and Marrok on the strength of their passion.
I was still catching my breath when Marrok enfolded me in his arms, the hard plane of his chest with its course mat of hair rough against my breasts.
“My turn,” he whispered.
So soon ? I could barely stand. How could I endure that kind of pleasure again? Or was such joy reserved for the first time? Is that why they’d vied to be the first—to be the one to share it?
When he squeezed my flank the flame of desire that had been banked flickered yet again.
He had shown humility, keeping his wolfish lusts at bay by my whim. That deserved my recognition and reward. I clung to that as my obligation. Not his insistence, nor my growing passion, nor the hot tongue exploring my ear. Not even Gareth circling his arms around us, ready to sacrifice his body to our any need.
“Your turn,” I agreed.
Eyes limned with red, lips trembling in the moonlight, Marrok faced me. His staff, rude and hard beyond bearing, quivered as it arrowed toward me. “I’ll be quick.”
Promise or apology ?
I nodded.
“This time.” He spun me around, lip-to-lip with Gareth, then bent me forward. Gareth filled his palms with my breasts, bracing me. Hands on my hips, with no preamble, no hesitant probbing, Marrok entered me from behind. One thrust and he was to the hilt, his stones slapping the backs of my thighs.
I gasped.
Above me, Marrok growled into Gareth’s mouth as their lips clashed. Below me, Gareth’s half-limp staff, slick and glistening, tried valiantly to rise. Behind me, Marrok backed out. I held my breath, and in that moment of anticipation I drew courage, cupping staff and stones before me in my cool hands.
Gareth groaned, arching into my hands while his grip on my breasts tightened, his thumbs tapping a distracting melody on their peaks.
Marrok’s left hand slipped from my hip to my curled thatch, holding me steady as he plunged in again. Then his fingers dipped lower, searching my wet folds till his middle one found my sensitive nub and began to thrum it in cadence with Gareth’s thumbs.
“Unnhh.” My moan echoed Gareth’s as my right hand crept up the length of him—lengthening more at my hands’ insistent command—and my circling fingers brushed the hooded tip. Like a miracle, the heavy rod grew to fill my hands, purpling and hardening as it rose.
I was fascinated by the feel, by the sight, but my attention kept being dragged away by the fingers playing on my most intimate parts and by Marrok’s quickening thrusts.
Then it was all Marrok, the beautiful miracle in my hands forgotten as the werewolf’s final thrusts ignited me. On his last plunge, his hips shook against mine, and I constricted around him. The thrumming stopped as he pressed my folds against him. He jerked once, twice.
I felt the spurt of his seed, joining Gareth’s in the warm hollows of my womb.
Pleasure as intense as starfire shook me through. I cried my joy, Marrok’s howl echoing mine in triumph.
Spent, Marrok slipped out, I sinking to my knees.
It took me a moment to realize I held Gareth still, squeezing him tight in my ecstasy. Horrified, I loosened my grip.
“Don’t!” he begged.
I looked up to find his seawashed eyes on mine.
Marrok knelt behind me, chin on my shoulder, cheek to mine, chest to my back. He circled his arms around and his hands joined mine, guiding them.
We stroked up, down, then up again. One of Gareth’s hands left my breast to find Marrok’s shoulder.
We stroked faster.
His other hand left my other breast to join ours. Calves, thighs and stomach tensed.
“Now,” Marrok encouraged him. “Now!”
Groaning, Gareth spilled his seed over our hands. A benediction. A sealing of our unspoken pledges, one to another.
We had bared our bodies, souls and selves tonight.
Only Marrok’s true self stayed locked in shadow, a secret he still dared not share with Gareth, a shape he kept hidden from our eyes.
Had he only trusted more…
Chapter 24
Gareth
The
I was still catching my breath when Marrok enfolded me in his arms, the hard plane of his chest with its course mat of hair rough against my breasts.
“My turn,” he whispered.
So soon ? I could barely stand. How could I endure that kind of pleasure again? Or was such joy reserved for the first time? Is that why they’d vied to be the first—to be the one to share it?
When he squeezed my flank the flame of desire that had been banked flickered yet again.
He had shown humility, keeping his wolfish lusts at bay by my whim. That deserved my recognition and reward. I clung to that as my obligation. Not his insistence, nor my growing passion, nor the hot tongue exploring my ear. Not even Gareth circling his arms around us, ready to sacrifice his body to our any need.
“Your turn,” I agreed.
Eyes limned with red, lips trembling in the moonlight, Marrok faced me. His staff, rude and hard beyond bearing, quivered as it arrowed toward me. “I’ll be quick.”
Promise or apology ?
I nodded.
“This time.” He spun me around, lip-to-lip with Gareth, then bent me forward. Gareth filled his palms with my breasts, bracing me. Hands on my hips, with no preamble, no hesitant probbing, Marrok entered me from behind. One thrust and he was to the hilt, his stones slapping the backs of my thighs.
I gasped.
Above me, Marrok growled into Gareth’s mouth as their lips clashed. Below me, Gareth’s half-limp staff, slick and glistening, tried valiantly to rise. Behind me, Marrok backed out. I held my breath, and in that moment of anticipation I drew courage, cupping staff and stones before me in my cool hands.
Gareth groaned, arching into my hands while his grip on my breasts tightened, his thumbs tapping a distracting melody on their peaks.
Marrok’s left hand slipped from my hip to my curled thatch, holding me steady as he plunged in again. Then his fingers dipped lower, searching my wet folds till his middle one found my sensitive nub and began to thrum it in cadence with Gareth’s thumbs.
“Unnhh.” My moan echoed Gareth’s as my right hand crept up the length of him—lengthening more at my hands’ insistent command—and my circling fingers brushed the hooded tip. Like a miracle, the heavy rod grew to fill my hands, purpling and hardening as it rose.
I was fascinated by the feel, by the sight, but my attention kept being dragged away by the fingers playing on my most intimate parts and by Marrok’s quickening thrusts.
Then it was all Marrok, the beautiful miracle in my hands forgotten as the werewolf’s final thrusts ignited me. On his last plunge, his hips shook against mine, and I constricted around him. The thrumming stopped as he pressed my folds against him. He jerked once, twice.
I felt the spurt of his seed, joining Gareth’s in the warm hollows of my womb.
Pleasure as intense as starfire shook me through. I cried my joy, Marrok’s howl echoing mine in triumph.
Spent, Marrok slipped out, I sinking to my knees.
It took me a moment to realize I held Gareth still, squeezing him tight in my ecstasy. Horrified, I loosened my grip.
“Don’t!” he begged.
I looked up to find his seawashed eyes on mine.
Marrok knelt behind me, chin on my shoulder, cheek to mine, chest to my back. He circled his arms around and his hands joined mine, guiding them.
We stroked up, down, then up again. One of Gareth’s hands left my breast to find Marrok’s shoulder.
We stroked faster.
His other hand left my other breast to join ours. Calves, thighs and stomach tensed.
“Now,” Marrok encouraged him. “Now!”
Groaning, Gareth spilled his seed over our hands. A benediction. A sealing of our unspoken pledges, one to another.
We had bared our bodies, souls and selves tonight.
Only Marrok’s true self stayed locked in shadow, a secret he still dared not share with Gareth, a shape he kept hidden from our eyes.
Had he only trusted more…
Chapter 24
Gareth
The
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