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I wrapped my arm around his thick neck, reaching back with the other hand to close my fist around the throbbing head of his cock. Stickiness smeared my palm, trickling out of him. “Oh Tuck,” I moaned in his mouth.
“You’re everything, Robin. My sweet, devious little sinner.”
I rose on the balls of my feet. I couldn’t stand this—the way he played with me, dragging his fingers in and out of me, lighting my insides on fire.
Without another word, I blindly groped his thick cock, repositioned his length under me, and then swung my nightgown open at my legs. I settled down on him, moving too quickly for comfort—only slowing once the bulbous head pushed my lips aside and sank inside me.
I agonizingly lowered myself on him, planting his rigid length inside my warmth, struggling to take him all.
Finally, the swell of my ass landed on his thighs, and I had him fully planted inside me, hilted deep.
He let out a groan, hugged my body against him, and bucked his hips to send his cock slamming up into me.
My eyelids fluttered. The bliss was immediate, exquisite. I was wet and slick, and he easily stretched my tunnel and hit every deepest part of me. This was a man who had proven himself to me, and this was the final act for him to make his love for me known. To show me how much he cared.
My heart swelled, even as he jiggled his body and squeezed me close to him, smothering me, sending spikes of pure pleasure thrumming through my core.
I put my hands on his shoulders so I wouldn’t fly off his bucking lap. I rode him hard, slamming my ass down, making our flesh clap.
Coldness drifted over my back like a cool breeze. I didn’t think much of it. I was lost in the throes of lust, turning this depraved holy man into an instrument for my pleasure.
“You’re so tight and warm, Robin,” he breathed in my ear. “The perfect woman. The only one I ever need.”
One of his hands squeezed my pert breast through my nightgown, while the other guided my hip on top of him. He was more assertive and dominant than I would have imagined from his kind, soft exterior. But we all had secrets, didn’t we?
The ecstasy inside me became a beacon of warm light that grew and grew and threatened to consume me from the inside out. I was losing my mind, losing my grasp on anything other than his cock rolling through me and his hands ravaging me.
Then a third hand caressed my spine, ghosting over my flesh, and I gasped sharply. Before I could look over my shoulder, I heard a soft, syrupy voice.
“Won’t you sing for him, little songbird?”
Alan-a-Dale smiled in my cheek, hands wrapping around my middle.
“A-Alan,” I croaked.
“Apologies, dove. I couldn’t stand to hear our resident holy man getting you all to himself. Simply couldn’t abide it.”
“Alan,” Tuck growled, hugging me against his warm chest. He kept fucking me, drawing that ball of light inside closer to an explosion. “She didn’t ask for your—”
“No, please,” I said, riding Tuck hard. “I want you too, Alan-a-Dale. You beautiful, treacherous man. I want all of you!”
I moaned, throwing my head back. The Merry Men had awoken a primal need inside me. The need for carnal exploration, and the transformation had been swift and all-consuming, the descent abrupt and drastic.
Alan wrapped a hand around the front of my neck from behind, squeezing lightly, keeping my face staring up. He dipped his head over mine, on his knees, and kissed me upside down as my spine bowed.
Where Tuck was ravenous and needy, Alan was smooth and tender. The bristles of his short-cropped beard tickled me. His tongue flitted over mine, and I batted it away, trying to assert dominance.
I was sandwiched between the two men, and could feel Alan-a-Dale’s hard cock sliding between the mounds of my ass, even as Tuck pumped my cunt nearby.
“Which hole shall I take, songbird?” He grinned wickedly.
“Take whatever you want! I’m begging you.”
A climax rolled through me at his words and the feeling of Tuck’s cock pelting into me, curving just right.
“A dangerous game,” Alan said. “Looks like one is already taken . . . but I can be persuasive.”
I had no idea what that meant. All I could do was gasp and mindlessly nod. “Thank you for the shortbow,” I said, as if it was relevant at all as to why Alan-a-Dale had barged into this tent.
