Jory Strong: Inked Destiny

His hands settled against her hips, holding her firmly against Eamon, preventing movement and making her prisoner to sensation. Not just the coil of her own desire or the scorching heat of it, but theirs as well.

She wanted to watch Cathal. She wanted to eat him with her eyes, devour him, but with the first stroke and swirl of his tongue to her clit, he made her helpless. The truth was, she’d been unable to resist the allure of either man though she’d known both would bring trouble.

On a moan she surrendered, closing her eyes and giving herself over to their care. Eamon’s hands were like molten fire on her breasts, but then fire was one of the elements he was most strongly linked to, the essence of who I am , he’d told her as they looked into a mirror taking up a great expanse of wall, the spells woven into it allowing a glimpse into things hidden by skin and physical form.

She’d seen and experienced more evidence of magic, but this, being alive, being with them both at the same time, was the purest of magic, the most addicting of it, better than anything.

Pleasure whipped through her, turning her breath into fast, shallow pants. Her blood pooled between her thighs, and her heartbeat thundered there as if it lived in swollen, wet folds and engorged clit.

She strained, trying to drive her clit deeper into Cathal’s mouth, begging him to suck harder as orgasm shimmered just out of reach. Now! The scream built inside her only to have him abandon her clit.

He slid his tongue through puffy cunt lips and wet channel, teasing her with shallow thrusts so her opening clenched and unclenched. She struggled against implacable male hands, held stationary by firm grips.

Eamon’s tongue mimicked Cathal’s, fucking into her ear canal, hot torment to an area that had turned into an erogenous zone since meeting him. Their twin assault while imprisoning her was very nearly a punishment, sensual torment for coming so close to dying and leaving them behind to wonder at what she suffered before breath ceased and she went still and cold.

She tried to cant her hips, her inner thighs wet with arousal instead of water. “Do it,” she ordered Cathal, channel rippling, trying to grasp and hold his tongue, to pull it deeper into her body and make it a substitute for the thick, hardened cock that rose to press against his belly while Eamon’s felt like satin against her buttocks and back.

Eamon’s husky laugh was all that came of her command, followed by a silky threat. “We’re not the ones at your mercy this time, Etaín. You’re at ours.”

They proved it to her, holding her on the edge of release as she writhed and strained, the vines tattooed on her arms like live things absorbing the lust and heightening it to the point where her heart beat too fast, burned like a small sun trapped in her chest and about to explode. And then it did, consciousness disappearing in a sundering pulse of ecstasy, pleasure sweeping outward and leaving deep, infinite peace.

Magic slammed into Eamon with Etaín’s surrender to pleasure. He nearly came, his cock pressed hard and hot to her flesh, his testicles swollen, tight sacks pulled upward in near agony.

Victory and satisfaction surged through him, along with a sense of camaraderie as Cathal rose from his crouch, features flushed but eyes filled with the same emotions. She was theirs. Safe and whole because of them. Wordlessly Eamon lifted Etaín into his arms, Cathal reaching the bed first, jerking luxurious sheet and comforter downward.

Etaín’s eyelashes fluttered as Eamon lay her on the bed, her lids opening as he stretched out on his side next to her, Cathal doing the same opposite of him.

Her dark, dark eyes were pools of sultry seduction, languid still from orgasm, though sparks of amusement shimmered like the flash of silvery minnows in ocean shallows. “Well, that was a first for me. Not that either of you need a boost to your egos when it comes to sex.”

She took possession of hardened cocks, Cathal moaning, breath seizing in a quick, sharp inhalation where Eamon refused to cede control. “Take him while I watch,” he said, issuing a command, his hand replacing hers, fingers wrapped tightly around his cock when she obeyed, releasing him to roll into Cathal, onto him as Cathal went willingly to his back.

Like a pagan goddess rising from the sea of deep blue sheets, and created of flame, she straddled Cathal. The sun streaming through the window caressed her, the gold of her aura almost that of a pure Elf, the sheen of magic reminding Eamon of water lapping a pristine shore as he wanted to lap her, to probe her wet core with his tongue and taste her essence.

From the very first, Eamon found the sight of Etaín with Cathal arousing. It was more so now as he watched her guide Cathal’s cock to her opening, teasing him by allowing him to experience the satin heat of her channel only inches at a time.

Cathal’s hands palmed her breasts, fingers clamped on nipples as intoxicating as the finest of wines. His hips lifted from the mattress in hard jabs meant to press him deeper into her body, his cock glistening, darkened in his need for Etaín.

“Tease,” Cathal panted, the growl in his voice a warning he wouldn’t let her torment him for long.

“And you’re not? The two of you aren’t?” she said, including Eamon with the slight turn of her head. Her gaze swept over him, the liquid hunger her expression delivered making his hand tighten in a near-painful fist on his shaft.

Dark satisfaction settled in her eyes. In centuries of being alive, he’d never ceded as much to any woman as he had to this one in just days.

Her attention returned to Cathal, her body lifting and lowering, drawing out the pleasure until finally Cathal put her beneath him. He pounded into her, hands held to the mattress, his mouth on hers, swallowing her moans and finally her cry of release before pistoning furiously, muscles cording, his breathing ragged and rough as he yielded to ecstasy.

Eamon had just enough control to allow Cathal to relinquish Etaín by rolling to the side. Cathal’s features were flushed, his eyelids at half-mast. His expression held possessiveness as well as lingering jealousy, yet he didn’t look away as Eamon covered Etaín’s body with his.

A thrust took him home, into a storm of sensation. Magic and woman. A welcome echoed by arms around him and feminine hands on his back. His , though he could share her with Cathal.

Desperation seized him, at how close he’d come to losing her to death. His mouth fused to hers, tongues battling, twining, tangling in a wild, hungry joining that had only one goal, only one end. Ecstasy came with the ripple of her sheath, with her surrender, then his in a shuddering, jagged rush of semen.

But pleasure shattered with the alien grasping of his power. The pull of it through him and into her was like a fiery tornado, a hungry wrenching.

He reacted instinctively, defensively, uttering a knock-out spell as he jerked away from her. Rolling from the bed entirely rather than risk continued contact.

The shock and suddenness of what had happened left him shaken. Only slowly did calm return. But it was calm possessed of wariness. The seidic bound their mates to them, were said to possess them, the boundaries stripped away. Mind thief. Gift thief. They were epithets applied to the seidic .

Here, in his home, untrained and only barely aware of her own power while remaining completely ignorant of what she was, what she would be, she was helpless against his will made manifest or she wouldn’t have succumbed so quickly to the spell. But she wouldn’t remain so for much longer. Intimacy had lowered his guard. He wouldn’t give up the first, but needed to shore up the second.