49. Simon
It’s only by the skin of my teeth that I don’t erupt the moment I thrust home inside Isobel’s perfect pussy. The way she feels is beyond anything I’ve ever known, and I swear, for a moment I think I’ve finally died for good and gone to Heaven.
For so long I’ve been seeking forgiveness and redemption, hoping against hope that I would find some sort of acceptance and love to keep close to my heart. I never dreamed, not for a moment, that I would ever be granted absolution.
That’s what Isobel, Quin, and Arina are. They’re mine and Tálstrom’s salvation, proof that we deserve the happiness I’ve denied us both for so long.
The tight grip leashing Tálstrom slips a little, and my chest vibrates with a feral, primal growl. The sound reverberates through my body, causing Isobel to clench down even harder on my cock, strangling it with her inner walls.
Not yet, I beg Tálstrom, let me pleasure Isobel first. I promise I won’t shut you out.
He reluctantly retreats a little, enough for me to pull myself back from that knife-edge of pleasure, but still present enough to bask in Isobel’s reactions to our touch. He doesn’t care that Quin is sitting only feet away, masturbating to the sight of his mate and mother of his child in the throes of orgasm while impaled on another man’s cock. To be honest, I don’t care either. While I don’t want to fuck Quin, I know that he loves me, just as I love him. It’s more than what I feel for Cyril and Nox, and completely different than how I feel about my actual siblings. It’s like he’s part of me, but in a platonic soulmate kind of way, rather than the encompassing adoration and desire I hold for Isobel.
I keep my thrusts slow and steady, shuddering as the spines covering my cock brush over the myriad clusters of nerves lining the walls of Isobel’s cunt. She’s lost to her pleasure, all her vocalizations the non-verbal kind, and her whimpers, sighs, and moans spur me on.
I pause my movements as Isobel crests again, the slick proof of her orgasm coating my cock and dripping down over my balls. She smells divine when she comes, no trace of bitterness in the citrussy notes of grapefruit topped with sea salt. Her scent makes my mouth water, and I know that all too soon, the traces of Quin’s petrichor and loam will be joined with my own elements of cloves and pine. But before that can happen, I need to make Isobel come again.
And again.
I reach my hand down, stroking my thumb over Isobel’s clit. The tiny bud is hard and throbbing beneath my touch, and each circle or tap has her body jerking in reaction. I lower myself to press my chest against hers, my mouth busy licking and sucking at her neck. My thumb and pointer finger thrum and pinch at the bundle of nerves, and I curl my toes as sparks tingle down my spine.
I’m not gonna be able to hold off for much longer.
I pinch down hard on Isobel’s clit, riding the bucking movement of her hips as she convulses. A high-pitched wail escapes her lips, and her legs tremble from where they’re hooked around my hips. Her body is covered in a sheen of perspiration, tendrils of hair stuck to her face having escaped the bun on top of her head.
The moment I feel her beginning to relax again, I let go. I haul us both upright, kneeling atop of the mattress as I hold Isobel’s body to mine. My thighs and ass flex with the effort to slam my hips up into hers as I chase my own end, pleasure tensing and coiling inside of me. Lightning races along my spine, and my skin prickles and tightens. The spines lining my cock—now so hard it’s painful—burn red-hot with sensation, and everything bubbles up inside me until I hit boiling point.
My gums ache as Tálstrom pushes the tips of his fangs through them, the tang of my blood heady on my tongue. Soon enough, Isobel’s will coat it, and it’s that thought that sends me over the edge.
I fall into oblivion.