Her walls spasmed, grasping helplessly at both lengths, her body slick and overstretched, caught in the exquisite agony of being completely,utterlyfilled. She didn’t know where her body ended and theirs began.
Splice’s breath hitched raggedly at her ear, not filthy now, but reverent. “So full of us,” he choked. “Gods, you’re—” He broke off with a groan, lips pressed to her shoulder.
Goldie sobbed, wrecked and wanting, every part of her tuned to the rhythm of this impossible act. Magic flared beneath her skin, wild and golden, echoing in the roots below and the canopy above. Even the air pulsed with it.
The Thornfather groaned, low and vast, and vines burst from his form, wrapping her waist, climbing Splice’s back, twining their limbs in a living cocoon. They pulsed in time with every thrust, braiding the three of them tighter.
More vines teased her, stroking her breasts, coiling her wrists, flicking her clit with merciless precision. Every touch edged her closer to oblivion.
Splice’s cock dragged alongside the god’s with a punishing, perfect grind. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. “You hold us like you were made for us. One rhythm. One heart.”
The Thornfather answered, voice like wind through ancient canopies, deep and uncontainable. “Let us grow in you.”
Goldie’s lips parted, lost between begging and benediction. The Grove Core within her blazed to life, a rising symphony of pulse and light. Her whole body clenched. Magic crackled outward, curling through her limbs, spiraling into the gods inside her.
And then she shattered. Her orgasm struck like a supernova, violent and luminous. Goldie screamed as green-gold light exploded from her, bursting through her skin, her veins, the atrium itself. It spilled back into the Thornfather with radiant force, lighting his body like a storm brought to bloom.
He roared, his cock pulsing deep as he came in thick torrents. Still buried beside the god, Splice snarled, his cock throbbing violently, grinding against Mycor’s as he emptied himself inhelpless waves. Their release spilled from her in gushes, soaking her thighs, pooling beneath her, impossible to contain.
Goldie sobbed, wrecked and writhing, her cunt fluttering around their still-throbbing cocks. Her body milked them both, demanding more, and they gave it, pounding into her through the aftershocks, each thrust a dizzying echo of climax.
And through it all, magic bound them together—Splice crushed to her back, Mycor anchoring her from below—as their pleasure flooded her senses, reaching to the Grove Core deep within her. It surged through her in a radiant net, weaving their bodies and essences into a single, radiant whole.
Then—stillness.
Goldie sagged, boneless, against Mycor’s chest, breath ragged. Her limbs trembled, nerves flayed raw by sensation. She whimpered as another small spasm rippled through her, everything hot and wet and wildly overstretched. She didn’t even try to move. There was no part of her that wasn’t spent.
And yet, beneath the ache, there was wonder.
Because layered over her physical wreckage was something vast: the glow of connection. She couldfeelthem both. Not just their bodies, but their spirits: Splice’s sharp hunger softened by devotion, threaded now with awe; the Thornfather’s vastness, his patience, his aching, rooted love.
The Thornfather exhaled, a low, resonant sigh that seemed to stir the very air of the atrium. His magnificent form relaxed beneath her. The vines that had been shriveled with sickness now glowed faintly, supple and strong.
“The rot lingers.” His voice rumbled, softer now, almost wonder-struck. “But in this moment, it does not consume me.”
Goldie lifted her head, blinking past the sweat and tears slicking her lashes, and her breath hitched.
He looked whole. His bark no longer shimmered with rot but with life, rich and dark as fresh soil. Where decay had oncethreaded, there was now warmth, vitality, the living grain of ancient wood. His eyes gleamed now with clarity, with color, with light.
And then Mycor smiled at her.
Something wonderful cracked open in her chest at the sight. Her throat tightened; tears welled and blurred her vision. She reached forward, fingers trembling as she cupped his cheek. He was warm. Truly warm.
A breathless laugh broke from her lips, half sob, half wonder. “Gods,” she whispered. “Look at you, big guy.”
Behind her, Splice exhaled against her neck, his breath soft and human and full of wonder. He was still inside her, pressed tight to her back, cradling her like something fragile and holy. One of his arms slid down her thigh, grounding her with a slow, steady touch.
He kissed her temple, slow and reverent. “Well,” he murmured, voice hoarse and dazed, “that was… something.”
A shaky laugh bubbled out of her. “Something?” she echoed, turning her head to look at him. “Splice, that was—” Her words fell apart in another breathless laugh. “That was the best fucking sex of mylife.”
The Thorn father rumbled beneath her, the sound low and warm and pleased. “A ritual of renewal and of joy.”
Splice’s lips curved against her shoulder. His hand rubbed lazy, slow circles over her hip, possessive in the gentlest way.
“Are you okay, Goldie?” he murmured, voice low and rough with concern and tenderness.
Goldie let out a breathless, wobbly laugh. “Yeah. Gods and goddesses, yeah. Just—give me a second. I think I saw stars.” She paused, then added, “Twice.”
