Page 15 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
I finish taking off my jeans, followed by my socks and boxers. The moment my erection bobs free, Auden’s flexing hands tighten into fists. And then they flex again, fingers stretching all the way out, as if he’s already imagining whaling on my arse until I come.
“Then start earning her now,” I tell him, putting one knee on the bed. I’m shameless enough to know that it’s showing off my thighs, my already tightened sac, my heavy, swinging cock. Shameless enough to want him to notice my body again like he did yesterday in the woods when he kissed me. Like he did in the shower when he tossed me off so hard my eyes rolled back in my head. “Help me fuck her the way she needs.”
“Yes,” Poe says eagerly, seizing on this idea, her hands going back to Auden’s neck. “You can tell him what to do, tell me what to do . . . It’ll be like you’re guiding us. Like you’re fucking us both.”
He takes one of those hands itching to hurt me and uses it to gently brush a tear off her jaw—and I know he’s going to cave. He’d do anything for this little dreamer-priestess of ours, our bride of thorns. He’d do anything to make her happy.
Even crawl into bed with his worst enemy.
“Okay,” he says. “Fine. But this stops the minute either of you need it to—or I need it to. Got it?”
“Yes,” Poe and I both answer.
“Poe’s safeword is convivificat,” he tells me. “In case you hear it and I don’t. And you need a safeword too.”
“I don’t have one,” I say. “I’ve never needed one.”
“That’s debatable,” he mutters to himself. Then to me: “Think of one.”
But my mind is blank—or not blank, rather, but just blaring you’re going to be in bed with Auden and Poe, you’re going to be in bed with Auden and Poe over and over again at top volume.
“I can’t,” I admit. “I can’t think of one.”
He sighs. “How about may I?”
My heart wants to tear right in half, and he meets my gaze. He knows. He knows what the words may I between us mean, he knows how I hated them. So I can’t decide if he means this as a punishment or a kindness, but I do decide it doesn’t matter.
It’s fitting, as most punishments and kindnesses are.
“May I, it is,” I say, climbing all the way onto the bed as Poe lets go of Auden’s neck and turns to look at me.
“Promise you’ll tell me if I scare you,” he says to us both, and my heart finishes shredding itself, because once upon a time, a prince of a boy said that to me in a bed of flowers, and it was the happiest I’ve ever been.
“You’ll never scare me,” I tell him. “You never could.”
“Things have changed a lot since we were boys,” Auden responds, and goes to run his hands through his hair. And then seems to remember that he’s in charge, and drops his hands again, shoving one hand between Poe’s legs instead. She spreads them and moans, pain chasing pleasure across her face as each roll of her hips sends her sore arse moving over the blanket.
Auden looks down at her in wonder, lips parted, and then he lifts his wet fingers to the light. “Saint,” he says in a strangled voice. “Come clean these for me.”
My cock gives a jerk of hot need at that, swelling even more as I crawl closer to Poe and raise up on my knees so that Auden can reach over her and stick his fingers in my mouth.
“Shit,” Poe whispers from below us, watching as I lick and suck her sweet taste from Auden’s fingers, watching as Auden and I watch each other. Without a shirt, I can see exactly the effect I still have on him, I can see the seize and stutter of his torso as he fights to keep his breathing even, I can see the pulse pounding like mad at the base of his neck.
I can see the head of his erection outlined against his hip, big and plump, and the thickness of his organ leading back down to his root.
I suck on his fingers like I’m sucking on another part of him, gratified to see that pulse pound harder, those glorious muscles in his chest and belly tightening and heaving in need. He still wants me. He still wants to belt me and spank me and fuck me. He wants to fit his cock inside my arse and ride me until we both come in a slick mess.
I knew that already, of course. I saw him come last night just from holding me by the neck and jerking me off. I saw his eyes that night in the tower when I crawled to his spend-coated cock and licked him clean.
But you can want to fuck someone you hate too, and when I finish licking his fingers and then nuzzle my nose briefly into his palm, I look up into his face and see all the torment there. The old bitterness, the old anger, all of it threading through the lust and through the desire, and it’s personal, it’s so personal, he looks like a king who’s about to make war not because he has to, but because he wants to.
He looks like a man about to fuck not
for fucking’s sake, but for revenge.
It’s shameful how much my body responds to that. How loudly my heart echoes my thought from earlier—
Keep me any way you want.
