Page 33 of Griffin Food
I glance toward the camp.
No. It can’t… They can’t have…
Suddenly, I can’t breathe, can’t get enough air. Splashing more cold water over my face and throat helps to rouse me from the mounting hysteria.
Only the images are still coming. More and more of them. Endless scenarios playing out.
“Good girl,” Rafe says. I’m jostled. I fall against Lark’s chest. He is inside me, filling me. Rafe is kneeling behind me, his cock wedged against the place where Lark penetrates me. Lark slides out. Rafe squeezes their cocks together, and this time they both push…
I am in a soft, makeshift nest in a tavern…
I am in an old shack in the woods…
The forest floor…
A hayloft…
In the shade of a great oak tree on the edge of a meadow with nothing but a blanket beneath me…
The sun is high in the sky…
I am under moonlight…
They are both inside me and the stretch is delectable. Thrusting into me erratically, filling me.
This is not the first time, and nor is it the last.
I sob with joy and frustration. I want to come again. I want it so badly it is like a taste lingering on my periphery.
“Come for us,” Rafe commands. “Come all over our cocks.”
Their seed and my slick drip from me, easing the passage of their thrusting cocks. My mind soars, my heart thumps so wildly in my chest it is a wonder it does not break out of my ribs.
Their lips are against my throat, kissing, our slick bodies moving as one, finding a rhythm.
I am between them. Perfect. Where I was meant to be.
Goddess, let me not forget, I pray. Let me keep this memory this time. Let me cherish it.
Tears trickle down my cheeks. I’m crying.
“It’s okay,” Lark says. The tenderness in his voice makes me weep harder. “It’s okay, we’ve got you. Come for us. Come one more time. We beg you, princess. Come for your mates.”
Mates. Why does he taunt me with something that can never be?
And then another cataclysm swallows me, my eyes roll back, and a final climax claims me. I’m caught in a storm, shaking and shuddering uncontrollably, my body nothing but a ball of white-hot bliss. Their seed filling me all up, dripping between us. Our labored breaths before the final quieting of my crazed mind.
Little rattly purrs emanate from their chests.
I whimper, trying to gather the potency of the emotions into sense.
Yet I am also done, sated, aching so good, squished between two walls of hot male flesh. Their scent is soothing. I cling to them shamelessly, one hand reaching forward, one hand reaching back, needing to touch them, pulling them in closer, wanting to be trapped, surrounded completely, protected.
Their hands are gentle, soft caresses that make me shiver, lips against my throat, my forehead, my hair—so tender, so much love.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you both.”
Do they hear me? As the memory fades, it robs me of any reply.
