Page 22 of On Brutal Thrones

I look up. Fenric stands at the head of the bed, watching, dark eyes skipping from my stomach to my breasts to where Thorian disappears inside me. He moves to the side. Talon appears on the other side. Both have their hands on their cocks, stroking, coaxing themselves back to hardness.

"Nyx." Thorian's voice is wrecked. His body shakes with the effort of staying still, of not thrusting up into me. "Ride me. Now."

I shift my hips. My clit drags against the ridge of his pubic bone, and I gasp at the friction. Again. Again. I find a rhythm that makes my toes curl.

Talon lifts my hair, kisses along my jaw. "That's it," he murmurs. "Use him. Take your pleasure."

Fenric cups my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples, forehead dropping to my shoulder. "You look so fucking good," he pants. "So beautiful taking him. Look at you, sweetheart. Look at you."

I throw my head back, arch my spine, slide my hips against Thorian's until I'm taking him as deep as possible. The sounds he makes are animalistic, raw, guttural groans that vibrate through his chest into mine. He loses control, hands jerking me down as he thrusts up, meeting me halfway. The slap of skin fills the room, mixing with our gasps, our moans, the wet sounds of my pussy taking his cock again and again.

"So good," I whimper. "So good. Don't stop. Please don't stop⁠—"

Talon's hand grips my ass, helping me move. Fenric's mouth finds my breast, sucking hard. Thorian's thumb returns to my clit, pressing, circling, and I'm climbing, climbing, the pressure building until I can't breathe, can't think, can only feel.

"Come for us," Thorian demands, voice barely human, eyes glowing with something ancient and divine. "Let me feel you come on my cock, Nyx. Now."

I shatter.

The orgasm rips through me with violent intensity, my pussy clamping down on his length in rhythmic pulses, my scream echoing off the cabin walls. Thorian follows immediately, roaring his release, thrusting up one final time and holding me down, pulsing hot and endless inside me.

Fenric and Talon aren't far behind. Fenric spends himself across my back with a strangled cry, and Talon follows with a hiss against my neck. We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and ragged breathing.

Nobody moves. Thorian's cock softens inside me, but I don't want to lose this yet. I drop my forehead to his chest, listening to his thundering heart slow.

Talon presses a lazy kiss to my shoulder. Fenric strokes my hair. Thorian's hands loosen, become gentle, caressing.

"Okay?" he asks, voice rough.

I nod, too spent for words.

More than okay.

I think I’m exactly where I'm supposed to be.

4

Fenric

“What do you think?”

I hold the ring up to the early morning light, turning it slowly between my fingers. It’s far from perfect. One section is slightly thicker than the others, and no matter how many times I worked the ends back through the weave, I couldn’t make them disappear completely. Still, the pale strips of birch have dried into a surprisingly beautiful pattern, each piece wrapping around the others until it’s impossible to tell where one begins and another ends.

There’s something fitting about that.

Thorian found the white birch. Talon shaved away the thin strips of wood, somehow managing not to destroy half of them despite having no idea what he was doing. I took those pieces and wove them together using a berserker method my mother taught me when I was a boy. I dunked the ring in the river, tightened the weave, tested the size, then did the whole thing again until I was reasonably certain it would fit Nyx’s finger.

Now, looking at it, my stomach is in knots.

“Fucking perfect, man.” Talon claps a hand against my shoulder. “If this whole competition thing doesn’t work out, you could become a jeweler.”

“Ha.” I give him a flat look.

Of everyone I grew up with, I was probably the worst at weaving. My mother used to take whatever lopsided mess I produced and patiently show me where I’d gone wrong, her big hands somehow capable of making the smallest, most intricate patterns.

The memory hits harder than I expect.

I look back at the ring.