Page 26 of In Stockings
Craig marches down the stairs, lowering himself until he’s sitting on the step above my head. Then he lifts me up and slides his body underneath me until I’m cradled in his arms, cradled against something big, hard, and scorching hot.
He swipes my hands away from my tits and squeezes them himself. All the while, Samson occupies himself with my clit, swirling his tongue around and around it until I’m dizzy with the motion.
When I come, I scream both their names, like I’ve done a million times in my bed alone at night, imagining this, wanting this.
But, oh fuck, it’s better, so much better.
Samson laps through my folds, bringing me down slowly from my high before driving his tongue deep inside me and moaning against my core.
I buck in Craig’s arms and lean up to claim his mouth.
Oh God, oh God.
They’re not letting me down after all. They plan to keep me at this dizzying height. Two thick fingers replace Samson’s tongue, and he pumps them in and out of me, massaging that crazy-sensitive spot on my wall. His tongue is back on my clit, and I fly up into the sky a second time, the orgasm wracking through my whole body.
Then I’m being lifted, cradled against a warm chest and carried up the stairs, along the hallway, into one large bedroom, and onto a giant bed that dominates the room. Archie lies sprawled across the mattress, and I think my ultimate fantasy is about to come true.
6
Archie
I dragopen my tired eyes, and for a moment, I think I’m still dreaming.
Because … what?
Craig, dressed only in his briefs, is striding into the room with our omega in his arms, naked, skin flushed and smelling of sweet, sweet slick.
I scrabble up on my knees and watch as he lowers her onto the bed. She hums with satisfaction, pawing at his biceps, and I have a fair idea what’s gone down here. An assumption that’s only confirmed by the mess all over Samson’s beard.
“You ate her out,” I say, my voice half whine, half disappointment.
Samson stalks up onto the bed. “Too fucking right. And mate,mate …” He doesn’t need to say any more. The expression of bliss on his face says it all.
He offers me his right fore and middle fingers, glistening with slick.
I pounce on them, forcing his fingers straight into my mouth and sucking them clean.
When I’m done, the omega’s eyes are wide, watching us.
My gaze roams around her body, soaking up every curve, every sweep.
Then my eyes halt on her arm. On the deep purple bruise. My eyes flick to her leg. She has another on her ankle.
I grab her arm, bringing the bruise close to my face.
“What’s this, Omega?”
“Wh-what?’ she says with confusion.
The others spot the marks, too, and their faces fall to thunder.
“Someone hurt you,” I spit out, uncontrollable rage suddenly spiralling through my body. I’m going to kill them; whoever they are, they are dead.
“Who …” Craig says, his voice wavering with a bid to contain his anger. “Who did this to you?”
He points to the mark on her arm and her leg.
“Oh,” she says, peering at her calf and rubbing at the deep bruise. “A toddler.” She glances at her arm. “A small boy.”
