Page 41 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
“There’s a condom in my pocket,” he says to me, even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the beauty trying to seek relief against his hand. “Roll it on your cock.”
“But don’t you—”
He cuts me an irritated look, and I know what he’ll say. That he means it about earning her; he needs something else in place before he penetrates her. I have no idea why he’s so consumed with nobility now. He certainly wasn’t when he was planning to tie me to his bed and beat me with a belt until I came. Back in the day.
“Why do you even have a condom?” I mutter as I slide my hand into his pocket. I can feel the sharp cut of his hipbone and the defined bottom ridge of his oblique as I do. And then, inevitably, the hot, thick root of his dick through the thin fabric of his pocket lining.
His face remains the same—impassive and fearsome—but his body can’t hide how it reacts to my touch with deep, barely perceptible trembles. Something I take a deep schadenfreude-esque smugness in, since I have so few victories against him in our long history.
“I have a condom because I’ve been a walking wall of lust these past two weeks,” Auden finally answers as I pull the packet free.
“But you haven’t earned Poe yet,” I say, unzipping my jeans without preamble. Auden’s gaze drops to where my hand is pulling out my swollen inches. “So who were you planning on fucking?”
“There was no plan for me to fuck,” Auden says. His eyes are still tracing the outline of my erection as I roll on the sheath. “I knew it was for you.”
I almost come into the condom right then and there.
I can feel that beat, that pulsing, between the three of us so strongly right now, and I
know Auden and Poe can too. I know they can feel that what we have together is more than biology, more than our odd little religion, more than years of knowing each other. Those things we have with the other three in our group.
But this? This holy, ravening, primal, and marrow-deep need for each other? This is something unique to the three of us, and there’s no denying it, no arguing with it. Fighting it is as pointless as screaming up at a storm on the heath.
Auden reaches down with his other hand; I hear the tear of fabric. The muscles in his arm contract and flex as he works her underneath her skirt. “So wet, little bride,” he purrs. “So ready to be fucked in this little hole.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me forward before I can react, and he guides me to her. Past the tear in her cute librarian tights to the place where she’s wet enough that a man could shove in with a single stroke. My shaft—huge and latex-shiny in the dark—pulses as Auden presses my fingers into her with his own until two of my fingers are curling up inside her and both our hands are wet.
Poe rocks against us both, her hands scrabbling for any kind of purchase until she manages to brace one on the bookshelf behind her and the other on Auden’s shoulder.
“Please, please fuck me,” she begs, and I know at this point she doesn’t care who she’s talking to. Auden or me—or hell, maybe Rebecca or Delphine or Becket.
“Oh, we’re going to,” Auden growls, and I like that we, I like it so much that I couldn’t deny Poe is right about fixing whatever is between the three of us even if I wanted to. Could I have ever been content without knowing this? Knowing the feel of Auden’s hands on my hips as they are now, guiding me between Proserpina’s waiting thighs as she wraps her arms around my neck? Knowing once again the feel of being between them, as I was that night, of Auden reaching around me and gripping my cock with a casual arrogance that has me shuddering?
He notches my tip against her, his hand moving past me to grip her arse under her skirt, and then he brings us together, like we’re his to join. His pets to breed, his concubines to amuse him. It’s this I’m thinking of as I sink deep into Poe, letting out a long breath as her sweetness grips me, squeezes me.
“How does she feel?” Auden asks in my ear. He sounds bored, but I know that trick for what it is; I know that when his blood gets hot, his voice gets cold. And maybe it’s the thrills dancing up my body from the head of my cock to the soles of my feet, maybe it’s Poe biting her lower lip like she wishes it were my mouth she was nibbling—or maybe it’s the sheer fucking filth of this moment, Auden and me wedging her against the bookshelves in the dark while the others continue to laugh and drink only a stone’s throw away—
Whatever it is, I want to test Auden’s coolness, I want to make him feel for me just a little bit of what I feel for him always—desperate, clawing ache. A pining so animalistic and rough it shames me.
I want him to shame me.
And maybe it’s that last impulse more than anything that makes me do it. I turn my head to his—he’s so close that I can feel his breath on my cheek, so warm in the cool air of the library—and I kiss his throat. Right next to his Adam’s apple, right in the little hollow there. I kiss him and then I part my lips just enough to taste him with a small dart of my tongue. He tastes like clean skin with just the barest hint of sweat, like a man just beginning to get worked up. And he smells—God, he smells how he always smells. Like this wonderful, terrible place tucked into the wild, wind-whipped moors. Like Thornchapel.
He stills at the touch of my lips, as if he can’t bear to breathe, and then at the flicker of my tongue, he lets out a low sound of fury. For a minute I wonder if he’ll hit me again, and I don’t care how wrong it is, how against the rules of kink, I want to eat up all his passion, all of his energy, I want him to be lost like me and I want to see it and feel it and take it into my body to remember as long as I live.
He doesn’t hit me.
He bites me.
In a movement so quick, I lose all my breath in a hard grunt, Auden is behind me, pinning Poe and me even tighter against the shelves and shoving me deeper than I thought I could go in her, so deep that the silky heat of her is sliding around the bare base of my erection above the condom. And then he bites my shoulder hard enough to make me cry out—a cry that he muffles with his palm.
“You don’t want to answer me? Fine,” he says in my ear. He keeps his lips close to my skin as he turns to speak to our girl. “Poe, how does Saint feel? Does he feel big? Deep? Like he’s all the way up to your belly? To your chest? Are you going to come around him like a good girl?”
She manages a shaky nod. “Yes,” she whispers. “More. I want more.”
“You want more than a fuck in a room full of people?” Auden asks, voice low and dangerous. “More than hiding in the shadows so your friends won’t see you getting a cock between your legs? A dirty little ride in the dark because you just can’t go without it?”
Thud. Her head falls back against the shelf, the pale curve of her throat and the lift of her chin only just visible out of the shadow. “When you talk to me like that,” she murmurs. “God, I can’t live without you talking to me like that.”
