Page 32 of Always Alchemy

As I wrap my mouth around him, he stiffens further. I suck hungrily, inhaling that warm, musky scent I can never get enough of. I keep my other hand wrapped around Darcy’s calf, tethering myself to her, so I feel her leg jerk as Max presumably finds her pussy. She still has her hand curled around my neck, and I love it. I love when it moves to my shoulder and she digs her fingernails in, finding purchase in the midst of the onslaught to which Max is subjecting her.

A glance to my left shows his supple fingers moving between her long legs, disappearing inside her body, and I have the ridiculous and, by now, familiar sensation of being equally jealous of both of them. I want to finger fuck her just as I want Max’s cruel fingers jamming and twisting inside me. My arse aches for them even while my mouth is full of him.

‘Help me, Dex,’ Max says, reading my mind as usual. ‘She’s giving her entire future to the two of us today. I think that warrants a thoroughly good orgasm, don’t you?’

I moan my agreement, because this dynamic gets me off just as much as being Max’s little fuck toy. I want Darcy’s pussy so full of our fingers and our touch that she spirals into sensory overwhelm.

I want her totally ignorant of where Max ends and I begin.

So I snake my hand up her legs and encounter her soaked, plump flesh and his wet, clever fingers. I intertwine them with mine, stroking Darcy with my hand and Max with my mouth, listening to the cacophony of moans from her and grunts from him, until he’s clawing at my hair and emptying himself down my throat in a volley of spurts thathave me gagging and moaning and thrusting into thin air with my need to humpsomething, anything.

It’s so much, you see, her wet flesh and his relentless dick.

It’stoomuch.

Darcy comes apart a moment later under the chaotic ministrations of two men who are way too aroused to be dextrous in this moment. But I suspect she loves the onslaught, welcomes our loss of control, relishes that feeling of having our entangled fingers clawing and pressing and pumping in a mindless, insistent jumble.

Her unabashed, delirious cries certainly suggest so, in any case. With the triple set of French doors in this suite all flung wide open to the gardens and the sea, I’d say every guest at our wedding is privy to how deeply we can satisfy our bride.

‘Fuck, that was hot,’ Max says with a sigh as I dry my fingers on Darcy’s thigh before tucking Max back into the suit in which he’ll pledge his entire future to us. He nudges me up with a hand wedged into my armpit, and I stand, willingly.

The three of us stare at each other. I’m diamond-hard, on such a knife-edge of arousal that evenlookingat my husband and almost-wife in their post-orgasmic states puts me at risk of messing up my extremely nice Givenchy trousers.

‘How shall we get Dex off, sweetheart?’ Max drawls, addressing Darcy but keeping his eyes on me.

‘I think we should do it together,’ she says, and my gaze flits to her. She’s all dewy-skinned and orgasm-flushed, and fuck knows I can’t wait to get that dress off her later.

‘Good idea.’ Max is already moving briskly behind me. ‘Let’s try to avoid bodily fluids on the wedding couture, shallwe? Dex, baby, show me how far you can come on that floor.’

That flooris a stunning French oak parquet on which time and love have bestowed a beautiful lustre. It stretches in front of me to the trio of French doors with their flowing drapes and azure vista.

‘Do guys actually do that?’ Darcy asks, amusement on her face. ‘Like a pissing contest, but with cum?’ She unbuckles my belt and shoves down trousers and briefs alike, wrapping her slim fingers around my rock-hard dick. I groan at the bliss of it.

‘Depends on what school you went to,’ Max says smoothly, stepping in behind me. ‘But I’m happy to take Dex on whenever he likes, for your visual titillation, sweetheart.’ His chest is to my back, his jaw rests against my cheekbone, and he wraps an arm around my waist and the hand of that arm around Darcy’s. There’s a spitting sound, and then he wedges his other hand between us, parting my cheeks and pushing a wet finger into the place in my body that has for so long been a source of shame and is now a sure-fire way to have me soaring through the roof.

The moan I make as it forces its way into that tight space echoes off the walls. Another treat for anyone enjoying the hotel gardens right now.

‘Better step to the side,’ Max warns Darcy. ‘No one wants to see the bride walk down the aisle with cum dripping down her dress.’ He’s still working that finger deeper and deeper inside me, despite the tightness of this angle.

I let out a humiliated snort as Darcy steps to one side, resting her chin on my shoulder as she slides her hand up and down my dick.

‘Do you need lube?’ she murmurs in my ear.

‘I’m good.’ This will be quick, and I relish the burn, the chafe, of her skin on mine.

‘He’s Catholic,’ Max drawls into my other ear. ‘He likes a little pain with his pleasure, don’t you, love? You can atone before you’ve even shot your load all over the floor like a fucking schoolboy. Do it hard, Darce. Make that dick burn. Let’s make the last time before he’s damned for all eternity count.’

His hand is still closed tightly over Darcy’s, egging her on. Making her jack me off harder, faster, as he continues to manoeuvre that finger inside me. I stand there, braced and useless and awe-struck at how quickly these two can weave their magic and diffuse me into ecstatic nothingness.

When I was a younger man with disinterested thoughts of some far-off, not particularly desirable “wedding day”, I suppose I imagined our parish church in Knightsbridge and an inevitable (if Dad had his way) Latin Mass.

I didnotfathom a spellbinding woman and captivating man masturbating me with their clever fingers and filthy words, urging me to ejaculate every ounce of shame and desire and confusion and denial I’ve ever felt onto the lustrous wood of our sinfully lavish wedding suite.

When I come, it’s with pleasure strangling the words in my throat so they jerk out choked and anguished and enraptured. Darcy’s nuzzling her face into my neck as I shoot rope after white rope onto the centuries-old parquet, while my diabolical husband clamps those even white teeth of his around my opposite earlobe, that halo of pain feeling more heavenly than any celestial pardon could.

I shudder and pant and jerk, my body and my heart and my soul bound by these two people as I let them milk me for everything I’m worth.

After all, that’s what they’ve been doing since themoment I met them. I’m hollowed out for them, cleansed for them.

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