Chapter 56 #2
My lips part and Sylvan pushes his fingers into my mouth as I stare at Faust. I gag, my stomach convulsing as Sylvan pushes further, and he swears under his breath, like he worships me.
“Fuck me, baby. Please.” He begs so good, and after Faust kisses my temple and releases me, I do exactly as he asked.
I reach between my thighs and circle Sylvan’s thick cock, adjust my stance over him, and guide him inside me.
I’m so fucking wet, and it feels so good as he stretches me, I drop my hand and plant it on his chest, dipping my chin and staring into his eyes as I fuck him.
His lips are parted, eyes wide, and he looks like he’s staring at a goddess when his hands come to my hips, guiding me up and down the length of him.
I can feel him in my fucking stomach when he’s all the way in, a sensation that’s nearly too much, but it feels so good too.
I use my thighs to ride him, sitting up tall as he grabs one breast, then the other, slapping lightly at my nipples as I fuck him, never looking away from my face.
The sounds he makes turn me on more, and I fuck him harder, the slickness of us loud in the quiet, darkened room.
“Lay down on him.” Faust’s command.
I arch my back, my ass in the air, and do as he said, lying my cheek on Sylvan’s chest. Sylvan’s fingers come to my ass, and he spreads me wide, exposing me to Faust.
I’m nervous, but not ashamed.
God, if only Jemma could see me now. Slut D and proud.
Then, as I roll my hips over Sylvan and feel his groan beneath me, Faust’s tongue is on my ass.
Fuck.
My eyes seem to roll to the back of my head as he pushes his tongue inside my hole, Sylvan filling my other one. I tighten around both, my body wound up tight, my nails digging into Sylvan’s ribcage.
“Fuck, baby girl,” he gasps. “You like his tongue in that ass?”
“Yes,” I moan, my lips along Sylvan’s skin.
Then Faust pulls back, dropping his mouth lower, and I feel his tongue along the base of Sylvan’s cock, and my stretched cunt.
Before I can explode from the sensation, he pushes his thumb into my ass.
“Ride us both,” Sylvan whispers, his voice throaty. “Make us both feel you.”
I roll my hips as much as I can, my hard nipples pressed to Sylvan’s abs.
The fullness feels so good, and I can’t imagine not having them both.
Faust’s tongue moves, Sylvan stretches my ass as wide as it’ll go with both hands pulling apart my glutes, and I feel Faust shift his hand to my back, an emptiness where his finger was.
Then something much bigger presses against my opening.
I tense.
“Look at me,” Sylvan commands.
I pick my head up and stare into his beautiful eyes, my body between them, my soul fully theirs. It’s like they took a knife to my walls and hacked them all down.
Are they murderers? I don’t know, but they destroyed my guard.
“Relax for us, beautiful.” Sylvan is so soft, so kind. So unlike himself, but in this moment, I believe him, what he’s not saying: Trust us. “We won’t hurt you unless you want it,” he says. “Let us both in.”
Faust runs his cock over my ass, and Sylvan thrust up his hips, filling me deep.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispers as I melt, his hands still holding me wide for Faust. “We’ll be so careful with you. So, so careful.”
I nod as he murmurs my name, then drop my head back to his chest, letting them have me. Full surrender.
Faust pushes in, and I make my muscles relax. He doesn’t force his way inside, and with Sylvan holding me open in more ways than one, the pain is minimal. There’s pressure, and I don’t close against it.
I force myself to keep breathing, let my nails dig into Sylvan’s sides because I know he can take it, my breath coming in pants from my mouth as I drool all over the boy underneath me.
Mine.
They’re both mine.
Faust’s hand presses on my low back, as if he’s soothing me, and he groans between his teeth as he pushes further. Then more, and deeper, stretching me open, marking me completely as his.
He’s entirely in, and so is Sylvan, and I’m so full I think I’ll rip in half, but I don’t want either one of them to stop.
Faust fucks me, Sylvan thrusts up into me, and Faust comes down against my spine. The position is agonizing, but more pleasure than pain. A sensation I’ve never felt before, like I can barely breathe, but I don’t want air if I have them.
Sylvan curls my hair behind my ear, his touch gentle even as he fucks me faster from below, his mouth over my skin.
“Do you like being used by us?” he whispers, a groan of pleasure in his words.
“Yes,” I pant. “Yes.”
“Yeah?” he taunts me, and I can tell he’s getting closer, the more his thrusts go deeper.
My clit is aching, throbbing, pushed against his skin, and I writhe on top of him as Faust’s hand claims my throat, and he’s so far in, I don’t know how I’ll ever be empty again.
The three of us move as one, my ass split, my pussy stuffed, and my body a pathetic mess between them as I circle my clit on Sylvan’s pelvis.
The sounds in the darkened castle grow louder, all three of us rising as a chorus of sin. Faust is squeezing my throat so tight it’s hard to breathe, and Sylvan is the foil, whispering praise into my ear.
“Such a good fucking girl,” he says, his voice raspy. “Letting us have this pussy, this ass.” He jerks my hair back, arching my throat, Faust’s fingers still curled around my neck. “Look at me,” Sylvan demands.
I have to shift my eyes down, the way he’s holding onto me.
“Tell me who you belong to.”
“I’m yours,” I moan without hesitation. “And his,” I add as Faust tightens his grip on me. They’re splitting me in two, impaling me, and still I confess my surrender.
Faust hooks his arm over my throat, dragging me up, my nipples sharp points.
Sylvan sucks one into his mouth, flicks his tongue along the pink bud, then bites.
And it’s like this, Faust choking me, Sylvan devouring me, both of them fucking me, that we all three find our release.
Faust is first, and I feel the warmth of him spilling into me.
Sylvan groans “Fuck,” around my nipple, pumping his cum inside me, and I circle my hips until I’m there, coming around both of them, both holes tightening on their cocks, squeezing out all their cum, all their noises, all of their love.
I collapse as Faust releases me, slowly sliding out of me and immediately I miss him.
But he comes down on top of me, pressing me fully into Sylvan, whose cock is still inside me.
Sylvan kisses my head.
Faust licks a line down my spine.
I let my eyes close, my body spent, and I hope this isn’t the beginning of the end. But in the back of my mind, a figure lingers. Dark and spying and dangerous.
He looks a lot like my brother.
My head is on Faust’s chest as Sylvan traces my palm with his fingers. We’ve moved to the bed, but not much else has changed. The three of us are sweaty, exhausted, and connected in a way I’ve never been with anyone before. I imagine in the morning I’ll be sore, but for the moment, I am unafraid.
Even knowing my brother is somewhere out there, lurking.
If they don’t find him soon, his face will be on the internet, his name too, and that will connect me to him.
Lincoln said the story would stay quiet for as long as they could hold it, giving them a chance to find him without alerting him to the fact he’s being hunted.
But who knows when the media will crack through.
I try not to think about it, but now it’s like the tension has been cut out of me from these two boys, and I’m drowning in what’s left.
I blink my eyes and focus on where I’m at.
The spacious master bedroom is lit with the orange glow of double rock salt lamps, and no overhead lighting, which is my personal favorite.
Not quite the same as half a dozen candles flickering over deep gray walls, but we can work on personal touches later.
The Gothic ambience is heavy regardless.
Dark walls with wainscotting, exposed wooden beams, heavy black drapes.
The rest I can do.
A smile curves my lips as I imagine it.
A future with both of them.
But I know now Faust has a contract on the table, and Sylvan doesn’t know what he wants to do.
My heart is set on the Jungian program in Toronto, but it’s also latched onto both of these boys.
Then there’s the question of whether or not I want to work within the constraints of the psychology system or carve my own path.
I glance at Sylvan’s fingers running along my palm, and the soft glow catches on the small, pearly white scar over the veins of his hand.
I curl my own fingers and loop onto his index one, gently stopping his caress. When I lift my heavy gaze to his icy eyes, his head against the pillow, white-blond hair sticking up at all angles, a soft smile I would never expect to see on his face curves his pretty mouth.
Faust breathes evenly beneath me, the arm threaded under my spine wrapped around my hip, low. He holds tight suddenly, as if he senses I’m going to say something that might shatter our cocoon.
But I don’t want to do that.
I just want to know.
“What happened?” I ask quietly, squeezing Sylvan’s finger. “To your hand?”
His eyes flash, a memory or thought racing through his brain. It’s like I can see it in real time, and I watch his throat roll as he swallows.
He glances down, at our entwined hands, long, light lashes fanning over his lids. His lips are no longer curved, and Faust holds tighter to my hip.
Does he know? Or is Sylvan Connor a mystery to everyone?
Whatever the case, I want to unravel him.
He’s mine now, isn’t he?
At first, I assumed a hockey injury. I didn’t know what; the sport is still elusive to me in many ways although I’m learning every day. But now, based on his reaction, I have doubts.
I think of my talk with Faust about Sylvan’s family life. How his family never comes to a game. It's unusual, even among players who aren’t very close with their parents. Generally, there’s still some level of pride.
It would be easy to assume his parents were dead, but Faust said he knew that, at least, wasn’t the case.
Softly, Sylvan starts to speak. So quiet, it seems as if both Faust and I are holding our breath.
“I had to attend a sort of confession, growing up.” He’s still staring at where my fingers are looped around his one, and he pauses.
“Were you Catholic?” Faust asks, voice low.
“No.” Sylvan breathes a laugh through his nose, but it lacks humor. “This was very different, from my understanding. It was a small community, we all lived on the same land, owned by the preacher.”
My heart starts to squeeze in my chest, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe the way he speaks, like he’s reciting his childhood from memory. Like he can’t bear to think about it any other way.
“We were physically…” He trails off, then clears his throat.
It’s the most nervous I’ve ever seen Sylvan Connor.
“Punished, depending on our sins. Nothing that usually left a mark.” He glances at the back of his hand, where the scar is.
It’s not overtly long, but it must have been deep, the way it tunnels into his skin.
“Preacher Tim wanted to try something new that day.” A wry smile fights its way onto his face.
“For opening my eyes during Sunday service’s prayer.
The one where we all got on our knees on the hard, wooden floors, and Tim droned on and on, sometimes for an hour, talking to God on our behalf, as he said.
My legs went numb sometimes; I knelt so long. ”
Faust isn’t breathing under me. I’m not sure I am either.
“Seeing Man’s Realm, as he called it, when us kids peeked while he prayed, was a punishable offense.
So he took a sharpened pair of scissors and carved sin into my skin, over and over, until it was so flayed, you couldn’t make out the word, just the blood dripping down my arm.
” He looks up then, and the danger I usually sense in him is back.
The kind that made me believe he killed Jackson. “That’s where I got it from, baby.”
My throat is tight.
Faust doesn’t speak.
But I can’t stay away.
I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, our naked bodies coming together as I bury my head in the crook of his neck.
At first, as I breathe in the scent that’s all him, he doesn’t react. Doesn’t hug me back, and I wonder if he’ll close himself off again, the way we all did, in the beginning. But it’s been months since I met these boys, and I feel my walls melting.
I wonder if, maybe, it’s not the same for them.
A heartbeat passes. Another.
Then I feel it. The tendons and muscles in his body moving just before he crushes me so tight to his chest, I worry I can’t breathe, yet I don’t care.
His lips find my hair, my cheek, his hold bone deep, as if he wants all of me.
“Baby,” he whispers, and it isn’t mocking or angry or annoyed. He sounds open. Desperate. Loved. “Baby, I don’t want to let you go.”
A sharp breath leaves me, but I can’t think of how to respond. What to say. What this means.
And a minute later, after letting us have our moment, Faust is behind me, encircling both me and Sylvan, the three of us holding on for dear life in Faust’s massive bed.
“You don’t have to,” Faust says with certainty. “None of us have to.”
I can only hope it’s true.