiles at me, I can’t stop the laugh before I collapse on his chest.

All of the recent danger and threats of separation had made us ache for each other.

With Wolfe finally being gone and gone for good, there is hope that things will calm down. That we can take the opportunity to explore what life could be like if this arrangement were permanent.

Well, not this exact arrangement. In the history of the Hands of Kings, no King had ever chosen two Consorts. I can’t look at Niamh right now as I lie on Diarmuid’s chest with a well of guilt at imagining her not here.

I’m slipping into a light dress when I hear the bathroom door creak open. Diarmuid steps out, still slightly damp from his shower, his fingers deftly buttoning the cuffs of his crisp white shirt. I watch him for a moment, taking in the sight of him so composed, so powerful, yet there's something unspoken in the air between us.

“How long?” I finally ask, trying to keep my voice steady, though the words feel heavier than I intend.

“It could be hours,” he replies without missing a beat, his eyes briefly meeting mine as he continues to fasten his cufflinks. “It could be all day.”

“Oh.” The single word escapes my lips, almost inaudible, but it says everything I can’t—everything I won’t. My heart sinks a little, though I try not to show it. Before I can retreat into my thoughts, Diarmuid crosses the room in a few long strides and pulls me against him. His kiss is firm, reassuring, as if he’s trying to transfer some of his strength to me.

“I promise I will make it up to you,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

I look up at him, searching his eyes for something more. “Is there anything I can do to make your day go faster?” I ask, half-hoping there’s a way to keep him here just a little longer.

He shakes his head, a small, regretful smile playing on his lips. “No chance. Victor wants the brothel rebuilt, and I need to meet with my brothers today.”

I stiffen slightly at the mention of Victor. “Does Victor know that you just sent every one of Wolfe’s workers out of the country?”

“Not yet,” Diarmuid replies, a dark edge to his tone. “But he will find out soon enough. He probably has someone watching the house in France.”

The implications of his words settle in, and I can’t help the worry that bubbles up inside me. “Then, should we be preparing for this? Are you going to be punished? What is the punishment for doing something like this?”

Diarmuid’s eyes flash with something I can’t quite read—determination, maybe, or defiance. Instead of answering, he grabs me again, his lips finding mine with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

“I am a King and a Don,” he says firmly when he pulls away, his voice steady, his gaze unyielding. “Victor will have to respect my decision.”

I want to believe him, to feel reassured by his confidence, but the lingering unease in my chest won’t quite dissipate. I nod, forcing a smile, and watch as he departs, his presence already feeling too far away.

I follow him to the balcony that overlooks the grand foyer, my hands gripping the railing as I watch him disappear through the front door. The house feels too big, too empty without him. I stay there, staring down at the empty space, my thoughts swirling, until I hear the soft padding of footsteps on the stairs.

Niamh appears at the bottom, her hair damp and tousled, a towel slung over her shoulders as she climbs.

Niamh’s footsteps grow closer, and when she reaches the top of the stairs, she looks up at me with concern etched in her features. “Is everything alright?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.

It’s typical of Niamh to check in with me, even when I know she has enough on her own plate to worry about. Her situation is precarious, to say the least. If she doesn’t succeed in this trial, her sister will face the same grim fate. I’ve noticed how, when she thinks no one’s looking, her brow furrows, and her eyes carry a weight that speaks of silent suffering.

A pang of guilt tugs at me. I never expected to be this emotionally involved, to care so much about what happens here. But finding out that my parents had created me for the sole purpose of selling me off to a cult… it shatters something inside. It’s hard to value your life when you realize it was just a transaction. That lack of regard has led me to take risks, risks that drive Diarmuid to the brink of frustration.

Yet, the more time I spend with him, the more I find myself wanting to be the one he chooses. Not just out of convenience or strategy but because he sees something in me beyond my past, beyond what I was made for. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

And then there’s Niamh. No one expects me to succeed—my parents certainly didn’t care—but Niamh… she could lose the only person she truly loves if this goes wrong. The thought of it twists my stomach with guilt. How is it fair that she bears so much, while I’m here trying to make sense of my own chaotic existence?

I open my mouth to respond, to offer some reassurance, but before I can say a word, we’re interrupted by one of the servants who appears at the base of the stairs.

“Excuse me, miss, but there are things that we need to discuss,” the servant says, their tone deferential but insistent.

I glance back at Niamh, who gives me a small nod, understanding in her eyes. I know what the day ahead holds—more than just a simple discussion. My mind shifts gears, mentally preparing for the tasks that await. Finalizing the menu for the kitchen, assessing the new groundsmen to decide if they’re competent enough to keep their contract, selecting dates for the upcoming holiday festivities as Christmas looms on the horizon, reviewing the plans for the grand New Year’s blowout for the Hands of Kings. It’s all part of the domestic decision-making that will become routine if I am to truly step into the role of Consort.

The hours pass in a blur of decisions and logistics, the weight of responsibility pressing on my shoulders. By the time I finally make it back to the master bedroom, exhaustion clings to me like a heavy cloak. All I want is to collapse into the soft sheets and forget the world for a while.

But when I step inside, I find Niamh already in bed, the lamp casting a warm glow over her. Documents are spread across her lap, her eyes scanning the pages with that familiar intensity.

“If you have a minute—” Niamh begins, her voice breaking the silence.

As I sit beside Niamh, the exhaustion weighing down on me, I can’t help but let out a groan. “Please, no. No more. I don’t care about what color tablecloth we use,” I say, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and fatigue. The thought of discussing another detail about the upcoming events feels like a mountain I just can’t climb right now.

Niamh looks up from the documents, her expression softening with a hint of understanding. “It’s nothing like that,” she replies, her tone gentle yet serious. She lowers the papers in her lap, revealing a photo that immediately catches my attention. My eyes zero in on the circled figure in the crowd—Michael—at an event that Sofia Hughes attended.

A shiver runs through me as the reality of what we’re doing crashes back in. Sofia Hughes, the woman whose corpse was found on top of Andrew O’Sullivan’s grave. The mystery that’s been haunting us, driving us, ever since we discovered her existence. We’d sworn to find justice for her, and now… now there might be a chance.

“With all of these special get-togethers happening in the next few weeks, this may be our opportunity to really get to the bottom of this,” Niamh says, her voice filled with a quiet determination that pulls me back into focus.

I can’t believe I let myself get distracted by the minutiae of social events and domestic duties. We made a promise, and I won’t let Sofia’s memory fade into the background of this chaotic world. I look at Niamh, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. “Did you find anything else out?” I ask, my heart beating a little faster as I brace for whatever she’s uncovered.

Niamh shakes her head slightly, her expression tinged with frustration. “Just the same. She was probably a Bride, and someone in the Hands of Kings had something to do with her going missing.”

The implications hang heavy in the air between us. Sofia wasn’t just a random victim—she was tied to this world, to the same people we’re surrounded by. The thought sends a chill down my spine. “What do you think we should do?” I ask, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.

Niamh’s eyes meet mine, her resolve clear. “Find out who that person was.”

Her words ignite a fire in me. We’re not just playing at being investigators anymore—this is real, and it’s dangerous, but we have to see it through. For Sofia, for justice, for everything that’s been taken from us and twisted beyond recognition.

I nod, feeling the determination harden within me. “We will,” I say, my voice firm. “We’ll find out who did this.”