On the fifth day after the conclave attack, Tristan was moved to a private suite on the top floor of the hospital. He was recovering well enough that he no longer needed a traditional hospital room.

The private suite was exactly that—a suite, with a bedroom, sitting room, and spacious bathroom. The medical equipment was all hidden in dark wood cabinets, and the floor was carpet instead of tile.

James had stayed with Tristan last night, and the big man was now lying on the couch in the small living room area, his calves propped on the arm, his body too long for the tiny piece of furniture. His eyes were closed and his breathing already even and slow in sleep.

“This is a hospital room?” Tristan asked, once the team of nurses had settled him in the double-size adjustable bed.

Sophia partially closed the French-style doors that separated the bedroom and living room. “One befitting the admiral.” She kept her voice soft.

She’d gone to the hotel last night to shower and to rest. It was late afternoon now, and she was feeling the effects of only a few hours of sleep. Her eyes felt gritty, and she wanted an espresso and a pastry. Craving carbs was a sure sign she was tired.

Sophia turned back to Tristan and found him watching her with a pinched, regretful expression. He had the beginnings of a golden-blond beard, and she wondered vaguely if she should help him shave.

“This is too much,” Tristan said quietly.

“What is too much?” There was a large, plush armchair facing the bed. She perched on the edge of the cushion, but it was deliciously soft and she scooted back, sinking into the seat and pulling her legs up.

“You two have been with me night and day since the attack.”

Sophia laid her head back. “We are your trinity.”

Tristan shifted the pillow under his right elbow. Whenever he got out of bed he had to wear a sling on that arm, but for now he was unfettered.

She would never say it out loud, but she still sometimes found herself staring at his right arm, trying to figure out what was wrong. Until she remembered. It was as if her mind was having trouble processing the missing limb. How long would it take for her to stop wondering where the rest of his arm was?

And if that is how she felt, how must he feel?

“We barely know one another.” Tristan turned to stare at the window. She’d left the gauzy inner curtains drawn, so the cool white light of a London afternoon was muted, giving the room a soft glow. “I can’t see how we’ll ever be…”

Sophia’s nails dug into her palms.

He was injured. He was hurting. She needed to be kind and understanding. But she was tired.

And scared.

Five days had passed and they hadn’t yet found the shooter. The admirals had all returned home a few days ago, and now most of the territories had pulled back their personnel. The more days that passed without the shooter being found, the less willing the security officers and knights were to stay in London, away from their homes and the territories and admirals they were sworn to protect.

Her father had sent a decoy home to Rome, so he and Antonio could remain behind. Her father was going back and forth between Man and England, working with the Spartan Guard and Lorelei, the vice admiral of England. Sophia harbored a secret fear that her father was orchestrating a takeover of England. She’d mentioned this to her brother, who had insisted that their father wouldn’t do that. That hadn’t comforted Sophia, but she’d felt better when Antonio wryly added that the vice admiral would be a formidable adversary and had seemed to enjoy crossing verbal swords with their father.

Sophia hadn’t been impressed by the vice admiral’s manner during their phone conversation, but if she could hold her own against the admiral of Rome, she had Sophia’s respect.

None of that changed the fact that an unknown gunman on a mission to kill the admirals of the Masters’ Admiralty was on the loose. There were only nine admirals, only nine possible targets for this man’s rage. She was the daughter of one and wife of another.

“Can’t see how we’ll be what?” She’d meant the question to be soft, but it came out hard, as if her fear had sharpened the words to daggers.

Tristan flinched and seemed to deflate. He didn’t answer and didn’t look at her.

Her fear, worry, and sadness were pressing against the inside of her skin, making her feel brittle and hot. She was too tired to hold the feelings in anymore. “Sei una testa di cazzo!”

Tristan whipped his head around to look at her. He might not know Italian, but she was betting “you’re a dickhead” didn’t require an exact translation. It should have been obvious from her tone.

His eyes seemed to glow like molten-hot gold, and with his short, ragged beard, he looked older and more imposing. “Sophia, don’t—” His teeth clamped together.

“Don’t what, Tristan? What?” She sprang out of the chair, her hands trembling with emotion.

His jaw clenched and there was fire in his eyes. He looked like the man she’d first met. Like the knight who had barked at her to stay behind him so he could guard and protect her. The man who’d kissed her ferociously, whose passion she had tasted.

“What were you going to say?” She wanted to grab him and shake him, but couldn’t, so she threw her hands in the air and shook her fist at him. “Can’t see how what?”

“I can’t see how our trinity will survive,” he growled. “For God’s sake, Sophia. Be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?”

Amputee or not, she was going to slap his stupid face.

She managed two steps before James grabbed her around the waist. “You can’t hit him.”

Tristan grimaced. “Of course not. Don’t hit the cripple.”

James let go of her. “Changed my mind. Smack him.”

Sophia leapt across the room and raised her hand, prepared to slap his cheek in the quick, sharp gesture Italian women had perfected throughout the millennia.

Tristan grabbed her right wrist with his left hand, stopping it an inch from his cheek.

Their gazes met, and she saw pain and fear in his eyes.

And then the thing she’d wanted, the thing she’d been waiting for—desire.

Sophia swooped down and kissed him, trying to devour him. For a second, he let it happen, then he fought for, and won, control of the kiss.

His tongue swept the inside of her mouth, dueling with hers. When she nipped his tongue, he pulled back and gently bit her bottom lip, sucking to draw the blood into her lip and make her even more sensitive to the kiss.

She was getting into the kiss, when Tristan suddenly turned his head to the side and grimaced in pain, hunching toward his right side.

She didn’t realize what had gone wrong until James pulled her back. “He tried to touch you with his right arm.”

Tristan’s words were low and thick with pain. “I forgot. For just a moment, I forgot.”

Sophia’s eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t fall. “I’m sorry. I forgot too.”

“You’ll heal.” James settled his hands on Sophia’s shoulders. “And you’ll get a prosthetic. The best one in the world. But none of that will solve our current problem.”

Tristan’s lips were still twisted in a grimace and he lay his head back, looking at them from under half-lowered lids. “And what is our current problem?” He snorted out a laugh. “Out of all our many problems.”

“The current problem is that until you heal, you can’t have sex. But we need to feel like a trinity, and the best way to do that is sex.”

Tristan shifted his gaze so he was staring at the ceiling. “That’s what I was trying to say. There’s a reason new trinities are sent away for a week. That’s their time to bond. We didn’t have that. We’ll never have that.”

“Tristan, enough.” James’s tone was harsh and angry. He was normally so jovial and enthusiastic that Sophia twisted to look over her shoulder at him.

Tristan’s gaze snapped back to him. “Pardon me?”

“You want to wallow? Fine. Hell, man, if anyone deserves to, you do. But you don’t get to push us away. Yes, we’re a brand-new trinity, and yes, we have a whole fuck-ton of shit to deal with.”

Fuck-ton. She liked that English expression. She’d have to remember it.

“But Sophia and I, we’re here. We’ve been here and will keep being here.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You didn’t have to. We’re your trinity. You’re ours. We’re yours. We have a lifetime to bond.”

Tristan’s eyes were luminous and gold. He blinked and a tear fell. His right arm flexed, starting to rise, as if he would use that hand to wipe away the tears. He grimaced again, carefully lowering his elbow and stub of a forearm onto the pillow at his side.

“We didn’t get a week to bond, but we’re here now. We have now.” James slid his hands down her arms, settling them on her hips. He grabbed the hem of her simple shirt and raised it a few inches.

Sophia sucked in a breath as cool air touched the skin around her waist.

Tristan blinked again, the luminous quality of his eyes shifting, changing until he looked at her with hot desire.

James bent his head, nuzzling Sophia’s ear. She tipped her face to the side. She didn’t close her eyes, but kept looking at Tristan. When his gaze locked with hers, she smiled and urged James’s hands higher, exposing more of her naked flesh.

“This is our wife.” James’s words rumbled against Sophia’s sensitive neck.

“Our wife,” Tristan repeated.

The king’s champion hauled her into the castle, casting her down before the throne. She thrust to her feet, whirling to pound on the champion’s chest with her fists. The champion’s eyes stared at her from the darkness of his helmet.

“You may have captured me, but you will not defeat me,” she snarled.

The champion pulled her against his chest, and she couldn’t resist looking at his lips. They’d shared a rather memorable kiss at the apex of the battle.

“Show her to me,” a deep voice bellowed.

The champion forced her to turn and face the throne.

The golden king sat high atop the throne, resplendent in his golden robe. He held a scepter in his left hand. The right arm of his robe was partially empty. So it was true, he had lost his arm, battling the king of the dragons.

“I found the leader of the rebels.” The champion put his hand between her shoulder blades and forced her forward.

The king braced the elbow of his damaged arm on his throne and leaned forward, looking down at her. She could feel the heat of that golden gaze and raised her chin, hoping he wouldn’t see the way she trembled.

The king looked to his champion and smiled. “Remove her clothes.”

“What is she doing?” Tristan asked.

“I don’t know, but her nipples are hard.” James’s voice was deep and dark, but she could hear that he was smiling.

Sophia licked her lips and opened her eyes. “I have an imagination. A, how do you say, vivid imagination.”

“What were you imagining?” Tristan asked.

“It’s…embarrassing.”

“Was I in it?” James’s hands crept higher, his fingers skimming the bottom of her bra.

“Yes.”

“Was I in it?” Tristan asked.

“Yes.”

James spread his fingers across her bare abdomen, her shirt held up by his hand. “Were we naked?”

“Not yet. We would have been.”

“What was your fantasy? Will you tell me?” Tristan looked at her from beneath his lashes.

She was able to imagine him when he was young—an angelic blond boy who could play the innocent when it suited him.

Would their child be blond like Tristan, or dark-haired like herself and James?

“You were king,” she whispered. “And James your soldier.”

“And who were you in this fantasy?”

“A rebel. Captured. Prisoner.” Even saying the words was making her hot—both with arousal and embarrassment. It would have been safer, easier, to lie or remain quiet, but that would be the coward’s choice, and she was no coward.

“You were our prisoner.” James’s fingers flexed on her stomach and a shiver worked its way over her skin.

“Tristan ordered you to undress me,” she breathed, speaking to James but looking at Tristan.

“Then what?” Tristan asked.

Sophia shrugged. “That’s all I had time for.”

James hummed and bent to kiss her neck again, but stopped a second before lips met skin.

Tristan was smiling, his gaze shifting between them, and she realized that James was waiting for Tristan.

“Kiss her neck,” Tristan ordered.

James’s lips settled on the spot just below her ear. She pushed up on her toes and dug her fingers into his forearms.

“Take off her shirt,” Tristan growled.

James hooked his hands in the hem of her shirt and started to yank it up. Sophia quickly raised her arms and the shirt slid off.

She was wearing a thin bra of silky blue fabric, and thankfully, a matching thong. The fabric was thin enough that her hard nipples were clearly visible, and she arched her back, hoping to entice James to touch them.

“Pants,” Tristan ordered.

Sophia helped by undoing the five-button fly of her jeans. James pushed them down to her ankles. She was still wearing her flats, and she kicked them off as she stepped out of the jeans.

Standing nearly naked before them, Sophia was acutely aware that though she’d known them ten days, this was not the first time she’d stood before them like this.

But this time she wasn’t in control. Tristan was.

“The bra. I want to see her breasts.”

Sophia reached behind her back to unclasp the bra.

“No,” Tristan snapped. “You don’t move until I tell you to.”

Heat and need poured through her body. She’d been aroused since Tristan kissed her, and as James hooked his fingers in her bra straps, pulling them off her shoulders, she nearly trembled with need.

James toyed with the edges of her bra, tracing patterns on her breasts and then stroking his way around her back, where he finally undid the clasp. The bra fell free and Sophia arched her back, her breasts heavy and aching.

“Look at our wife’s sweet tits.” James cupped and lifted her breasts as he stood behind her.

“What do you want, Sophia?” Tristan asked.

Her eyes had drifted closed when James touched her, but now she looked at Tristan. “I want you, both of you.”

Tristan shook his head. “No. Tell me specifically how and where you want to be touched.”

Sophia laid her hands on James’s, trying to guide his fingers, to show rather than tell what she wanted.

“Naughty,” Tristan growled. “I said tell me. James?”

James dropped his hands from her breasts, took a step to the side, and smacked her ass.

Sophia yelped, more in surprise than pain. A bit of heat lingered where his hand struck her bottom and that added another layer to her arousal.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” James squeezed her ass and she pressed back against him.

“Do it again,” Tristan said. “But this time I want to see.”

She caught a flash of white teeth as James grinned before spinning her around so her back was to Tristan. James braced his left foot on the side of the bed, then bent Sophia over his leg.

When James tugged her panties down so they tangled around her thighs, Sophia reached out to brace herself, one hand on the bed near James’s foot.

“It’s a beautiful ass.” James ran his palm across her bottom, and Sophia stood on her toes and spread her legs. She wanted his hand to slip down between her thighs and relieve the throbbing ache in her pussy.

“Spank her again,” Tristan demanded.

His tone was hard, merciless, like the golden king she’d likened him to.

James smacked her ass, hard enough to make her jump, but not hard enough. The sting was gone after a moment, and the heat lasted only a few seconds beyond that.

“Please, more,” she begged.

“Again,” Tristan ordered James.

Another spanking, another sweet flush of heat.

“We’re the luckiest fuckers on the planet,” James growled.

“I know I am.” Tristan sounded almost humble.

That wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him demanding and rough. Sophia slid off James’s leg and turned to face Tristan. She wiggled out of her panties and kicked them away.

“What do you want to see?” she asked. “What do you want to watch our husband do to me?” She ran her hands down her sides, over her hips. Bending a bit, she skimmed her fingers over her knees then drew her hands up the insides of her thighs, forcing his gaze to her sex.

Tristan’s eyes were hot, and James was crowding into her, close enough she could feel the heat of his body. But he wasn’t touching her.

“Play with her nipples. Make sure I can see.”

James grabbed her by the waist and forced her to take two steps forward, until they were near the raised head of the bed.

James moved in behind her, so broad and tall that when he crowded her against the side of the bed, she was trapped there, her legs pinned in place. His hands slid up her belly, moving so slowly that Sophia couldn’t stop herself from begging.

“Please, touch me. Please.”

Delicately, as if he were playing the harp, he grasped each nipple with his thumb and forefinger. She was so aroused that it was a relief to finally have him touching her.

“Pinch,” Tristan said.

James’s fingers tightened on her nipples.

“Twist.”

Hot, delicious pain zinged through the tips of her breasts, making her long for more. She was at that point of arousal where, though she didn’t consider herself a masochist, even pain was pleasure.

“Pull.”

Sophia reached up and back, sliding her fingers through James’s hair as he toyed with her. His cock was rock-hard and huge, digging into the top of her ass. His breathing was no longer even and steady, and she could feel him trembling as if he too were close to the limits of his control.

“Now squeeze her breasts.”

James obeyed each order Tristan gave. Together, they put on a show for their husband.

Tristan was breathing slow and deep, his eyes intense and focused. Sophia glanced quickly at his crotch, but saw no telltale bulge under the sheets.

“Do you like what you see?” She arched, pressing her breasts harder into James’s hands. “Do you like watching our husband toy with my breasts?” Maybe he needed the words as well as visual stimulation. She’d had a few lovers who needed to hear the dirty words, even if they were only a running narration of what was happening. Most of those lovers had been women, but she was more than happy to say every naughty, dirty thing she could think of if it would help Tristan become aroused.

James’s lips brushed her neck, her earlobe. “The medication,” he whispered. “I don’t think he can get an erection.”

Sophia winced internally. Of course. She should have thought of that. Maybe she would have if she wasn’t distracted by her arousal. She nodded, making it look like she was rubbing her cheek against James.

“I like what I see,” Tristan murmured. “I want to see more. Get her up on the bed. I want to see her pussy.”

Sophia didn’t wait for James. She knelt on the side of the bed and spread her legs, leaning back against James rather than trying to balance.

Tristan’s gaze dropped to her pussy, and he reached out with his left hand to stroke her knee, her inner thigh.

“Touch me,” she begged.

“No.” Tristan drew his hand back, but he was smiling. A wicked, wicked smile. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Earned it?” Sophia’s cheeks flushed with outrage and yet more arousal. “I will— Oh…”

James’s fingers slid over her pussy and she forgot everything except the glory of his touch.

He parted the outer lips of her pussy, spreading her open so their husband could look his fill at her hot, wet core.

“How fast do you think you could make her come?” Tristan asked James.

“Five minutes, tops.”

“Do it. Make her come while I watch.”

James slid his middle finger into her pussy, stroking and rubbing for a moment before focusing on her clit. The first hard pass of his finger over her sensitive bud made Sophia arch back and scream in pleasure.

“If the nurses come, I’ll let them join in,” Tristan threatened. “You’d better be quiet.”

Right now, Sophia was so hot and ready that she would have cheerfully welcomed anyone who would hurry up and fuck her. She would have told Tristan and James that, if James’s fingers hadn’t been toying with her clit. The swift, steady rhythm was exactly what she needed, and Sophia thrashed and moaned in pleasure, her body arched in a deep bow. James used the hand not on her pussy to grab and twist her nipples. He was no longer careful, no longer precise. His motions were becoming as frantic as her own.

“Please,” she demanded. “Please!”

“Fuck her,” Tristan practically snarled. “From behind, so I can see.”

James pressed her forward onto the bed. Sophia landed on her elbows, gasping, her head nearly touching Tristan’s leg.

Tristan’s hand tangled in her hair. He made a fist and tugged, forcing her to look up at him. She stared into Tristan’s eyes and they maintained eye contact as James unzipped his pants, the quiet snick of the zipper loud in the nearly silent room.

James grabbed her hips, urging her to raise her ass a few inches. Then she felt the head of his cock, bumping first against her thigh, then her pussy. His cock stabbed her clit, then slid up the valley of her sex, finding the wet, aching entrance to her body.

Tristan lifted his gaze from hers, and from the way he smiled, Sophia was sure he was looking at James.

“Fuck her.”

James thrust into her, burying his cock nearly to the hilt with the first thrust.

Sophia screamed in pleasure as she came. That burst of stimulation from being so suddenly and completely filled was all she needed to push her over the edge.

Tristan let go of her hair in favor of cupping her jaw and sliding his thumb into her mouth. She sucked it, longing to have his cock in her mouth instead. When James reached between them to stimulate her clit, and another orgasm swamped her, Sophia bit his thumb, hard enough to make Tristan suck in a breath.

James smacked her ass—a reward or punishment, she wasn’t sure—and continued to fuck her, his long, hard cock sliding into her warm, ready body, his hands digging into her hips. Sophia’s nipples rubbed against the blanket covering the bed with each rhythmic thrust, and all the stimulation had them rolling in a tide of orgasms.

When James finished, jackhammering into her before groaning, Sophia was nearly limp.

“Let me see,” Tristan begged.

Sophia sluggishly moved at James’s urging. She rolled onto her back on the bed, then turned so her head was toward the foot of the bed, and she lay on Tristan’s left side, only a few fingers of space between her side and his leg, though he was still covered by the blankets while she was naked on top of them.

James took her right leg and lifted it, urging her to brace it on the elevated head of the bed. She had no choice but to fold her left leg in close to her body.

Tristan grasped her left knee and pulled it toward him, parting her thighs and exposing her well-fucked pussy. She lay her leg carefully across his thighs, making sure her knee wasn’t touching the pillow under his right arm. James stood beside the bed, his cock still jutting from his pants, semisoft and glistening.

Tristan traced patterns on the inside of her thigh, staring down at her pussy. Sophia pressed her lips together to prevent the moan of fresh arousal from escaping.

Tristan’s gaze slid up her body, lingering for a moment on her breasts before meeting hers. He raised one brow.

Sophia didn’t want to accidentally hurt him, as had happened when they kissed.

But she also wouldn’t lie to him, not about something as important as sex. And hiding the fact that she was wildly turned on by having him stare at her pussy, a pussy that was still wet and glistening from having been fucked by their husband…hiding that would be like lying.

She flicked her tongue across her lips and cupped her breasts, tumbling her own nipples.

James dragged a chair over. “My turn to watch.”

Tristan slid his hand up her thigh to her pussy. Gaze locked with hers, he thrust two fingers deep inside her. Sophia arched in pleasure.

“James, hold her down.” Tristan’s heavy-lidded eyes were those of a fallen angel. “I can’t have her thrashing around when she comes.”

James knelt on the foot the bed, grabbed her hands, and pinned her wrists to the mattress.

“How many more times can you come, Princess?”

He didn’t give her time to answer. Tristan’s thumb flicked over her clit and Sophia moaned.

And for the next hour, he proved that even with only one hand, Tristan could, and would, be a demanding lover.