Chapter 43
I’m pulledby my collar to his mouth and given a hard kiss, and then he hauls Tristan up for a kiss too. There’s not really room for both of us in his lap, not on this fake wooden throne, but none of us seem to mind, and Tristan and I jostle for space, for Mark’s mouth, his attention.
I am floating anyway, floating right out of my body, dizzy and newly washed, and not with pain or atonement but with Mark and Tristan, as if they’re a holy fire burning me clean. Mark still wants me, and he wants Tristan, and he wants all of us together, and who cares if it’s messy, if it won’t be easy, if it doesn’t make sense? It’s the closest thing I’ll get to heaven while I’m a bloody saint, and I’m too selfish to throw that away.
Mark’s hands roam freely, from my collar to my braids to the inside of my dress, where he finds my naked breast and rubs the pebbled tip. He’s doing the same to Tristan, cupping Tristan’s groin, squeezing his hip, running fingernails over his throat.
“Ah, God,” Mark says, the words ragged. I can feel the massive pole of his erection underneath me. “The things I want to do to you two. Jesus.”
Tristan moans, his mouth now open against Mark’s throat, which is how I know Mark must be utterly lost to his lust because it’s the kind of familiarity I saw only after I agreed to be his wife for real. The kind of thing he loves but only allows himself to love in private: a submissive crawling all over him, worshipping him and practically purring in contentment.
“Isolde, on your throne,” Mark says. Pants. His antler crown is all the way askew now. “Dress pulled to the side. I want your cunt out.”
I do as he says, trembling with excitement and lust…and maybe even fear because it’s Mark and there is no love without fear. I am on the throne, arranging my dress how he wants, as he hauls Tristan by the tunic to me, shoving him to his knees.
“I know you like the taste of my wife’s pussy,” he says to his bodyguard. “So show me. Show me how much you like it.”
Tristan practically lunges forward, a starving man, his arms wrapping around my thighs to hike me closer to his mouth. When he gets his lips on my skin, we both moan, and Mark watches with hungry eyes as Tristan wastes no time in licking me open, in finding the swollen, tender jewel at the top of my sex and venerating it. The fake sword he wears around his waist scrapes against the floor, and I can hear the slide of his knees as he shifts and shifts, like he’s trying to lick his way into my body, one deep kiss at a time.
“How does it feel?” asks Mark, standing next to my throne. He’s watching with a tight jaw, with a flush across the bridge of his nose. “I know that mouth of his is something else. There’s none wetter or hotter. I can get my cock all the way down his throat, did you know?”
The idea of getting to watch that, getting to see Mark fuck Tristan’s mouth, is gorgeously obscene. I rock harder into the mouth in question, sliding my hand into Tristan’s thick hair. He looks up at me with wondering green eyes, like he’s the lucky one, even though it’s my clit currently being serviced with world-class enthusiasm.
“It feels good,” I manage to say, holding Tristan’s mouth right where I want it. “He’s going to make me come.”
“Yes, he is,” says Mark as he strips off the fur and then his cape and then his tunic. He’s only in the breeches and boots now. He pulls off the antler crown, but the gold torc remains around his neck, so like my collar but so different. It glimmers like the handle of my knife from the altar, like his flaxen hair. “He’s going to make you come, and then I’m going to fuck you in the place he’s made wet and ready for me. Would you like that?”
“Yes, please,” I breathe. “Yes, sir.”
“I thought so.” He loosens the ties of his breeches, exposing the dark-blond hair below his navel and around the thick root of his cock. Tristan is watching too, as much as he can from between my thighs, and his ensuing moans make me hotter.
And jealous.
And did I mention hotter?
“Hurry,” Mark says. “I need to fuck, and I can’t do that until you make her come for me.”
Tristan’s eyes close as he renews his attention to my pussy, giving me a few more deep swirls before he moves back to my clit and sucks it like I crave. Mark is right next to me now, looking downright pornographic with his muscle-carved chest and stomach, with his erection nearly escaping the loosened ties of his pants. He takes off my antler crown and then unties my braids, first one and then the other, until my hair is loose. And then he wraps my hair around his hand and tugs until I’m gasping, squirming, caught between Tristan’s strong arms around my thighs and Mark’s fist.
That’s how I go over the edge, with pain sparking lightly down my spine and pleasure from Tristan’s mouth rushing up to meet it. I try to arch and can’t, I try to buck my hips and can’t, and I just have to endure the delicious feeling of an eager mouth, the sweet cruelty of a hand in my hair, as the cataclysm takes me.
Tristan doesn’t let up as I quiver against his tongue, and he licks and sucks until the very end, when the convulsions have ended and I’m so sensitive that even a kiss is agony.
“That’s my good hero, my good knight,” praises Mark as he gets to his knees next to Tristan. He pulls Tristan into a deep kiss, like he wants to eat my taste off Tristan’s mouth, and Tristan groans helplessly into it—even more helplessly when Mark takes a hold of his cock through his clothes and squeezes it. “Be patient for me now.” And then Mark moves between my thighs, pulls his sex free, and presses it to my hole.
“Sir,” I say, reaching for him. He catches my hand, but he doesn’t push me away. He just traps it against his chest so I can feel his heart beating against it. “I love you,” I say again because why not say it? Why not say it when it’s true?
“Who knew,” he says as he angles his hips and tunnels into my cunt, “that being married again would be this rewarding?”
I’m so wet that it should be an easy slide, but I’m swollen with arousal too, and he has to shove in hard enough that my head falls back and I groan. Tristan is there, kneeling beside the throne instead of in front of it now, and he kisses the groan away as Mark starts fucking.
“It’s okay,” Tristan soothes. “I know he’s big. It’ll feel good though. It’ll feel so good.”
It already feels so good, like being touched in the most hidden parts of my body, and like I’m crammed full but also like I’ll never be full enough because I won’t have enough until we’re as close as we can possibly be, until we’re the same body and air and molecules.
“This pussy,” Mark grunts, pushing in deep enough that I can feel his scrotum against me, that his hips dig into my thighs. “This could wreck someone’s entire life, Isolde. Make them do stupid shit just to feel it. Fuck.”
He’s moving harder now, faster, and a fresh climax is knitting itself around where he burrows inside me. I look down at where we’re joined and shiver. Ruddy flesh, thick and veined, parting mine. When he moves his hips, my body tries to hold on to his, and when he spears back in, I see the ripple and flex of his abdominal muscles. Feel the tightening of his hands around my hips.
Tristan angles his head to slant his mouth over mine again, a sweet kiss, all things considered. I open my eyes before the kiss is over to see Mark watching us, his expression dark, his lips parted. His hands on my hips grow harder, meaner, and so do his thrusts, and when Tristan pulls away, Mark moves his fingers to my clitoris, like he needs to be the one to give me an orgasm, and he needs that orgasm to happen right now.
As always, I am helpless against his expert touch. I was flayed open in my father’s library when I was nineteen, and I am even more so now because Tristan is here, because this is unbelievably filthy and perfect, because all of us are helpless together.
Mark’s fingers coax the orgasm to the surface, a shimmer just under my skin, and he’s getting closer to his own release, I think, a flush on his throat now, his flat nipples bunched into hard points.
“I want to see her tits,” he tells Tristan, who solves the problem with a soldier’s thinking—by ripping the dress at the shoulders and letting the fabric fall to my waist.
Both men stare at my breasts with the adulation normally due a Madonna, and Mark leans forward and takes a nipple into his mouth. The sudden hot suction is enough to get me there, but then I see Tristan push a hand into his pants and start jerking himself inside the fabric, and that’s it. I succumb to Mark’s cunning fingers and his selfish use of my hole and the sight of Tristan defenseless to his own arousal, shamelessly masturbating without even bothering to undress.
Mark releases the tip of my breast with a wet noise as I tremble and pant through the pleasure, and then he drops his head forward and stabs into me with erratic, almost frantic thrusts, groaning loud enough to fill the room. I look down and see him swell, watching as the organ starts pulsing and pumping into my cunt.
All of us are watching now, Tristan with his hand moving fast and uneven inside his pants, and Mark with his hips still giving involuntary jerks forward. And all of us catch our breath when we see the first glossy white of Mark’s seed leak around where we’re joined—but Tristan sounds like he can barely stand it, like someone’s shot him through the chest.
Mark keeps rutting his semen back into my body, but without halting his movements, he reaches out and catches Tristan’s wrist. The wrist of the hand that’s in his pants.
“Careful, Tristan,” says Mark. “You’ll spoil your own surprise.”
Tristan’s whole body is heaving now, his feet planted, his shoulders lifting, his ribs expanding. “Please,” he moans. “Please, sir. I can’t.”
“You will,” says Mark. “Look.” Mark pulls free of my body, cum still dripping from his tip, running freely out of my pussy.
Tristan is watching with a frantic expression. “Sir, please, please let me come?—”
“Of course you may. But you have to do it in her cunt, like I just did.”
“Fuck,” Tristan growls, and the minute Mark moves back, Tristan is there between my thighs, on his knees and fumbling with his pants. “Fuck.” He tears off his shirt, the sword belt with the fake sword, unbuckles the shoulder harness he was wearing under the tunic and sets it and the gun on the floor near the throne.
Mark is at his side now, taking Tristan’s hand and guiding it to my sex, making him run his fingers up from my asshole to the wet slit, gathering Mark’s semen on his fingertips.
“Feel all that?” Mark says, his mouth near Tristan’s ear. “I gave her so much. Do you want to feel it on you? Do you want to see if you can give her more?”
“Fuck yeah,” Tristan mutters, and then shudders as Mark wraps a hand around Tristan’s rigid dick. He guides Tristan right to my open center and runs the crown along my folds a few times. There’s no missing the slickness of it, that Tristan will be fucking me through someone else’s cum.
And then Mark splays a hand on Tristan’s ass and pushes him all the way in, and we’re joined. Pelvis to pelvis, hard to soft.
Forbidden sex right in front of the person it would hurt the most.
“Show me,” Mark says, nipping at Tristan’s jaw before pulling away. “Show me how much you can come. How much you like feeling my cum on your cock.”
Tristan obeys, his hands on my waist, his green eyes gone dark with pupil. When our eyes meet, I see that he’s already broken open and he hasn’t even come yet. Then his stare moves back down to where he’s embedded in me, Mark’s orgasm all over both of us, and I can see the jaw-clenching strength it’s taking him not to unload right this very moment.
For his part, Mark has grabbed something from beside the throne and has settled onto his knees behind Tristan, and the moment I recognize that he’s got the lube dispenser is the moment I recognize that he’s hard, his flesh jutting between his hips once again.
By now, I know that this is how insatiable Mark can be when he has something he wants within his grasp. But it doesn’t make it any less filthy when he presses himself to Tristan’s back and starts rubbing his erection against Tristan’s flexing ass.
“I’m going to take what I want now,” he says to his bodyguard. “And you’re going to let me.”
As if there were any question. As if there had ever been any question.
When Mark gets his first finger lubed up and then swirls it around Tristan’s entrance, Tristan bucks between my thighs, panicked lust filling his face. “Oh fuck,” he whispers. “Oh God.”
I can feel through Tristan’s tensed frame the minute the swirling becomes pressing and then when pressing becomes pushing, when Mark finally gets a finger inside and grazes Tristan’s prostate. Tristan practically jumps, and then he surges forward with a gasp, driving into me, hauling me close to his chest and shoving his face against my neck.
“Mnuh,” he says into my throat as Mark pushes another finger inside him. His chest is rising fast and hard against my breasts, and his arms are crushing me to him, and his erection is unmoving inside me, thick and hot. “Jesus.”
I can see over his shoulder to where Mark is working him open, to where the muscles of Mark’s shoulder and arm are flexing as he curls his fingers inside Tristan’s body. Mark’s eyes lift to mine, and he gives me a smile that is so sudden, so wide and happy, that I feel like I’m falling through the floor.
“You remember what this feels like, don’t you?” he murmurs, still smiling. “How hot he is in there? How tight it is around your fingers and then suddenly so soft and inviting? The noises he made when you did—this—” Mark’s arm moves a little, like he’s moving his fingers inside, and Tristan whimpers into my neck.
“I remember,” I say faintly. I’ve already come twice, and I don’t think I can do a third, but my body is still responding. To the feeling of Tristan in me and around me, to Mark’s sinful voice.
“Been missing this,” he says now as he pulls his hand free. More lube goes into the palm of his hand, and then he works it over his erection with slow, deliberate movements, his smile fading as he takes in Tristan’s back, the curves of his ass. His hips bracketed by my thighs. “Been thinking about it an awful lot, my knight.”
He moves closer on his knees, one hand holding himself and the other hand pressing between Tristan’s shoulder blades, pressing Tristan forward just enough that he hinges at the hips and gives Mark more access. It pushes me back against the throne, but I don’t mind. I like Tristan’s weight in my arms; I like being able to see down his back to where Mark is wedging himself inside.
Mark’s eyes fall closed as he breaches the rings of muscle, and his shoulders lift with a long breath.
Tristan moans. He’s shivering, and where our naked chests touch, he’s damp with sweat. I push my hands into his hair and croon to him, soothe him. Praise him for letting Mark have this, for being so good and so strong and for eating my pussy so well earlier. Tristan’s cock flexes inside me every time Mark moves, every time Mark breathes, and then Mark is all the way in and Tristan still has his face pressed to my neck and he’s mumbling and moaning to himself, like a man burning with a fever.
I drop my hand down from Tristan’s head, and then I weave my fingers with Mark’s where his are splayed on Tristan’s back. Our eyes meet, and I see the seethe of jealousy and the clutch of his anger, and I see also his possession and arrogance, and I see also this gorgeous, tender thing, vulnerable and sad and happy and fond and scared, and I could name it for him, I want him to name it for us, but I’m terrified to be wrong. I’m terrified to ask, Do you love me? Do you love Tristan? and hear any answer that’s not Down to the last atom, down to the last quark, I love you as much as you love me.
But I can endure not hearing him say it tonight because I can see it in his eyes, like a prism of pain and obsession that refracts colors I thought I alone could perceive.
Our eyes and fingers stay locked as Mark begins working his dick in and out of Tristan’s channel, as he begins flexing his hips and thighs and piercing his bodyguard with long, deep strokes.
Each one sends Tristan sinking deeper into me, like Mark is fucking me with Tristan’s body, and each one has Tristan shaking and shaking.
“Nothing has ever felt like this,” he pants into my neck. “It’s too much, honey. It’s too much. I want more.”
“Shh,” Mark says, his cock rifling in and out of Tristan now, sweat beginning to mist on his stomach and neck. “You’ll get more. You’ll get everything.”
“Please,” Tristan begs. “Please, yes, everything. Do anything you want to me. Anything?—”
“Oh, I’m going to,” promises Mark. “I’m going to do everything I want. I’m going to start by filling you up. Breeding you just like you’ve wanted since you came here. Would you like that?”
Tristan can’t speak because he’s seized by some unspeakable, vicious, merciless pleasure. He sucks in a breath by my neck, his entire form rigid and straining, and then with a cry I swear they can hear in heaven, he releases, dick pulsing, cum spurting, his hands digging into my back as he holds me tight and shoves his organ as deep into me as it will go.
Mark is relentless behind him, cruelly impaling his ass over and over, and Tristan is still crying out, and my own orgasm takes me by surprise, a short, sharp thing that has me clenching around Tristan and making him practically thrash between my legs. Mark grabs hold of the arms of the throne for leverage, using them to slam into Tristan with enough force to shake the breath from both the bodyguard and me, and then with a few erratic strokes, Mark roars like a king on a battlefield and comes.
He comes grunting, sweaty, and brutal. Still gripping the arms of the throne to keep himself speared as deeply as possible. He comes with the cords of his neck pulled taut, the veins in his arms and chest popping, with an avid fury haunting his expression. Semen is slick between Tristan and me, and it’s everywhere between Mark and Tristan, and then Tristan’s body goes still and he slumps against my chest. He’s crying, I think.
Mark keeps using him, even after Tristan is limp and trembling. Mark seems greedy of the now-lax welcome of Tristan’s postorgasm body, delighted by it, and he fits himself into the wet hole over and over again until finally he stops and pulls free. Ejaculate is everywhere, and he takes a moment to rub his dripping cock against Tristan’s ass, using Tristan like a human towel. Tristan shudders at that, hugs me harder.
My husband stands up, like someone surveying the damage from a storm, except it was him; he was the storm.
“Pull out,” he says. “I want to see how much there is.”
Tristan obeys with a shiver and a wince, peeling away from my chest and letting go. When his dick slides out of my pussy, cum from two people follows.
Both men stare between my legs, like the secret to happiness is right there, pooling under my cunt and onto a throne, and I can almost guess what Mark’s about to say before he says it.
“I want more,” he tells us. “Now.”