Page 16 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
Just so long as you keep me close.
With a low curse, Auden pulls his hand away from my nuzzling. “Sit on the edge of the bed,” he orders me. “Feet planted on the floor. Legs wide.”
I do as he asks, moving to the edge of the bed where he’s standing, and I sit the way he wants me to—spread thighs, feet flat on the floor, my rigid length pointing straight up to the ceiling, the tip glistening in the light.
He lets out a long breath—at my obedience or just at the sight of me naked and waiting, I don’t know—but either way, I take some satisfaction in that breath. Some satisfaction that wanting me is stronger than hating me, at least right now. That I can shake his control even if I can’t earn his forgiveness.
Auden walks over to the small table by the bed and pulls a small foil square from a drawer. It’s hard not to wonder if this is the first condom he’s ever pulled out of that drawer, if this is the first time this bed has seen anything dirtier than a kiss. And I look at him walking back over to me as he tears the packet open with his teeth, I look at his flushed cheeks and tensed breathing, and I wonder how he’s made it this long. I mean, I know he loved Delphine—probably still loves her in whatever way you can love a woman who cries off your engagement—but still. It seems inconceivable that someone who needs as powerfully as Auden could have restrained himself for so impossibly long. I can’t decide if that restraint proves how safe we all are with Auden . . . or if it’s evidence that we’re not safe at all, not now that he’s freed from the only thing that held him back.
“Stay still,” he says, and then he steps between my legs and I realize what’s happening right as he presses the latex sheath to my crown.
I groan at the feeling, at the slippery kiss of it as he positions the ring, and then at the pressure of his fingertips as he rolls it right down my shaft. Is it me or does he take extra care with it, extra time to roll it all the way to the base and check the fit? Is there a moment when his hand drops as if to cup me and then pulls away? Is there a new heat in his eyes when he straightens up to stare down at me, like he’s beyond turned on to see my body positioned the way he wants, gloved by his will and ready for his command?
I don’t know, but I do know I’m in some acute distress after he’s done. My cock is darker and thicker than ever, straining against the transparent latex, shiny and waiting for someone to use it. I can’t see it, but I can feel the hot pre-cum weeping from my tip, and everything from my knees to my chest is clenching and releasing as I wait for him to do something, do anything. Anything to take my mind off the hot, throbbing bar between my legs.
Auden leans over Poe and gently helps her up, whispering something in her ear as he does. And then he keeps helping her, helping her onto her knees and then helping her right onto my lap.
Right onto my waiting cock.
Chapter 7
Proserpina
Present Day
* * *
Auden’s hands on my welted ass are big and hot and rough, and I whimper as he settles me over Saint’s hips.
It’ll hurt less this way, he whispered to me just before he started moving me, and I’m guessing he means it will hurt less straddling Saint than it would if I were on my back, which is probably true.
It hurts anyway, at least where those massive hands grip and squeeze me. But the endorphins are thick and giddy in my bloodstream right now, and even the pain feels like a gift, like an enticement. A caress from a man I love as he positions me to fuck someone else.
“Wider, little bride,” Auden murmurs, and I plant my knees wider on either side of Saint while Auden keeps one hand curled possessively around my hip. His other hand drops to Saint’s sheathed cock.
“Fuck,” Saint whispers, looking down at where Auden is fisting his length. Between my thighs, I can feel the restless roll of his hips. “Fuck.” And then the moment Auden brushes my waiting seam with Saint’s tip, Saint’s hands fly to my waist, whether to yank me down onto him or simply to anchor himself while sensation rips through him, I don’t know.
But either way, it doesn’t make Auden happy.
“Lean back on your hands,” he growls to Saint. “You don’t get to touch her unless I say.”
The possession in Auden’s voice strikes a dark chord inside me, a part that’s always there, always waiting, but after being used and flogged, is right at the surface and spread all over me. I want to be his, I want to belong to him, I want him to keep me safe in this cocoon of rasping pleasure, where nothing can hurt me except for him.
Saint bites off a curse at Auden’s instruction but he listens, putting his hands on either side of his hips and leaning back just enough that his stomach and chest tense into tight ripples of muscle and so his hips push his cock even closer to me. Another latex-slick kiss against my folds, and I moan.
“Do you like it?” I ask Saint. “Him using you like this?”
Saint’s eyes are half-closed, and there’s a dark flush spreading across his chest and sweat beginning to mist his skin. “Yes,” he whispers to me. “I always did.”
Auden can hear us, I know he can, but he doesn’t react to this exchange other than to press me down and begin fitting Saint’s flared crown into my opening.
“It takes a lot of work to get this cock inside here, doesn’t it?” Auden asks. He must give Saint a hard squeeze, because Saint’s head drops all the way back and his breathing stutters in and out of his chest in sharp bursts, as if he’s fighting off the need to come into the condom right now, with nothing but his tip inside me and Auden’s hand at his base. “You must have had to work and work and work last night, squirming and whimpering and panting into his neck, isn’t that right? It didn’t matter how wet you were, didn’t matter how hard he shoved these hips into your thighs, this tiny pussy barely let him in. It’s barely letting him in now.”
My eyes are fluttering and my breathing is stitching with the effort to impale onto Saint. Even with Auden’s hand on my hip driving me relentlessly down, the resistance is insane, and the moment St. Sebastian’s tip truly wedges into my hole, I let out a soft, ragged noise. I’m so sore, I’m so sore there from last night, and Saint is so thick, impossibly thick, and so hard. And yet my orgasm begins knitting itself anew around the invasion in my belly, it begins tingling in that spot, the one just behind my clit, a testament to my fucked-up wiring. The soreness makes it better, the heat and throb of my welted back and ass make it sweeter, everything doubling back and growing on itself into a feedback loop even I can’t fully explain. I only know that it feels truer than anything I’ve ever felt. I only know that it reminds me of last night, bound by thorns and kissed by the lord of the manor.
Holy shit.
This is what I’ve been chasing all these years. Not the leather, not the munches, not the delightful but predictable croon of Maynard James Keenan laid over some bass-heavy track. And this isn’t even just the combination of sex and kink.
