Page 84 of Inextricably Tied

“What?” Flint taunts. “Not used to being denied anything?”

“Not by you.”

But she shudders like she enjoys it, fingers digging into the wood grain, desire overpowering anything the object gives her. Then Flint pulls completely out of Agony, and both he and Harbinger protest.

“Shouldn’t need to touch yourself.” Flint stirs a claw into Agony’s back, dipping past the barrier of shadows. Beneath him, Agony shudders. So Flint does it again, raking down until he reaches the place between Agony’s legs.

“How much can you feel, Harbin?”

She turns a shade of petrified, fingers jumping and desperate to touch. “I don’t —”

Her words bind up in a curse when Flint draws experimental circles against Agony, mimicking the motions he’s made against Harbinger. “What if I put this right here?” Flint winds his thumb against Agony, finding both their clits. Harbinger’s legs clamber like they don’t know where to go.

“Oh, she likes it,” Flint purrs while Agony buries his face in the sheets. Three pulses of desire come from each new movement. There’s the feel of Flint touching him, the wanton look on Harbinger’s face, and their connection firing her arousal back.

“What if…” Flint stretches Agony to fit around his finger. “I slide in here? What if I take my time?” Harbinger can’t keep her eyes open. Agony writhes in pleasure. “Is that good?”

Flint doesn’t give them time to recover. “What if I curl my fingers like that? You feel it?”

Harbinger nearly knocks the TV off the stand. Agony tries to escape, but there’s no pulling himself from Flint’s grip.

“Does that feel good?” Flint’s voice is so casually cruel when Harbinger whimpers. “Yeah? I bet it does, baby.”

Then Flint dips the rest of his hand inside of Agony.

Strangled screams come from both their throats. Harbinger’s thighs clench together, desperate for a modicum of friction. Flint presses Agony’s face to the bed, sinking past the wrist and winding them up. “Does that hurt? What’s your color?”

Flames on Agony’s head flutter and jump, voice rasping. “No. Fuck, it feels like green.”

“Harbinger?” Flint twists his arm until Agony and Harbinger bite through curses. “Tell me.”

“It’s green. It’s like —” Her hand knocks the picture above her head askew. Fingers dart between her legs.

“Don’t touch.”

“Flint,” she sobs.

“Tell me.”

Her squeal steeps in frustration. Her hand jerks back, cheek pressed into the wall like it’s too much. “It’s like you’re filling me up. Like you’re in my fucking throat. Flint…”

“Good?”

“It’s so fucking much. Good.” Spiteful words spill out of her. “Asking ‘Is it good?’ while you’ve got a fucking forearm in me. In us.”

Agony strains, trying to break out of the shape he’s trapped in, cuffs draped over the side of the bed. Flint keeps eyes on him. “Still green?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Ah — yeah. It’s fucking green, old man.”

Retracting, Flint smirks before he buries his cock inside again. Agony’s cuffs bounce against the side of the bed with each thrust.

Harbinger seethes. “Let me touch myself.”

“You have absolutely zero manners.”

“Please let me fucking touch myself, Flint!” Her fingers drag along the TV stand, nails digging in as she tries to obey. Flint considers it a moment longer, unbothered, winding her up.

“Fine.”