Page 116 of Honey Cut
“Hurry,” Mark says. “I need to fuck, and I can’t do that until you make her come for me.”
Tristan’s eyes close as he renews his attention to my pussy, giving me a few more deep swirls before he moves back to my clit and sucks it like I crave. Mark is right next to me now, looking downright pornographic with his muscle-carved chest and stomach, with his erection nearly escaping the loosened ties of his pants. He takes off my antler crown and then unties my braids, first one and then the other, until my hair is loose. And then he wraps my hair around his hand and tugs until I’m gasping, squirming, caught between Tristan’s strong arms around my thighs and Mark’s fist.
That’s how I go over the edge, with pain sparking lightly down my spine and pleasure from Tristan’s mouth rushing up to meet it. I try to arch and can’t, I try to buck my hips and can’t, and I just have to endure the delicious feeling of an eager mouth, the sweet cruelty of a hand in my hair, as the cataclysm takes me.
Tristan doesn’t let up as I quiver against his tongue, and he licks and sucks until the very end, when the convulsions have ended and I’m so sensitive that even a kiss is agony.
“That’s my good hero, my good knight,” praises Mark as he gets to his knees next to Tristan. He pulls Tristan into a deep kiss, like he wants to eat my taste off Tristan’s mouth, and Tristan groans helplessly into it—even more helplessly when Mark takes a hold of his cock through his clothes and squeezes it. “Be patient for me now.” And then Mark moves between my thighs, pulls his sex free, and presses it to my hole.
“Sir,” I say, reaching for him. He catches my hand, but he doesn’t push me away. He just traps it against his chest so I can feel his heart beating against it. “I love you,” I say again because why not say it? Why not say it when it’s true?
“Who knew,” he says as he angles his hips and tunnels into my cunt, “that being married again would be this rewarding?”
I’m so wet that it should be an easy slide, but I’m swollen with arousal too, and he has to shove in hard enough that my head falls back and I groan. Tristan is there, kneeling beside the throne instead of in front of it now, and he kisses the groan away as Mark starts fucking.
“It’s okay,” Tristan soothes. “I know he’s big. It’ll feel good though. It’ll feel so good.”
It already feels so good, like being touched in the most hidden parts of my body, and like I’m crammed full but also like I’ll never be full enough because I won’t have enough until we’re as close as we can possibly be, until we’re the same body and air and molecules.
“This pussy,” Mark grunts, pushing in deep enough that I can feel his scrotum against me, that his hips dig into my thighs. “This could wreck someone’s entire life, Isolde. Make them do stupid shit just to feel it.Fuck.”
He’s moving harder now, faster, and a fresh climax is knitting itself around where he burrows inside me. I look down at where we’re joined and shiver. Ruddy flesh, thick and veined, parting mine. When he moves his hips, my body tries to hold on to his, and when he spears back in, I see the ripple and flex of his abdominal muscles. Feel the tightening of his hands around my hips.
Tristan angles his head to slant his mouth over mine again, a sweet kiss, all things considered. I open my eyes before the kiss is over to see Mark watching us, his expression dark, his lips parted. His hands on my hips grow harder, meaner, and so do his thrusts, and when Tristan pulls away, Mark moves his fingers to my clitoris, like he needs to be the one to give me an orgasm, and he needs that orgasm to happen right now.
As always, I am helpless against his expert touch. I was flayed open in my father’s library when I was nineteen, and I am even more so now because Tristan is here, because this is unbelievably filthy and perfect, because all of us are helpless together.
Mark’s fingers coax the orgasm to the surface, a shimmer just under my skin, and he’s getting closer to his own release, I think, a flush on his throat now, his flat nipples bunched into hard points.
“I want to see her tits,” he tells Tristan, who solves the problem with a soldier’s thinking—by ripping the dress at the shoulders and letting the fabric fall to my waist.
Both men stare at my breasts with the adulation normally due a Madonna, and Mark leans forward and takes a nipple into his mouth. The sudden hot suction is enough to get me there, but then I see Tristan push a hand into his pants and start jerking himself inside the fabric, and that’s it. I succumb to Mark’s cunning fingers and his selfish use of my hole and the sight of Tristan defenseless to his own arousal, shamelessly masturbating without even bothering to undress.
Mark releases the tip of my breast with a wet noise as I tremble and pant through the pleasure, and then he drops his head forward and stabs into me with erratic, almost frantic thrusts, groaning loud enough to fill the room. I look down andseehim swell, watching as the organ starts pulsing and pumping into my cunt.
All of us are watching now, Tristan with his hand moving fast and uneven inside his pants, and Mark with his hips still giving involuntary jerks forward. And all of us catch our breath when we see the first glossy white of Mark’s seed leak around where we’re joined—but Tristan sounds like he can barely stand it, like someone’s shot him through the chest.
Mark keeps rutting his semen back into my body, but without halting his movements, he reaches out and catches Tristan’s wrist. The wrist of the hand that’s in his pants.
“Careful, Tristan,” says Mark. “You’ll spoil your own surprise.”
Tristan’s whole body is heaving now, his feet planted, his shoulders lifting, his ribs expanding. “Please,” he moans. “Please, sir. I can’t.”
“You will,” says Mark. “Look.” Mark pulls free of my body, cum still dripping from his tip, running freely out of my pussy.
Tristan is watching with a frantic expression. “Sir, please, please let me come?—”
“Of course you may. But you have to do it in her cunt, like I just did.”
“Fuck,” Tristan growls, and the minute Mark moves back, Tristan is there between my thighs, on his knees and fumbling with his pants. “Fuck.” He tears off his shirt, the sword belt with the fake sword, unbuckles the shoulder harness he was wearing under the tunic and sets it and the gun on the floor near the throne.
Mark is at his side now, taking Tristan’s hand and guiding it to my sex, making him run his fingers up from my asshole to the wet slit, gathering Mark’s semen on his fingertips.
“Feel all that?” Mark says, his mouth near Tristan’s ear. “I gave her so much. Do you want to feel it on you? Do you want to see if you can give her more?”
“Fuck yeah,” Tristan mutters, and then shudders as Mark wraps a hand around Tristan’s rigid dick. He guides Tristan right to my open center and runs the crown along my folds a few times. There’s no missing the slickness of it, that Tristan will be fucking me through someone else’s cum.
And then Mark splays a hand on Tristan’s ass and pushes him all the way in, and we’re joined. Pelvis to pelvis, hard to soft.
