40. Roman
ROMAN
I’ve been so fucking on edge since we told Ophelia. We made her take a bath, full of scented oils, and we put her to bed with instructions to try to rest. Cain is snoring softly on the sofa, and Malachi is playing a video game, headset on. I’m pacing the kitchen area. I’m nervous and stressed.
There are so many ways this can go wrong. I could make things worse for this girl. I have asked myself repeatedly if I’m just inventing a reason to chase her, to fuck her. I don’t think so, or at least not entirely.
I do believe that sex is an incredibly powerful energy. It’s partly why I’ve never participated.
Pushing away from the kitchen counter, I stalk to the room where the altar is. Once in there, I close the door behind me and sit in front of the altar where I have photographs and objects arranged.
I sit cross-legged, arms rested, palm up, on my thighs, and my eyes closed so I can concentrate. I take a breath and speak.
“Dear ancestors, I ask you this eve to show me the right path. Am I correct in thinking that by giving this girl my essence for the first time, I’m going to help her make a connection to something stronger than her Prophet? Show me if this is the right thing to do.”
The window is ajar, and the soft rustle of the leaves and the wind outside are the only sounds I hear. For a long time, I sit, waiting for… what? I’m not sure. Nothing comes. No sign. I sigh and open my eyes, glancing out of the window, and freeze.
There on the ledge, wings folded, is a butterfly. It’s late for there to be one out now. Too cold, really.
Yet, there it is. Stunning in all its beauty. When its wings fall open, I see it’s a monarch—a truly beautiful butterfly. It flaps its wings a few times then takes off. I turn to the ancestors and smile.
“Thank you.”
With this sign confirming my belief that this will help her, I remain cross-legged, with my eyes closed, to try to clear my mind.
I’m nervous I’ll fuck this up for Ophelia somehow.
I’ve never done this before—the sex part, I mean.
What if I suck at it? The things my uncle did to me never required me to act in any way.
I would just lie there, frozen in disgust and fear.
What if those feelings overwhelm me once more?
I can’t bear for her to feel rejected. On the other hand, what if I get so overexcited I come before I’m even inside her?
“Christ, Roman, get over yourself,” I chide, but I know the reason I’m so worried is because this is important for her. She needs to feel that we three are her new protectors.
We must be both the thing she fears in the dark and the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a damn fine line to walk.
Focusing on calming my breathing, I try not to keep thinking about sinking into her perfect, pink pussy.
I can’t stop thinking about it, though. If I give myself a release now, maybe that will help ensure I don’t come in my damn pants before I even get undressed.
Or worse, come all over her pussy just from looking at it.
Normally, when I can’t handle the frustration any longer, and I give in and touch myself, I watch porn.
If I let my mind do its own thing, I invariably end up somewhere I don’t want to be as old traumas surface, and it’s a cold shower on my libido.
Ever since Ophelia came into my life, though, I’ve not had that issue.
The few times I’ve touched myself—in the shower once, and another time in the bed here—when she was at class with Cain, and Mal was on a run, I’ve just had to think of her pussy stretching to take Cain.
It was so beautiful, and so fucking hot, it makes me come every time.
I glance at the door, checking it’s thoroughly closed, then get to my knees, sitting back on my haunches. I unzip and take myself in hand. Hissing as I close my fingers around my aching cock, I let my mind go to the moment Malachi guided his best friend’s cock into Ophelia’s virgin pussy.
Her cries, the way her eyes widened, her pussy lips straining to take him, all fill my mind, and I grit my teeth and work myself harder and faster.
My cock feels so big and hard, and my balls are heavy and full.
My spine tingles as I work my fist. I reach down with my other hand, pushing my pants down farther so I can cup my balls.
I squeeze them and twist a little, liking the pain.
I tug on them, too. I shave them and around my cock, and I wonder if Ophelia would suck them into her mouth for me.
It seems so wrong, so dirty, and yet the idea has the cum in them churning, and I grunt in shock as I come without any warning.
Hot white arcs shoot from the tip of my cock, covering my hand and fingers.
I keep fondling my balls, imagining it’s Ophelia doing it, and my thighs tense and relax repeatedly as I come so fucking hard, my entire body shivers with the pleasure.
When I finally come down from the high, I laugh quietly. Well, that certainly took the edge off.
My knees are sore, and my feet are starting to tingle with blood loss from sitting on them for so long. I need to move.
Tucking myself away and getting to my feet, I decide it’s time for a shower. Ophelia is already bathed and scented, and we all need to shower before the witching hour. We won’t wear our robes tonight because running in them would be fucking difficult, but we’ll wear our masks.
I’ll start the ceremony here, then we’ll move it out into the woods.
I want to sage the place, too, before we begin, to make sure the energy is pure and clean.
Pausing by the ancestors’ table, I thank them once more and then head to the bathroom to get myself ready for the night ahead.