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Nathaniel knelt beside us. I reached out a hand, and the moment he touched me, I could think a little, and Damian's pull was a little less. Damian snarled at him, and those green eyes wavered, as if sanity wasn't permanent in them, not yet.
Jean-Claude was in my head, and I felt a tiny thread of fear from him. "You must finish binding him, ma petite, and you must start from the beginning of the words."
I wanted to ask, "Why are you afraid?" And I must have thought it very hard, because he answered, "If he goes insane now, ma petite, your lovely throat is very unprotected. Finish it."
Maybe Richard was hearing the interior conversation, because he came to kneel on the other side of us. Suddenly, it couldn't have gotten more awkward. "I'm here," he said, and he said it like it should have made things better, as if he didn't understand how horribly embarrassing it was to have him kneeling there.
Damian gave him an unfriendly look, and a sound that was more growl than anything trickled from his mouth. I was losing him. "Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh," and he gazed back down at me, and with each word, sanity filled his eyes, his face, him. He slid his body against mine, and I felt him pushing against me. And again I felt that almost overwhelming need. That certainty that it was not a kiss we needed to seal this with. The need roared over me. I thought for a heartbeat we'd raised the ardeur, but then I could hear it--them. Two needs. I turned my head and found Nathaniel gazing down at me with those lavender eyes. It was there in his eyes, his face, but I could have told you what was there without using my eyes, because I could feel it. Feel him. Them. Both of them, pushing at me, not just physically, but in ways that hands could never hold you down, or bodies pin you to the floor. Their need undid me more easily than any physical strength or threat. Their need undid me because I cared for them, and if you could feel another's pain, as if it were your own, wouldn't you do anything to stop that pain? Wouldn't you?
My voice was breathy, and it was Nathaniel's gaze I held when I said, "Breath to breath, my heart to yours." Damian slid inside me in one long push of his hips. The sensation made me writhe underneath him, made me grip Nathaniel's hand hard enough to dig nails into his flesh. My h*ps ground upward to meet Damian's thrust. It was as involuntary as the next breath I took.
A sound drew my attention away from Nathaniel, and it wasn't a sound from above me. The sound came from the other side of us. Richard had pushed himself away from us, until his back met the side of the white couch. I don't know what I expected to see on his face, lust, disgust, anger, jealousy, maybe, but what I saw was fear. A fear so raw and naked, that it hurt to meet his eyes.
Damian grabbed my face, turned me back to look up at him. "It's me I want you to be thinking about," he said, and he began to pull himself out of me, slowly. For a second I thought that would be it, but part of me knew better. He'd raised himself up, almost in a push-up, the tip of him barely inside me, and gazing full into my face, his eyes pinning mine as surely as his body pinned the rest of me, he said, "Blood of my blood," and thrust into me. I cried out underneath him, and Nathaniel echoed that cry, while his hand gripped mine. His lavender eyes were wild when I turned to look at him. Damian touched my face again, but a touch was enough to turn me to face him, to feel his body sliding out of mine, to hear his whisper, "Flesh of my flesh," before he married our flesh as close, as fast, as he could. I felt Nathaniel convulse hand to hand, and I felt his pulse like a second heartbeat against my palm, but I kept my eyes on Damian's face, my gaze on his as he drew his body out of me, almost, and, said, "Breath to breath," and slammed himself inside me. I screamed and Nathaniel's voice echoed mine. I finally realized that Nathaniel was getting if not the full ride, a shadow of what I was feeling. Damian drew himself out, out, until... "My heart to yours," and he slid himself inside me.
He stayed frozen above me, body as deep inside me as he could get. His breathing was harsh and shallow. A shudder passed down his body from head to toe, and I writhed underneath him from it. Nathaniel moaned, jerking on my hand, as if it were his body being explored. Damian's voice was shaky, "Oh, don't do that. If you do that again, I won't last." He buried his face against my hair, and another shudder rippled down his body and made me dance underneath him, crying out, and that was it. He was suddenly above me, his upper body arched, and he shoved himself into me, deep, hard, and it was partly his body inside me, partly watching his body above mine, his eyes closed, his head thrown back, his hair like a bloody waterfall around the pale candle of his body, and knowing that he was thrust as deep inside me as he could get that tore a scream from my lips. And Nathaniel's voice screamed with me, our hands convulsing around each other, our nails biting into each other's skin. I felt Nathaniel's body thrust against the carpet, felt him let go, and that orgasm traveled back up my arm and into Damian. It was his turn to scream, and that made him writhe with his body still plunged inside of mine, which made me move underneath him. It was like being caught in an endless loop of pleasure; one body's release, bringing the other, until we ended in a sweating, bloody pile on the floor.
Damian let out a shaky laugh. And I felt, heard, knew, that underneath the lust was sorrow, and an almost certain knowledge that he might never get to do this again, once my head cleared. For some reason that made me think of something I had forgotten. I turned my head and found that Richard was still there, but it wasn't fear on his face now, but a sort of wonderment. I realized in that moment that, though Richard wasn't getting all the sensations that Nathaniel was getting, he could still hear inside my head. So could Jean-Claude, but it was Richard's thought that came the clearest. "You've never f**ked either of them." On the heels of that thought came another, that he'd assumed I was screwing everything in the house, because he'd pretty much been doing the same down at the lupanar.
I was na**d in the middle of sex with one man, maybe two, depending on how you counted things, yet, suddenly, I had the moral high ground. Weird.
18
Gregory crawled to us on all fours, sniffing just above our bodies. He said in that growling voice, "Me next."
I had to look up and back over my shoulder to give him the look he deserved, but looking back with him on all fours gave me a sight line down his body, and suddenly I was more embarrassed than I had been. Shapeshifters look sort of like they do in the movies in half-man form, but there is one big difference. They have genitalia, and right at that moment Gregory was very, very happy to be here. I think what bothered me more than the erection was that he'd gotten it from watching me have sex with Damian. For some reason, unfair probably, it bothered me that Gregory had enjoyed the show.
"Back off, Gregory," I said, and my voice sounded harsh and like I meant it, even while I blushed.
He did his kitty-cat impression of a smile and backed off, literally. He put his head down, and crawled backward, abasing himself. It was a gesture closer to a real wolf than a real leopard, but wereanimals are people at heart, and some gestures just translate better to our human brains. Abasing yourself by going low is one of those gestures.
Damian was looking down at me, and the look was not one that I'd ever seen on a man's face just after finishing sex. He looked sad, and I remembered the burst of emotion at the end. Sorrow covering the pleasure like evil chocolate ruining your ice cream.
But it was more than the look on his face. I realized that I could feel his sadness. Feel it, not like it was my own, but like it was a coat that clung to my skin. I was still hooked up to him emotionally, well, not just emotionally. I could feel him plunged deep inside me, his weight still pinning my lower body. Touching made any sort of metaphysical intermingling worse. I needed to stop touching him. And not just him.
Nathaniel lay beside us, his fingers still tangled in mine. The side of his body pressed up against me, so that our bodies touched from shoulder to hip. He must have scooted closer when Damian finished. I think I would have remembered if Nathaniel's body had been touching mine during the act. Wouldn't I?
His lavender eyes were unfocused, almost sleepy. What came through his skin was contentment. Contentment like a great warm ocean that filled him, floated him, held him, rocked him. Maybe I stared at him too long, or maybe he sensed my own growing unease, because his eyes focused, sharpened, and the look in them wasn't the least bit sleepy. It was almost an anticipatory look, as if he were already thinking about next time. Since I didn't think he'd had a first time yet, it helped clear my head. Anger always did.
