Page 18 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
“You have me,” he repeats hoarsely, his eyes hot and open against mine. And I can’t believe that we’re here—winter boy and summer girl, librarian and librarian, loner and new girl—the one I wanted from the very beginning, and I’m impaled on him like the pretty sacrifice I so love being.
And that I’m here and being used by Auden, here with all the marks he helped Rebecca give me, that I’m here on the edge of giddy, eager release on today of all days. . .
It’s a gift. Thornchapel is giving me a gift, even after it’s taken away something precious beyond explaining.
Which is something I don’t need to think about now. I don’t even think I can think about it, because I’m floating above myself, floating inside myself, just like last night. A bride about to come for her lord.
Saint is at the end of his tether now, I can tell; his stomach is hollowing and seizing with every breath, abs rippling as he strains to keep from spilling into the condom, his thighs clenched underneath mine and his jaw ticking with determination. Sweat glistens in the corrugations of his belly and chest and in the dip of his collarbone, and it sparkles at his temples and along the line of his inky hair. His hips are jerking hard underneath mine, as if he’s helpless to stop rutting, as if everything is lost to him except the need to mate me.
“Got to give you this,” he whispers up to me, chest heaving. “Want you to feel good.”
“I am feeling good,” I manage, my hands reaching up to squeeze at his big, sweat-slicked shoulders and arms. “I do. I feel so good right now, I feel so good—”
One of Auden’s hands moves from my hip to my belly and then down, his fingertips catching my clit and then sliding between it and Saint’s hard body so that every time he pushes me forward with his other hand, I have that much more pressure against me, grinding an orgasm right into me. Coupled with the unbearably deep kiss of St. Sebastian’s organ inside my belly, it’s all I can do to lift my head when Auden breathes, “Look at me.”
I lift, I turn, I look.
I come.
With my eyes trapped in his tormented gaze, I come.
An orgasm that feels like years in the making pulls tight and snaps, shuddering wave after hot wave of release through my cunt and belly and thighs. It chases itself down to the soles of my feet, curling my toes, and it thrums down my arms and hands and fingertips. It pulls at my chest and throat, stealing my breath, and it has me arching and twisting like a wild thing, writhing so hard that two sets of big male hands can hardly keep me still. It’s agony, delicious agony, the primal brightness that’s the source of all pain and all pleasure; wordless, dire, beautiful.
Animal.
Necessary.
Here there is nothing—no thing, no time, and no space that isn’t the spark of life itself—every thought and torment is crowded out and flung to the edges of space, and I am the center of the universe, I am the cradle of life, I exist I exist I exist—
Auden catches me gently as I slump against him, but he doesn’t lift me off of St. Sebastian’s thighs. Instead he holds me upright so Saint can still use me, he keeps me right where Saint needs me.
“Fuck her like you need to,” Auden tells him. “I know you need to stroke up into that little hole. I know you need to feel her squeezing you up and down—fast, fast, fast.”
Saint groans but his hips punch up into a rough thrust, which Auden holds me still for.
“That’s right,” Auden says in a husky voice as Saint does it again. “Show her how much you need this. How lonely you’ve been without a warm cunt to ease you at night.”
“Christ, Auden,” St. Sebastian whispers.
Auden’s arms are banded securely around me, but he loosens his grip a little so he can toy with my breasts. His hot crown and the fabric-covered inches below it are rigid and throbbing against my back—from playing with my tits or witnessing Saint’s flushed, tortured expression as he watches Auden handle me—or both—I’m not certain. I’m only certain that all three of us love it.
Even if I’m a limp, lolling doll who’s barely even capable of rational thought—I love it.
Then St. Sebastian says it, the thing that’s been strung between the three of us since last night, the thing that keeps our little triangle from being your run-of-the-mill, kink-fueled, ancient-pagan-ritual-infused ménage. “I’ve been lonely for you too, Auden,” he murmurs up to the man behind me. Auden’s hands freeze on my flesh; I can feel his heart hammering and hammering. “I’ve been lonely for both of you, whenever I needed to get off, it was both of you I wanted . . . ”
Auden hisses in a breath, and there’s no mistaking the trembling in his hands or the tightness in his body. I think of last night, when he’d jerked off St. Sebastian in the shower, I think of my first day here when I walked out to them fighting like brothers in the rain. I don’t know what happened between them years ago, and I don’t know what curdled their boyhood affection into hatred—but I do know that Auden isn’t unaffected by Saint.
I do know that the length of tense, possessive male behind me isn’t only tensed out of anger.
I’m too spent to decide whether or not I’m jealous; I’m too giddy and dirty with lingering arousal to want to stop this. I want to push them, I want to see them like they were last night—together.
Auden doesn’t give them the chance.
With impressive strength and a quick, hard flip, I’m on my back on the bed, and then Saint is pushed on top of me, but doesn’t have the chance to stroke back inside before Auden speaks.
“You don’t get me,” Auden says. He sounds angry and . . . hurt? “You don’t get to be lonely for me. Not now, not ever.”
“I am,” St. Sebastian says honestly. He rises up and turns so he can curl his fingers around Auden’s waistband and pull him forward. Looking too stunned to react, Auden lets him, stumbling against the bed. His swollen staff has pushed even farther out of his zipper; he’s almost fully
