Page 17 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
This is here. This is Thornchapel.
This is them—Auden and Saint, and also Rebecca and Delphine and Becket.
I’ve been needing to fuse pain and delight in this place, with these people.
I’ve needed to become the bride by thorns.
I’m finally seated, fully, on Saint’s length, and Auden grants me a mercy and lets me shiver there for a few moments, so overwhelmed by the heat rolling off my back and the scorching thickness between my legs that all movement seems impossible.
St. Sebastian shivers too, shuddering between my legs and panting like a stallion ridden too hard—except I haven’t done any riding yet. He’s unraveled by this alone, by the mere joining of us, and I remember that he too was a virgin until last night.
We were waiting for each other.
We were waiting to be together at Thornchapel again.
I don’t know how I know this is true, but it is. It’s a truth that wells up from some blurry, breathless part of my mind—it wells up from the way I felt last night in the woods. I can still feel the thorn chapel, even now, I told Rebecca earlier, and it’s still true, it’s still there. Like the ritual peeled the scales from my eyes, unshackled my mind, and now I can see and think and know things I couldn’t before.
Or maybe I’m really high on endorphins and about to come on a beautiful cock belonging to a beautiful man after another beautiful man helped flog me to hell and back.
“I want to see you fuck,” Auden growls from next to us. “I want to see you screw that tiny pussy onto his cock and show me how it will come for me when it’s my turn.”
Saint’s hips give an involuntary buck underneath me at Auden’s words.
Auden unfastens his trousers—not all the way, but enough to relieve the pressure on his erection, which strains lewdly against his zipper. “Start fucking, you two,” he orders. “Fuck for me.”
But he doesn’t wait for us to listen, he can’t wait a moment longer. He steps between Saint’s feet, the fabric of his trousers abrading my ass, and then he takes my hips firmly in both hands and moves me, grinding me down and forward against Saint.
I nearly die. I think I do die, because the drag of my clit against Saint’s tight muscles and the swell of him between my legs is enough to make my breath catch and my heart stop.
“Jesus,” Saint whispers. He’s looking at us again now, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, stomach tighter than a drum as it clenches in pleasure. “Jesus Christ.”
Auden moves me again, his hands so big and his arms so strong that he can lift and slide me effortlessly, however he wants, as if I’m nothing more than a toy. Which he confirms when he leans down to murmur in my ear, “Do you like being used for your cunt, little bride? Used for a fuck? Used to amuse me?”
“Yes,” I breathe out. His words are like liquid flame rolling all over me, dripping from the tips of my breasts and from the curve of my belly, running in rivulets over my erect clit and the slick, swollen folds currently stretched tight around Saint’s thick cock.
Smack.
A sharp slap on my ass has me crying out in pain and the resulting pleasure.
“I think you forgot something,” Auden says calmly.
I know immediately what he wants, but Saint
watches the exchange with puzzled fascination, as if he’s witnessing something he didn’t know he needed to witness until this very moment, and I know what it is. It’s what trained submission looks like from the outside; it’s what kink feels like when you’re not the one personally being held by the throat and forced to come.
“Yes, Sir,” I try again, and Auden leans down to bite my neck as a reward.
Saint watches that too, his lush lips parted enough that his lip piercing catches the light, and I hope he likes watching me like this, I hope it gets him so hard he can’t stand it. I hope he loves this world like I do, this world where a bite is a reward, where tender pain is given as praise.
I hope he loves it because it’s a part of me and I’ll never leave it, but I need him just as much as I need the kink and I can’t choose between the two. The kink and him. My pierced prince who’s never cold, who’s wary of warmth, who broods alone in the woods when he thinks no one is watching.
Auden bites my neck again, hard, and I can feel the velvet head of his cock against my back, I can feel the slick pre-cum it’s leaving on my skin. “I want you to come,” he whispers in my ear, nipping at my lobe. “I want to feel you shudder and tense. I want you to ride St. Sebastian while every welt on your back and your ass burns, I want you to fuck him while you remember what it felt like to have my fingers in your cunt and my cock spilling against your belly.”
I want Auden to penetrate me, I want it so badly that I’m jerking my hips against Saint’s harder and faster than Auden is making me, as if I can prove my wanting him by fucking Saint like the best little slut who’s ever lived. But I want Saint just as much too, and it’s his face I see as I screw my way toward a roaring orgasm, it’s his lip piercing and his deep brown eyes and his high cheekbones flushed red against the pale bronze of his skin. It’s his gaze I hold, it’s his tight chest and stomach I run desperate fingers over, and it’s his massive, powerful thighs all hard and hair-dusted under my own that I rest on.
“Poe,” Saint croaks.
“I know,” I say. “I have you.”
