Page 42 of Puck Your Charity

I lie back against the pillows. I spread my thighs wide.

I press two fingers to my dripping, swollen pussy.

A ragged moan escapes my lips. I rub the slick over my clit, mashing the bundle of nerves with frantic, rapid motions. The friction sparks an intense surge of pleasure, but it fails to touch the deep, echoing void inside me.

I slide two fingers deep inside my slick, tight canal. I pump my hand in and out. The wet, slapping sound echoes in the quiet bedroom. I thrust my hips upward, chasing my own hand. I fuck myself with desperate speed.

It feels awful and empty.

My body demands large, rough hands. It demands the stretch of a real cock. It craves a thick knot to lock inside me.

I yank my hand away. A sob rips past my lips.

I curl into a tight ball in the middle of the blankets. I weep from sheer frustration. The fever burns my skin. The ache between my legs turns into an agonizing pressure. I feel like an addict going through withdrawal.

Footsteps hit the hallway outside my bedroom door.

My breath hitches as I freeze.

The deep, rumbling sound of voices drifts through the wood. The pack returned from morning skate.

My nose catches the scent bleeding under the door crack. Crisp ozone and crushed black pepper.Finn and Lawrence.

The aroma hits my lungs and acts like a match to a powder keg. My hips jerk off the bed. A fresh wave of slick floods my thighs. The intoxicating scent bypasses my rational thoughts and hijacks my nervous system.

I need them. I need them right now.

I spread my legs wide again. I dive my slick fingers back down to my clit. I rub the swollen flesh, letting out a loud, pathetic whine, begging them to hear me and smell my desperation.

The doorknob turns.

The thick oak door swings inward.

Finn and Lawrence step over the threshold. Finn carries a tray with a pitcher of ice water. Lawrence holds a plate of fresh fruit and pastries.

They freeze.

The pitcher rattles against the metal tray. The breakfast plate tilts in Lawrence's grip.

Their eyes lock onto me. I lie naked in the middle of a messy pile of blankets with my thighs spread wide. My fingers grind against my core. The scent of my heat fills the room.

Finn’s pupils blow out. A low sound vibrates in his chest. Lawrence bares his teeth.

Lawrence forces his gaze away. He stares at the wall. "Sorry, Olive. We just got back from practice. We wanted to bring you breakfast in bed. We thought you were asleep."

Finn takes a step backward. He grips the metal tray. "We'll go. We'll shut the door. We won't cross your boundaries."

My need overrides my pride.

"Wait." I drop my hand. I push myself up onto my elbows. "Don't leave."

Finn stops.

Lawrence turns his head. His dark eyes drop to my glistening thighs. He swallows hard. "Olive, if we stay, we won't hold back. Our bodies demand we knot you."

I tremble. The idea of a bonding bite still terrifies me. I’m not ready for that kind of permanence.

I pant, the fever blurring my vision. "I'm not ready for a bonding. I can't bond. But I need relief. The fever drives me crazy. Please. Help me."