Keir arched, pushing his cock deeper into Christophe’s mouth. He was so close, and Christophe’s fingers sliding in nearly sent him over the edge. He cried out a warning, his tail whipping out to curl around Christophe’s neck, keeping him near.

The heavy wooden door to Keir’s suite slammed shut and Keir’s eyes slammed open. The guards. Rachel, Sylvain, Artur. They were watching, but Keir couldn’t stop. He fucked Christophe’s mouth until he came, then fell back, gasping for breath.

“What?” he demanded unsteadily, fighting down a blush and trying not to squirm or grab for a sheet to cover himself. The guards never should’ve rushed into his private suite like that, not without permission. He wasn’t the one in the wrong, and acting ashamed would only make things worse with Artur, who was glowering at him over Rachel’s head.

“We… we heard you yell,” Sylvain stammered. He was speaking to Keir, but his eyes were on Christophe.

Christophe’s face was buried between Keir’s legs; he was hiding. It probably looked far more erotic, though, given that he and Keir were both naked, and Christophe’s hard dick hung low as he knelt between Keir’s legs.

Keir wasn’t sure who was more embarrassed at the tableau: himself, Christophe, or the guards.

“It’s not what you think,” Keir promised, slipping up behind Christophe and pressing himself to Christophe’s back, between the massive wings that split it in two. “I didn’t touch him.”

“He’s in our bed,” Christophe protested.

“He is,” Keir agreed. Sylvain was spread-eagled on their bed, face-down and naked, his golden skin gleaming in the candlelight. Christophe tried to pull away, but Keir wouldn’t let go, arms and tail all holding on tightly. “He’s for you. I’ve seen you watching him. It’s your Naming Day; he’s your gift.”

“You seduced him?” Christophe asked incredulously. “You used your magic to bring him here for me?”

Keir shook his head, flicking his tongue over the back of Christophe’s neck. “I didn’t have to. He wanted to be here. He wants you.”

Once, he’d been so ashamed of his own proclivities that he’d never noticed how common it was. Now, he understood. There were many angels and demons in the Realm who felt the way he did. Though Keir couldn’t be heir to his mother’s throne without siring a child, he was content to be prince once again and second to his brother’s role as Heir. It meant he could stay here, with Christophe.

“Me?”

“You,” Keir assured him, rocking his own hips against Christophe’s ass, reminding him that Sylvain wasn’t the only one who wanted him. “And he’s right over there, waiting for you. He wants to feel you touch him, fuck him…”

Christophe made a helpless, wanting little noise, and Keir knew he’d won. Christophe deserved something beautiful for his Naming Day gift, and Sylvain was the perfect choice. He wanted Christophe nearly as much as Keir did.

When Christophe pulled away this time, Keir let him go, and followed him over to the bed. It dipped when Christophe sat down next to Sylvain, but Sylvain didn’t stir. He didn’t move at all until Christophe’s hand slid down his back, from his neck to his ass, and then his wings fluttered as he moaned. Sylvain’s wings were darker than Christophe’s, and tinted with the gold of his skin. They were just as striking, just as beautiful as the rest of him.

“Please,” Sylvain whispered, turning his head so that he could see Christophe. So Christophe could see him. Keir could see him, too, could see the pure need on his face. “Please touch me.”

Christophe made that same little sound of desire and leaned forward, pressing his lips to the corner of Sylvain’s mouth. His mouth kept moving from there, over Sylvain’s shoulders and down the slim line of bare skin between his wings. He nuzzled at the dip just before Sylvain’s ass, then moved further down, licking and kissing all the way. Sylvain moaned, spreading his legs further to let Christophe have him.

Keir moaned, too, watching them from his spot against the wall beside the bed. He slipped his hand down to wrap around his cock, stroking lightly. Watching Christophe like this was such a thrill. Usually, he was too involved in whatever Christophe was doing to him to be able to see how incredibly sexy Christophe was while he was doing it.

Christophe looked up at him. “Come play,” he whispered, his eyes dark with need. Tonight, apparently, would be no exception.

“The love story is definitely sweet and touching. I was rooting for both of them from page one.”
– Samantha, Two Lips Reviews (read the review here.)

“These two will burn you up when they come together and entertain you while they dance around each other before coming together.”
– Sabella, Joyfully Reviewed (read the review here.)

“I sure hope I get the chance to read more by Dianne Fox because I feel she is an up and coming great in the publishing world.”
– Nicole Harvey, ParaNormalRomance.org (read the review here.)

He was supposed to be reading the newspaper, but really he was just skimming the headlines. Another politician making a fool of himself, another war half the world away that everyone was talking about but no one would do anything to stop, it was always the same.

He wasn’t sure why he bothered to buy the damn thing anymore. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought the human world would be different. He wondered the same thing every day, but he was there like clockwork, every morning at ten, picking up a newspaper and a coffee, chatting with the barista and the cashier.

The barista was a pretty girl half his age, with long, copper-red hair that reminded him of home. The cashier was older, maybe even older than Keir, with a sly smile and knowing eyes. The cashier watched Keir when he thought Keir wasn’t looking, but Keir was always looking enough to notice that kind of attention.

The cashier wasn’t the only one who paid him attention, either. He could feel the eyes on him. All the men who trickled in and out of the coffee shop looked at him like that at one time or another. It wasn’t their fault; they couldn’t help themselves. He didn’t mean to do it, though. It was just spillover. Being an incubus had its disadvantages.

There were more eyes on him when a tall redhead walked in. The man looked at Keir immediately, as though he didn’t see anyone else in the room. Maybe he didn’t. He headed straight for Keir’s table, not even bothering to stop at the counter for a drink.

Keir didn’t look up, but he could see past his newspaper that the man’s shoulders were oddly shaped beneath the ill-fitting trench coat. When the redhead sat down at his table, uninvited, Keir finally looked up. The redhead’s eyes were a familiar deep, dark blue.

“Your mother calls.”

Keir was silent for a long moment, trying to control his shock. To mask it, he flicked his newspaper over, so he could see the man in front of him.

“Christophe?” Christophe had been a child the last time Keir had seen him, barely fifteen years old: a scrawny red-haired boy with wings too big for his body. Wings he was hiding now, under that coat.

“Your mother calls, Keir. It’s time to come home.” Christophe used to follow him around like an adoring shadow. He didn’t seem adoring now, just distant. Maybe angry.

“What does she want?” Keir asked. He hadn’t seen or heard from his mother in four years. “I’m outcast, now.”

“You did that to yourself,” Christophe reminded him. “I don’t know why she’s calling you home, only that she is. I do not question my queen.”

I do not question my queen. It was the answer of a royal guardsman, who’d sworn his life to serve the family. “You’ve grown up, Christophe.”

Christophe gave Keir an unfriendly look. “Have you?”