I scowl at the reminder that he knows this, too.
Not to wield against you. Only to know what it is you need from me. From us.
He pauses, and his clothing melts away before my eyes. One hand is braced on the mattress beside my calf. The other is on his cock and running up and over its thickness.
The flash of heat starts in my gut and pulses. My damn beast purrs internally at the sight of his perfect form. The dark art, the wealth of muscle, and the size of his cock have her salivating.
She very much desires to touch and taste his skin, explore his body in a way that’s beyond my own imaginings.
As Orán steps to the bed, my gaze rises slowly to meet his. His clothing has already been stripped away, and he now stands proudly in only his own skin, all devastating sinew cast in ominous red moonlight.
The color of danger, war, and anger, yes, but also that of passion, carnal need, and temptation. And he is indeed that.
My body, not my mind, begins to guide my actions. I reach for him, unable to help myself. His fingers connect with mine, and as he crawls on the bed toward me, he raises our hands and kisses the ridge of my knuckles.
Pollock crawls up the bed and over me. His body is just as lethal, covered in similar runes as Orán's, but no less captivating, even with the constellation of scars mapped out across his chest. As his weight comes to rest over me, I raise my other hand and let it navigate the terrain of the painful history revealed there.
Curiosity replaces reason. “What are these from?”
He closes his eyes at my touch, and a shudder rolls through him. “From war long ago. Before I was reborn as I am.” I learn the pattern of each scar, the jagged edges of each so-called flaw, though I don’t see them as such.
Because my own, if I still had them, would tell a story as well.
Orán turns my head to him and whispers, “You can learn all about them later. For now, turn off your mind. Just feel. There will be time. We have time.” His mouth descends on mine, and all thought of Pollock’s scars and runes vanishes.
Pollock's hands roam over my body, up my thighs, while Orán makes love to my mouth.
A wave of need rolls through my body as Pollock fingers find my sex, that damning little nub. He begins to play with my clit, as his velvety voice enters my thoughts.
I wish only to give you pleasure, the likes of which you’ve never known, little mate.
Orán's hand ventures from my face, down the valley of my breasts. His mouth makes art of love, laying foundations of it across my skin as he works his way down my neck and collarbone. A new kind of devotion, kisses with invisible brands, delivered with the utmost care. Homage paid in full to flesh that once held no meaning.
I turn off my brain and get lost in the sensation as his talented tongue delivers decadent torture in its wake.
Pollock's attention is focused lower, heady kisses across my stomach as he works me over with his fingers. His impatience is felt. His purpose is clear. His hunger is at a level in exchange with my own. Emotion brimming, in an electric arc as our gazes meet and hold.
He moves farther down and does not hesitate to replace his fingers with his wicked mouth.
The sound that leaves me is of no language known to man. My body tries to rise off the bed, but Pollock holds me down and explores my sex greedily, as if gluttony is a sin he’s fully on board to lose himself in when it comes to my body.
There’s no tenderness. He devours, forces compliance, and though his hands knead my flesh while doing so, they soon venture south and enter me beside his tongue. His thick fingers begin to pump relentlessly inside me. Pain crests for only a second until pleasure replaces all else.
Pollock
Her body responds perfectly to my touch. Her mind half lost to it, this dual assault Orán and I are delivering. Her thoughts haven’t been given time to catch up.
I should feel guilty about that.
I do not.
I am consumed with want. My hunger has been caged long enough. This yearning to have her in whatever way I desire has been given free rein to unravel, and I wish to claim what I know, in the center of my soul, is my other half of this three-part division.
Different from the half I share with Orán. And just as essential. Perhaps more so.
I’ve felt the absence of acutely. Something I’ve lived lifetimes without, and though I knew not what it was, I knew something was missing.
Now this holy trinity of three is mine for the taking, and once our souls intertwine, I will be whole.
