Chapter 12 #5
I felt the climax building low and inevitable.
I buried myself to the hilt in Gabriella, gripped her hips hard, and came.
Thick pulses flooded her, so much that it started to leak out around my cock while I was still shooting.
The pleasure was blinding, sharpened by the knowledge of whose pussy I was filling.
I stayed inside her until the strongest waves passed, then pulled out while I was still coming.
A thick rope of cum striped across her back.
I immediately pushed into Sabrina, still throbbing, and finished the rest of my climax deep inside her.
She moaned as she felt the heat of it, her walls fluttering around me, milking the last of it.
I stayed buried in Sabrina until every twitch stopped, then slowly withdrew. Cum leaked from both of them in slow, heavy drips onto the blankets. The sight of my seed running down my girls’ thighs under the starlight was the most filthy, beautiful thing I had ever seen.
I collapsed onto my back between them. They immediately curled in, Gabriella on one side, Sabrina on the other, both of them sticky and warm and still breathing hard. I wrapped an arm around each of them.
For a long time, none of us spoke. The fire popped. The waterfall murmured. Somewhere above, a night bird called, and the sound carried across the lake like something from a world that had nothing to do with any of us.
“This is strange,” Gabriella said eventually, her voice soft with the drowsiness that follows very good sex. “And also the most right thing I’ve ever felt.”
“Mm.” Sabrina’s agreement came as a hum against my collarbone. “Strange-right. I’m adding it to the list of emotions I didn’t know existed until you came home.”
“The farm feels very far away,” I said.
“Good,” they said in unison, and then laughed, the sound bright in the dark, and I felt something settle in my chest that had been unsettled for longer than I could remember.
The fire burned lower. I lay there with one girl’s head on my chest and the other’s leg across mine, feeling the weight of two women who had decided I was worth the complication, and the gratitude for that decision was so large it threatened to spill out of whatever container I’d been keeping it in.
I remembered the parchment and the pen. The thing I’d brought without telling them why, because some confessions needed writing more than speaking, and some gratitude needed to travel farther than the reach of my voice.
I slipped out from between them carefully. Gabriella made a small sound of protest that dissolved into a sigh, and Sabrina’s wing extended slightly as if reaching for me before settling again. “Where are you going?” Sabrina asked.
“Give me a second.” I found the parchment and pen in my pack, and sat by the dying fire with the last of the light to write by.
Angelina, I wrote. We found the island. It’s beautiful in the way that places are beautiful when the people you’re with make everything else irrelevant.
The waterfall, the lake, the meadow, all of it exists primarily as a setting for what happened tonight, which was the kind of thing that makes a man profoundly grateful he survived six years of war long enough to experience it.
I paused. The pen hovered above the parchment, and the words I needed weren’t the ones I’d been trained to use.
Military reporting doesn’t cover this. There’s no section in the standard field manual for “how to tell the woman who raised you you just had the most meaningful sexual experience of your life with both of her daughters under an open sky and it somehow made perfect sense.”
I loved them both, I wrote. The way you suggested. Equally. Differently. The way that honors what each of them is, without making either of them less. They loved each other too, in their way, and watching that happen was its own kind of gift.
Another pause. The fire was embers now, glowing faintly, and the waterfall’s constant murmur filled the silence while I searched for the closing.
Thank you. For seeing what we needed before we could name it. For the bread, and the blankets, and the brand of wisdom that involves suggesting a threesome with the calm confidence of someone recommending a good fishing spot. The family is lucky to have you. We’re luckier.
I signed it simply G, folded it small, and called for Valen with a whistle that carried across the island.
He came, his white coat silver in the starlight, his dark eyes finding mine with the attentiveness of a mount who had spent six years reading my body language and had just registered that something inside me had settled.
I clamped the letter between his teeth. “To Angelina,” I said quietly. “Straight there, straight back. Don’t let her feed you apples; you’ll get soft and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
He snorted, apparently offended by the implication, and then he was lifting, his wings driving him upward into the dark, the letter a pale smudge between his teeth until he banked northeast and disappeared into the night.
I returned to the blankets. Gabriella and Sabrina had shifted in my absence, rearranging themselves into a configuration that left a Gabriel-shaped space in the center, and when I lay down between them they adjusted, Gabriella’s head finding my chest, Sabrina’s leg thrown over my hip, her wing extending behind me in that protective half-curl that had been part of her since childhood.
We kissed each other goodnight and relaxed.
I looked up at the stars. The distant lights of other islands floated in the dark, tiny constellations of someone else’s life continuing without any awareness of what had happened here, on this ledge, beside this waterfall, under this arrangement of sky.
I closed my eyes. The fire was embers. The waterfall whispered.
And somewhere in the dark, getting smaller with each wingbeat, a white pegasus carried a letter to a woman who had raised a soldier and was now, against considerable evidence, raising something considerably more complicated and considerably more whole.
We slept. Naked, pressed together, the boundaries between us dissolved into something that felt like the geometry of bodies that had finally found their way home.