Chapter 32 Ophelia
Ophelia
Nervously, I hold my finger out to Roman. He takes an alcohol wipe and swipes the tip of my finger, then cleans the knife with another, and presses the blade against my skin.
Sharp pain hits, but it’s momentary, fleeting, though I still can’t help sucking air in over my teeth and automatically pulling away.
But he keeps hold of my finger, positions it over the iron bowl, and squeezes until a drop of blood breaks free from my skin, falling into the pot.
I watch in fascination as several more drops join it.
The pot contains each of our blood now.
Letting me go, Roman stirs the mixture in the pot, and unsure what to do, I step back to stand with Malachi and Cain. They hand me a wipe, and I clean my finger.
The two men stand by me, naked, the moonlight caressing their large frames, and their cocks heavy and aroused, like ancient guardians of the woods.
But wearing those masks, they’re as intimidating as can be.
They’re also delicious and erotic, and I do believe a part of me likes the intimidation and the air of danger.
After all, I’m a girl who has discovered she likes to be chased through these woods.
Roman has taken the pot off the fire, and he keeps stirring it before adding some cold water from the bottle he has by the base of the tree. He stirs more, then dips his finger in the liquid, he brings his glistening digits up to the light and inspects them.
“We’re ready,” he says. “Take off Ophelia’s dress.”
“How does this work?” I ask, increasingly nervous.
“We will paint our bodies with our mixed blood and the herbs we need to deepen our bond and banish past harms. Then we fuck you.”
The way he uses the word fuck, harsh in so many ways, but electric, too, makes my blood sing.
“Finally, when we’ve filled you with our cum, and we’ve covered you in our mixed blood, we’ll tie the silk cord around ourselves and make the final plea to the gods.”
“I’ve not heard the Prophet,” I say. “Not since I killed him. Do you think we still need this?”
I feel connected to my men, and part of me is worried that they don’t believe in my strength and how much I’ve grown.
“This isn’t just for you, Ophelia. It’s for us all.” Roman steps to me and takes my hand in both of his, some of the red mixture coating the back of my hand. “We need this after everything that’s happened. You’re not the only one who has been hurt.”
I swallow hard. Of course not. I shouldn’t think it’s always about me. Look what happened to Rome. He was beaten so badly, I thought he might die.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s not all about me.”
Roman frowns. “Ophelia, my love, there’s no need to apologize. I don’t for one minute believe you think that. I only want you to understand that we aren’t doing this because we see you as weak. It’s for me, as much as you. For Cain and Mal, too. Understand?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He steps back and nods to the other two, who move to me as if one, and begin to lift my dress. Roman watches, his eyes dark behind his mask, his arms crossed over his chest, and his breathing growing heavier as my body is revealed to him.
He’s seen me naked so many times, but somehow this feels new, as if he’s witnessing my body revealed for the first time.
“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs as the dress is lifted from my head.
I shiver a little as a light, cool breeze brushes over my skin, my nipples hardening in response.
Roman picks up the iron pot by the handle and carries it to me.
He swirls his fingers through the contents and begins to paint the blood over my chest. It’s warm and not as thick or sticky as pure blood, mixed as it is with the water and the coloring from the plants and herbs.
When he’s painted a stripe from one collarbone to the other, he dips his fingers down, drawing a streak of red between my breasts.
He smiles at me and moves on to Cain. He repeats the process on Cain, and finally Malachi.
“Will you do me the honor of painting me in our lifeforce, Ophelia?”
Roman hands me the pot, and I take it, happy that he’s asked me.
I dip my fingers in the warm liquid, and do as he did to Cain, me, and Malachi. I paint a horizontal line across Roman’s chest, then take it down between his pecs.
When I’ve finished, I hand him the pot back.
“Now what?” I ask.
Roman smiles at me. “You need to take our essence into you, so we’re all joined that way. Do you remember when you kneeled for me so beautifully in the woods all those weeks ago, when we first met?”
I nod, my throat running dry. I’d sunk to my knees for him and rested my head on his thigh, and it had lit something in him. I don’t know to this day what made me do it. But it had felt so right.
“Good girl, I want you to go to that space. Okay? The one where you’re trusting of us. Turn off that internal voice and know that I’ll always protect you and have your best interest at heart, whenever we’re doing anything like this.”
“Not at other times?” I tease, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
He doesn’t laugh though. “Ophelia, I’ll always have your best interest at heart, but I don’t expect you to always turn off your thinking, only now, while we do this. Just … feel. That trust you gave me before, give it to me now.”
I do what I did back then because it feels right. I sink to the floor, my knees on the cool, soft grass, and rest my head against Roman’s thigh.
He strokes my hair so softly, as if I’m the most precious thing in the world to him. “Good girl.”
Those words make my pulse quicken and my core ache, and I feel myself sinking into that space where I give up control.
“Fuck me, that’s hot,” Cain says in a raw voice from behind me.
“Can you fetch the blanket, Mal?” Roman asks.
Malachi fetches the blanket and lays it on the ground. “Cain, pick Ophelia up and place her on the blanket.”
Cain bends down and lifts me easily into his arms, moving me from where I had my head on Roman’s thigh. He carries me to the blanket and gently places me on my back.
“Spread her legs,” Roman says.
Cain does as he’s ordered, and I allow him to spread my feet wide, my knees falling apart, exposing myself to all of them and the cool air.
Roman crawls onto the blanket and drops to his knees between my legs, lifting his mask. “We’re going to make you come so much, Ophelia, that you’ll be incoherent with it.”
He ducks down and flicks his tongue over my clit, and I gasp at the sudden intense sensation. He works me while Cain and Mal watch, their eyes dark and greedy behind their masks.
When he’s got me right on the edge, Roman stops and pushes two fingers inside me. He pumps them in and out, until I’m panting, and when he crooks them, so that he touches that spot deep inside me, I grasp hold of the blanket and grip it tight, but again, he stops.
Left on the edge, my pussy spasms around nothing as he withdraws and moves away.
“Cain, do you want to taste her? She’s so fucking sweet.”
Cain doesn’t need to be asked twice. He drops to the blanket and roughly pushes my thighs even farther apart before he tears off his hood and presses his face to my core and inhales deeply.
He growls like a fucking animal and sucks my lips into his mouth, pulling on them, before pushing his tongue deep in between and running it over my clit.
He repeats this many times, until I’m writhing on the blanket, and finally, finally feel that pulse that means I’m going to come.
“Noooo,” I wail as Cain stops and stands, motioning for Malachi to take his place. As each man goes down on me, they remove their masks but then replace them again as soon they’re done.
Malachi repeats what Cain and Roman did until I’m an incoherent mess who can’t make sensical words anymore.
“Let’s see how desperate she is,” Roman says.
Mal stops licking at me and holds my lips spread, so they can see everything. Oh, God, this is so humiliating but also such a turn-on.
“See how swollen her clit is.” Roman talks about me as if I’m an exhibit. “She really needs relief. Shall we let her come before we fuck her?”
“I’ve got an idea,” Mal says.
He goes to the fire and picks up the knife from where Roman left it, then he goes to his cloak and pulls out a pack of condoms.
My eyes widen. “What are you thinking?”
He strokes the wooden handle almost lovingly. “Do you see how the handle is curved? I think it’ll hit just the right spot inside you.”
“Mal, you can’t,” I gasp. “The blade is sharp.”
He shrugs and picks up his cloak, wrapping it around the blade. “There, problem solved.” Then he opens one of the condoms and rolls it down the smooth, wooden handle.
I swallow hard, unsure how I feel about having a knife inside me. But I remember I trust them, and Malachi would never do anything to hurt me.
Besides, I just want them to let me come.
Still masked, Malachi drops back into the space between my thighs and places the tip of the handle at my pussy. It’s cold and hard and unmoving, and I arch my hips, inviting it in. I’m so desperate to come, I’ll do so by any means.
Mal stares down at my soaking, swollen pussy and uses the handle to trace circles around my clit and slide up and down my slit. I groan with frustration, needing to be penetrated so badly.
“Please, Mal,” I beg. “Fuck me with it.”
“I like to hear you beg.”
I can’t see behind his mask, but I can tell he’s smiling.
“Fuck me, I beg you.”
“Your wish is my command.”