AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Nothing else to consider.
Once we were finished here, we sure as shit weren’t going back to that sad holding cell.
And she wasn’t going anywhere without us.
With a slight bend in his knees for her comfort, Cato steered her to his cock, then groaned, head falling back as soon as her lips closed around the tip. Eyes on him like she wanted to read his pleasure, track his response, our magpie took a few inches into her mouth, then retreated. It was a slow dance, tender and intimate—me and Geralt almost forgotten.
And that just wouldn’t fly, baby.
Now that Cato had claimed first taste of our new mate, she was fair game. Head foggy with lust, I crouched behind her and really touched her, mapping her figure, tracing the dips and curves. They kept magpies clean-shaven, her former masters, from her pits to her arms to her legs, right down to the cleft of her thighs.
Teeth gritted, control tenuous, I delved low, plunging two fingers between her slick folds, and stroked her swollen clit.
“When we make you come,” I taunted in her ear, “you’ll give us your name.”
She tried to shake her head, but the task proved difficult with a huge cock in her mouth, Cato’s shaft glistening with saliva, her mouth working one half and her fist the other. Her core shivered as I parted her lower lips, the air scented with her wet heat, her arousal thick and obvious, so apparent that Geralt nearly lost it, his snarl splintering some of the grey bricks around us. He clapped down on my shoulder, claws slashing my ivory flesh, gripping hard enough that he’d crack my fucking clavicle if he didn’t get his shit together soon.
But who could blame him?
She was wet and wanting for us.
The craving was mutual.
And that was always a game changer.
“You have the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen, magpie, and I’ve barely had a proper look,” I rumbled. Toying with her clit, stroking and massaging no matter how bratty she was with those clenched thighs, I then licked up her spine to the base of her neck. Never had anyone tasted, smelled, felt so fucking good—so life-giving that if we went without her, we’d shrivel up and die.
As she worshipped Cato’s cock, her eyes hooded and heavy, a bit of drool dribbling from the corners of her mouth, I painted the prettiest picture.
“If we were alone,” I told her, glancing between Cato and Geralt, our minds so alike after all these centuries, “I’d have you ass up with your cheek to the ground, thighs spread wide, so we could watch you touch yourself.”
But we weren’t alone.
While we’d ordered her to ignore them, they were there, lurking, watching, reveling in the destruction of a magpie in a way that those fuckers had probably hoped would be more violent than this.
They didn’t deserve a show like the one I had in mind—but next time.
Next time, she wouldn’t escape a single sinful thing.
Her whimper finally pushed Geralt too far, and from the look in his eyes, the demonic roar thundering in his chest, it was either get out of his way or be run the fuck over.
“Here, you surly bastard.” I stood and gestured to her kneeling figure. “Get us her name, then.”
Despite the space given, Geralt still shoved me aside—but I came back swinging with a shove of my own, then a ram of my antlers that gashed his chest wide open. As the inky onyx flesh stitched itself back together, Geralt lunged at me, and then there we were, two snarling idiots pushing and shoving, fighting, all flying fists and bared teeth. He pulled his punches like always, and I did my best not to actually gore him—like always.
“Brothers.” Cato heaved a long, luxurious sigh, his hands woven into our magpie’s thick black hair. “Is this really the time?”
We stumbled apart, chests heaving, muscles clenched and tight, adrenaline spiked and bloodlust piqued. My split lip spread wider with a manic grin, and Geralt brushed the black, bloody smear from his cheek with a roll of his eyes and a smirk shared between brothers. Skirmish over, he folded to his knees, then crawled to our magpie from behind, huge and imposing, and twisted onto his back.
“Open wide, sweet magpie,” he urged as he scooted under her, gently prying apart her calves first, then her knees, his intentions obvious. “Let me in.”
But ever the frightened songbird, she mewled around Cato’s cock and tried to jerk away. The hands in her hair mounted her in place, Cato’s pace slow and kind—but still at his pleasure. Only when he was through with her would she ever escape him, and like fuck that would happen now.
“Do not fear me,” Geralt drawled, inching deeper between her thighs, eyes on the prize and white brows furrowed with die-hard determination. “Fear is for the sheep.” He stroked her legs and the globes of her perky ass, massaging her, coaxing her as I never would. He was a catching more flies with honey sort—I preferred nets and traps, the verbal warfare sometimes even more exciting than the deed itself. “Easy, sweetness… Open for me.”
Tonight, the honey worked, because there she was, shuffling in place, making room for this massive monster as his head scooted beneath her. Geralt lifted her legs and braced her feet over his shoulders, then lurched up, licking her slick sex with a groan that made my cock twitch. He tasted her deeply, face buried, and wrapped clawed hands around her thighs, keeping her right there no matter how she squirmed and squealed. Arched up, he tucked in, his skin littered with telltale goose bumps, nipples as tight as hers, and cock desperate for attention. Pillowed by that long, silky white mane, he feasted on our magpie like she was his first meal, his last, devouring her cunt while she whimpered and gasped around Cato’s shaft.
And I refused to sit on the sidelines one fucking second longer.
