19. Cazimer
T he first time I spent one of Quentin’s heats with the Saints had been an earth-shattering experience for me.
I’d never been with an omega before, certainly never in heat. It only added to the discovery and delight that none of the other Saints had ever been with a theta before either.
While I don’t have a knot like Frank, an alpha or Seb, a gamma; my perfume is unique to my designation.
Outside of a heat or rut cycle, my perfume has the power to act as a minor psychotropic—most often presenting by making those affected feel sleepy or slightly drunk.
However, once I’m fully in the throes of a breeding—the effect intensifies exponentially; heightening senses, amplifying pleasure, even producing psychedelic effects in the height of the act.
Now, in the small hunting lodge nestled in the woods off of one of the great lakes, I find myself desperate in a way I’ve never experienced.
Before I had even touched her, I’d admired her perfection as she slept; porcelain skin, long scarlet hair, and delicate frown—even in sleep, like a warrior princess from tales of old.
After that fateful day in the bath—tasting her, being inside her—I’ve scarcely been able to think about anything else.
I’ve never been jealous of any of the Saints.
Everyone knows that Seb and I favor each other, but I’ve never felt anything but compersion and delight when I’ve seen him giving Q his knot—or when he whines and begs for Frank’s knot during his rut.
By the same token, I’ve never coveted Quentin—his omega perfume; sweet and heavy, or Frank; his power, his strength, his raw machismo.
Not the way I have felt that deep, crazed obsession for Louise Penny.
Listening to her and Quentin fuck in the safehouse was the most sublime torture. Their scents—sweet rose and creamy iris—like a garden fresh from the rain creeping beneath my door while the sounds of their moans and husky, dirty talk reached my ears.
Part of me hated hearing her make those sounds for Q—hearing him unravel as she racked him with pleasure; desperate to return to those few golden moments in the bath, deep inside her—our bodies and souls clashing and interweaving in an otherworldly harmony.
The other parts of me came twice just listening to Louise lock Q inside her—actually being in the middle of their dual heat might just drive me mad.
“Jesu Crist, Cazzy,” Seb grunts, tearing his eyes away from Frank and Louise to eye me, his nostrils flared, eyelids fluttering.
“I’m going to be high as a kite if you can’t turn that down,” Quentin purrs, one of his long-fingered hands walking its way to me over Seb’s soft tummy until his willow-switch fingers curl into a fist in my t-shirt over my solar plexus—pulling me towards him over Seb.
I can’t spare another second of diverted attention, even though Q reels me in and Seb’s strong hand closes over my hard cock—standing at attention, tented in my omnipresent gray sweats.
My eyes jerk back to Louise—my breath coming in stringy gasps as I watch Frank’s lips close around one of her perfect pink nipples as she writhes atop his lap.
Her long red hair tumbles over one shoulder, her head lolling back as one of Frank’s hands finds her other breast, rough fingers toying with the pink point of her other nipple. Louise’s eyes find mine over the porcelain round of her bare shoulder, vivid red brown and crackling with desire.
It’s all I can do not to spring from the improvised couch and snatch her out of Frank’s arms—to put my mouth on those perfect breasts—to lap the slick honey from between her perfect marble white thighs only to bury myself inside her again and again as my perfume makes each touch break into a kaleidoscope of candy colors and heightened sensations.
My body lurches toward her, but Quentin’s grip on my shirt and Seb’s leg, laid over mine just above the knee—keep me from springing into action, a plaintive, desperate whine escaping me.
Quentin shifts, his face momentarily eclipsing my view—his snake green eyes flashing first with understanding, then pity, then mischief.
“I know the phrase ‘green-eyed-monster’ is meant to be figurative—but I happen to make the joke a little on the nose,” Quentin leans in across Seb’s lap to meet me halfway, his own gaze slipping away guiltily before he returns his focus to me—eyelids drooping, he draws close enough for his breath to whisper over my lips.
“But if I'm honest with myself—I want to watch her take Frank and Seb’s knots.”
Seb lets out a sound somewhere between pleasure and a staccato laugh as he takes in Q’s words—clearly prone to similar imaginings as he leans in and kisses my neck—my theta perfume making his motions slow and syrupy compared to his usual keen sharpness.
“That’ll take care of any pesky brain activity—eh?” Seb growls as his powerful grasp on my hard cock gives an encouraging squeeze just below my head.
I moan into Quentin’s mouth as we kiss, Seb stroking me through the thin layer of heathered gray cotton.
Quentin breaks the kiss, his voice low and sultry.
“Imagine being inside her together when she locks me,” Quentin breathes against my parted lips, my hips bucking upward on impulse—my cock twitching in Seb’s hand.
Another high pitched, needy sound escapes me, one eye catching a glimpse of Louise—those cinnamon eyes burning, fixed on the three of us even as Frank’s lips press against her flat stomach above the top button of her black jeans—the jingle of her brass belt buckle ringing out over the sound of labored breathing and the crackling fire now roaring in the stone fireplace.
Quentin and Sébastien turn their eyes to her too, our trio—six hands stroking and gripping one another as we drink in the sight of her and Frank together—greedy imaginations well out pacing our intense touches, slow like honey and heavy with need.
There’s a lucid hunger that flashes in her eyes, like a pair of copper coins flashing in the dark. She looks like a snake, that cruel glint in her eyes telling me that she’d unhinge her jaw and swallow us whole if she could.
Like liquid, she decants herself from Frank’s lap—pouring off of him and out of her jeans in one fluid motion.
“Hey!” Frank growls—his arms suddenly empty.
On all fours, in only a pair of simple black cotton bikini cut panties, Louise begins to stalk toward us—that dark, luminous desire to consume, to waste, to ruinate, sparkling in her eyes.
Lucifer—the devil returned to us.
She stops short, her slow crawl over the cushions halted by Frank’s hands falling on the upper butterfly curve of her pelvis—his fingers hooking through the waistband of black cotton.
“Where do you think you’re going, Sweetheart?” he grunts in protest, pulling the panties down over the round of her juicy ass as he gets on all fours, burying his face in her dripping pussy from behind.
Louise’s eyes roll back into her skull a moment as she stutters forward—her elbows buckling, loud lapping and slurping sounds issuing from Frank as he devours her.
Quentin and Seb steady her, and I’m embarrassed when I realize I’ve actually been holding my breath as she draws nearer and nearer.
Her eyes, nearly black with those huge, dilated pupils flicker down to Seb’s massive hard-on. Then she’s struggling back onto her own hands—clumsy fingers struggling with his heavy belt buckle through Frank’s distracting ministrations.
Unable to help ourselves, Quentin and I rush to assist—Sébastien letting out a long low whistle; lifting his hands up and out of the way as the three of us rush to free his throbbing erection from its denim prison.
Obviously pleased, Louise lets out a little moan as she allows us to take over for her, bracing herself on Sébastien’s thighs, tilting her hips back, Frank eagerly leaning into her—his hands gripping her ass as his lips purse around her clit with a low buzz.
Quentin unbuttons and unzips Seb’s jeans as I help to free his hard cock from the leg of his pants—his massive, cut cock, fully hard, a large knot—a dusky palatinate purple at its base.
“I haven’t tasted Sébastien yet,” she purrs, and while I hardly have a leg to stand on—as I’ve already fucked her once; I couldn’t be more jealous of Seb in this moment.
Quentin and I both make almost-pained hissing sounds as we watch Louise lower herself onto her elbows—her mouth closing around Seb’s cock head, glittering with pre-cum.
Seb himself lets out a sound low in his throat, his right hand leaving Quentin’s cock straining against the leg of Q’s finely tailored trousers to gather the silken falls of Louise’s beautiful red hair so that he might get a better look at her as she works him toward her throat—one of her lily-white hands wound tightly around the base of his cock.
Q lets out a disappointed sigh as Seb abandons his stroking—but takes the opportunity to make use of the newly freed space over his lap to reach up and cup one of Louise’s breasts, small, pert and perfect—gently running the pad of his thumb in tight circles over her hard nipple.
Seb’s hips flex and his head drops back as Louise moans around his hardness, her eyes fixed on Quentin and I.
Quentin shoots me a look, both of us looking to do our best to keep our promise to provide Louise with sufficient distraction.
I shimmy out of my sweatpants, my hard cock standing upright, my piercings winking in the dancing firelight as Quentin eyes me greedily.
Q does his own trousers and I reach for him, a sigh of relief escaping him as my hand closes around his hot hardness.
Louise continues to lavish her attention on Seb as Q and I shuffle our positions on the couch until I am seated with my legs spread wide; Q on his knees on the floor between my parted thighs with his hard cock pressed against mine.
Quentin lets a large bead of saliva, golden in the firelight, dribble down onto our joined cocks, a thread stretching from his mouth down to the rungs of my Jacob's Ladder.