Chapter 13 #2
Keane reached for her chin, pulling her to face him and kissing her thoroughly while I stood there, bare and wanting and completely past pretending otherwise.
She pulled Keane’s shirt over his head and then tugged at his pants. He helped her ease them down, and his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, and ready.
She kissed the tip, teasing, familiar with him in a way that should have made me jealous. Instead it just made me want to be part of this, part of them.
She stood again, reaching for both of us. One hand on my cock, one on Keane’s. Skin over muscle, hot and ready.
The touch sent electricity through me—her magic meeting mine and Keane’s. Three frequencies finding harmony.
One of us is still wearing too many clothes, darling, I said breathily.
I’d meant it as seduction, but it came out as need.
She laughed, breathless and wanting, as we both reached for her.
Hands everywhere. Not choreographed. Not orchestrated. Just… wanting to touch her, feel her, worship her.
Keane’s fingers skimmed over her hips to cup her ass with steady reverence.
I sank to my knees before I’d consciously decided to, my mouth already trailing up her thigh.
When my tongue found her clit, she made a sound that rewrote every calculated lesson I’d ever learned about giving pleasure.
This wasn’t about technique. This was about tasting her because I couldn’t not taste her.
I love the taste of you, Mari, I said, looking up to meet her eyes with truth, raw and unscripted.
Keane murmured agreement, kissing her shoulder. We both do.
I gripped her thighs, my tongue sliding through her wetness. Slowly at first—not to tease, just to savor. Then purposeful, finding the rhythm that made her breath catch.
I knew exactly how to make her come. I’d studied her responses during our first time together—clinical, strategic, effective.
But I didn’t want that now.
I wanted to taste her without calculating the response. Wanted to hear her moan because I was lost in her, not because I’d orchestrated the perfect touch.
So I stopped thinking.
Just felt.
The salty-sweet taste of her. The way her thighs trembled against my shoulders. The sounds she made when Keane’s hands tightened on her waist.
Heat flooded through me—sharp, demanding, and completely beyond my control. My cock ached, neglected, but I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.
She came against my mouth with a cry that sounded like surrender, and I held her through it, my tongue gentle now.
When she could stand again, I looked up to find her staring down at me with an expression that made my heart stutter—want, trust, and something that looked almost like love.
I do believe I said I wanted you in my mouth, she said, breathless but certain.
I groaned, my hand sliding down to stroke my cock—hard and aching. The need in her eyes stole the air from my lungs.
And where do you want me? Keane whispered in her ear.
She turned and kissed him slowly. Inside me. Completing me.
He nodded.
She moved onto all fours on the rug. I knelt in front of her, my cock thick and flushed, bobbing with need I couldn’t hide.
Keane positioned himself behind her, his hands firm on her hips as he guided himself into her. The sound she made—that perfect note of fullness—went straight through me.
She reached for me, and I cradled her face as she took me into her mouth.
The wet heat of her—light.
Reality was her tongue tracing along my length while Keane thrust into her from behind. Reality was watching them move together while being part of it. Reality was losing any semblance of control as pleasure tore through me like truth I couldn’t script.
We moved together—slowly and then faster. Keane set the rhythm with his hips. Marigold matched it, her mouth working me in perfect sync. I threaded my fingers into her hair, not directing, just… holding on.
Our magics hummed beneath everything—portal, illusion, death—three frequencies braiding together through her body, through mine, enhancing each touch, each connection.
I’d used magic during sex before. Performance enhancement. Calculated pleasure.
This was different. This was magic responding to genuine emotion and amplifying what was already real.
Keane’s breathing roughened. His grip on her hips tightened. Mari…
He thrust inside her with a groan that was pure and unguarded, and watching him lose control made something in my chest crack open.
She moaned around my cock and the vibration nearly undid me.
Mari, I’m… My hips jerked forward as I came, the pleasure tearing through me so intensely I couldn’t think, couldn’t perform, couldn’t do anything but feel.
She swallowed around me, accepting all of it, accepting me, and my head fell back with a sound I’d never made before.
Raw. Genuine. Completely beyond my control.
Real.
I was real.
Not the performance. Not the mask.
Just me.
And she wanted that.
The world went still.
When I could move again, when thought returned in fragments, I found myself curled on the rug beside her. Keane was on her other side, his arm finding her automatically. My fingers traced slow spirals on her hip—not writing strategy into her skin, just… touching because I wanted to stay connected.
Echo’s scales had shifted to soft blue-green on the desk where she’d retreated with Scout and Wisp.
The glass ceiling showed afternoon clouds drifting past, peaceful and safe. The world was temporarily held at bay.
That was… Marigold began, breathless against Keane’s chest.
Necessary, Keane said, his voice low and satisfied.
I kissed her bare shoulder. Yeah.
She shifted to look at each of us, and I braced for her to see through me. To recognize the performer underneath. To realize I’d just been playing a role.
But she just looked… content. Trusting.
My throat tightened.
She believed this was real. Because it was. The realization landed like a stage light finally finding its mark.
Thank you, she said quietly.
Don’t thank us for wanting you, I murmured and meant it, every word. This is real, darling. Whatever else happens, this is real.
Keane’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. We’re real. The three of us. That doesn’t change.
For now, lying here with her warmth against my side and Keane’s steady presence anchoring us both, I let myself just… be.
No script. No performance. No mask.
Just Elio. Real and flawed and choosing this anyway.
There was something here still, an awareness we weren’t naming, a space not quite filled yet.
Cyrus’s absence felt deliberate, like the room was waiting for him to claim it. I didn’t chase the thought. Just let it exist—acknowledged but unexamined.
We should probably get dressed, Keane said eventually, though he made no move to actually do so. Still have work to do.
This was temporary. The next site was already waiting.
Five more minutes, Marigold said, burrowing closer. The world can wait five more minutes.
Five more minutes, I agreed, my arm tightening around her.