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This is how we love. There are no boundaries between us, no rules. Just feeling, emotion, need.
He groans as I fist him. I moan as he takes my dick in his hand and rubs me with expert hands.
We get each other off as Carrick fucks the woman we love. We become unbearably hard as Carrick grabs her hair in his fists, slides his arm around her stomach and pulls her up against his chest, holding her close as he fucks her standing upright. I let out a deep groan, and Carrick, sensing what we’re doing behind them, twists on his feet, taking Cyn with him.
“Look at them,” he says, cupping her jaw in his hands, still fucking her from behind. “Look at how they fist each other, Cyn, all the while thinking of you, of fucking you, ofloving you.”
Cyn sobs, her cry of pleasure breaking free from her lips as she watches us watching her.
We’re hard for her. Hard for our Cyn, our sin, our soulmate.
“All these years before you, when we’ve fucked other women, fucked each other, we thought of you. We could never admit it to ourselves, to each other, but you werealwaysthere, tucked deep inside our hearts. Ours souls bound to yours,” Carrick continues, fucking her as tears fall from her eyes. “You were there every second of every day. In every breath, in every kiss, in every stroke of our fists, every lick of our tongues. You were never a curse, Cyn. You were always the cure to our brokenness. I will love you forever, my beautiful witch.”
“And I you,” Cyn cries out, and with those words she comes, tears pouring from her eyes as her legs shake and her body trembles.
Not long after cum spills from our heavy, twitching cocks, Carrick fills her up with his love, coming too.
24
Cyn
“Thank you, Christy. I appreciate your call. Speak soon, okay?” I say, placing the phone back on the cradle and sighing heavily.
Carrick looks over at me from his seat beside the fire in the corner of the office, watching me intently. His mouth is pursed in a hard line, the orange flecks in his black eyes reflecting the flames flickering in the hearth.
“Your father?” he asks, brows furrowed.
I nod, my throat tight. “He’s dying.”
The words falling from my lips seem so unreal. How is my father dying? How does something like that happen and only now I find out about it? I feel strangely disengaged from emotion. The man who barely paid me any attention growing up, the man my mother loved, is dying.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
“Cyn, shit. I’m sorry,” he says, getting to his feet and pulling me into a hug, his hand cupping the back of my head, stroking my hair.
“But you hate him. Why are you sorry?” I say, unable to look him in the eye.
“It doesn’t matter what I think about him. You care for him, and he’s dying.”
A sudden rush of pain fills my heart and I'm not sure that I understand it. “He’s my father, but he’s never been a dad. I don't know how to feel right now.”
Carrick holds me tighter, and I sink into his touch, drawing strength from his arms as I try and make sense of the hurricane of emotions swirling inside my chest.
“Did Christy have a vision?” Carrick asks. “Is that why she called?”
“No. My uncle Jack contacted The Masks. He thought I was still there.” I laugh a little bitterly at that. “He wanted to speak with me. Jakub made up an excuse so he wouldn’t know I’m here with you…”
I pull out of Carrick’s arms looking up at him, knowing in my heart what I have to do. He reads my expression and shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”
“I have to, Carrick. I have to say goodbye.”
“Say goodbye? To whom?” Arden asks as he steps into the office, looking between us both. He’s wearing a pinafore, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the scent of chamomile and honey following him into the room. We were making a lotion together in the kitchen when I left him to take the call from Christy.
“My father’s dying. I have to go home.”
“Thisis your home,” is his immediate response, a mixture of worry, concern and a dose of fear cutting across his face.
“Of course it is. I’m not leaving you, but there are things I need to say before–” I begin, but he shakes his head, cutting me off.
