Chapter 11 #2
Croesus shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall.
The scars on his body reflect the light and even though Seraph lives to highlight imperfection I feel nothing like shame here.
So many years of existence has carved him into something beautiful, lean muscle and warm golden skin, and he knows exactly what he looks like.
He reaches for his belt.
"See something you like?" Croesus asks, and the question is directed at Seraph.
"I see an angel who's stalling." But Seraph's voice is slightly rougher than before.
I feel Seraph's arousal spike despite himself.
It's not simple, not straightforward. It's tangled up with rivalry and contempt and something that might be envy.
He's watching Croesus undress with the same analytical intensity he watches everything, but underneath that, his body is responding in ways his pride won't let him acknowledge.
I feel it all. Both of them. Croesus's possessive determination and Seraph's reluctant want. They're both hard now, both aching, one because of me and one because of... this. Whatever this is.
Croesus undoes his belt, slides it free. Unbuttons his pants and pushes them down along with his boxer briefs, stepping out of them without breaking eye contact with Seraph.
He's fully hard, his cock thick and flushed, and he makes no move to hide it.
"Still watching?" he asks.
"Obviously." Seraph's voice is steady, but I feel the effort that steadiness costs him.
Croesus turns back to me, and his expression softens. "Lie back," he says. "If he wants to watch, let him see what he can't have."
I lie back against the pillows. My heart is racing, my skin flushed, hyperaware of Seraph's presence just feet away on the same massive bed.
Through his binding, I feel his amusement at Croesus's challenge. Feel his response: Can't I?
But he doesn't move. Doesn't interfere. Just lies there watching with those mirror eyes as Croesus positions himself over me.
"Eyes on me," he says. "Only me."
I try. I try to focus only on him, on the familiar weight of his body, the warmth of his skin, the gold light that seems to emanate from him in the dim room.
His mouth trails down my neck, my collarbone, the valley between my breasts. His tongue circles one nipple, then the other, drawing them into stiff peaks before continuing his descent. Lower. Lower. Until his breath is hot against my center, and I'm trembling with anticipation.
"I'm going to remind you why you fell in love with me. And he's going to watch every second."
He hooks his fingers into my underwear and drags it down my legs, tossing it aside. Then he spreads my thighs wider, settling between them, and looks up at me with those molten gold eyes.
"So wet already," he murmurs. "Is that for me? Or for him watching?"
"Croesus—"
"Both," he answers himself. "It's both."
Then his mouth is on me.
The first stroke of his tongue drags through my folds, slow and deliberate, and I cry out at the sensation.
He knows my body so well, every sensitive spot, every rhythm that makes me gasp.
His tongue circles my clit, teasing, before dipping lower to taste me properly.
He fucks me with his tongue, slow and deep, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me open for him.
Through our binding, I feel his satisfaction at my response. His possessive triumph. See? She's mine. She responds to ME.
But I also feel Seraph's reaction through the other binding.
He's watching. Intently. His silver eyes tracking every movement, every arch of my back, every sound that escapes my lips. And he's not disgusted or jealous or angry.
He's fascinated.
I feel his attention like a physical touch—curious, analytical, wanting.
He's cataloging my responses, noting what makes me moan, what makes me grip the sheets, what makes my thighs tremble around Croesus's head.
And underneath that clinical observation, his cock is hard against his thigh, his body responding to the sight of me spread open and gasping even as his mind tries to maintain distance.
Learning. He's learning what I like so he can use it later.
The dual sensation, physical pleasure and emotional voyeurism, is overwhelming. I'm drowning in sensation from two directions at once. My body responding to Croesus's mouth while my mind swims with Seraph's secondhand arousal.
"You're thinking about him," Croesus growls against my flesh. "I can feel it."
"I feel him," I gasp. "His reaction. He's—"
"I know what he's feeling." He seals his lips around my clit and sucks, and my hips buck off the bed. "Let me give him something worth feeling."
He redoubles his efforts. His tongue working my clit in tight circles while he slides two fingers inside me, crooking them to find that spot that makes me jerk. I'm so wet I can hear it, the obscene sound of his fingers pumping into me, and I should be embarrassed but I'm too far gone to care.
Inside, I feel his love, desperate and possessive and real.
Feel how much he needs this. Needs to prove he can still make me feel this way.
His own cock is aching, pressed against the mattress, and he's resisting the urge to grind against the sheets because this isn't about him.
It's about me. About proving I'm still his.
The orgasm builds fast, coiling tight in my belly. His fingers curl inside me, stroking that sensitive spot while his tongue flicks relentlessly against my clit, and I'm climbing, climbing—
"That's it," he murmurs against me, the vibration of his voice adding another layer of sensation. "Come for me. Let him see what I do to you."
I shatter with a cry, my back arching off the bed, my thighs clamping around his head as the orgasm tears through me. I clench around his fingers, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me, I feel him groan at the sensation of my body gripping him.
Through Seraph's binding: a spike of something dark. Jealousy? Envy? Or just frustrated desire at being excluded? I watch his cock twitch against his thigh under the sheets, and I feel his sharp irritation at his own response.
"That's my girl," Croesus murmurs, kissing his way back up my body. His lips are wet with me, and when he kisses me I can taste myself on his tongue. "That's one."
"One?" I manage.
"I'm not done with you yet."
He settles his weight between my thighs, and I feel the head of his cock nudge against my entrance. He's hot and hard and thick, and I'm so wet from coming that he slides against me easily, coating himself in my arousal.
"Look at me," he commands. "I can’t see you but I want your attention as I fuck you."
I force my eyes open. Meet his gold unseeing gaze, burning, desperate, full of love.
He pushes inside slowly. Deliberately. Letting me feel every inch of him as he stretches me open.
I'm still fluttering from my orgasm, oversensitive, and the feeling of being filled is almost too much.
He's big, and the angle is deep, and by the time he's fully seated inside me I'm gasping, my nails digging into his shoulders.
We both groan at the sensation.
"I love you," he says, and the words are fierce. Desperate. A claim and a plea. "I love you so fucking much."
"I love you too." And I do. I do. That hasn't changed.
He begins to move. Slow at first. Tender.
Long, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive nerve ending.
His forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling, the binding between us glowing gold and warm.
I feel what he feels, his cock wrapped in my tight heat, the way my body grips him every time he pulls back.
Through Seraph's binding, I feel his response intensify. He's still not moving, not participating, but his arousal is unmistakable now. Hot and sharp and focused entirely on watching us. His hand has moved to his own cock, gripping loosely, not stroking but holding, as if he can't help himself.
He wants this.
Not me specifically, not Croesus. He wants to watch. Wants to see me come apart under another man's touch while he catalogs every response for later use. And he's hard as marble, his perfect composure cracking at the edges, because watching Croesus fuck me is affecting him more than he expected.
The thought should horrify me.
Instead, it sends a surge of heat through my core, and I clench around Croesus so hard he groans.
"He's enjoying this," I gasp against Croesus's ear. "He's touching himself."
Croesus's hips stutter. "Is he?"
"Yes. He's—" I moan as he hits a particularly deep angle. "He's watching you fuck me and he's hard and he's touching himself—" I whisper in his ear.
"Good." Croesus's rhythm changes, becomes harder, more deliberate. He's performing now, showing off. Each thrust drives deep and grinds against my clit before pulling back. "Let him watch what he'll never have. What's mine."
He hooks my leg over his hip, changing the angle, and I cry out as he slides even deeper. The new position lets me feel everything, the thick drag of his cock against my walls, how his pelvis grinds against my clit with every thrust, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
"Fuck," I breathe. "Right there, don't stop—"
"Never." He drives into me harder, faster. "I'll never stop. I'll never let you go."
But even as he says it, even as he claims me with his body, we both know it's not entirely true anymore.
I'm not just his.
I'm becoming something else. Something that belongs to multiple angels, multiple bindings, multiple loyalties.
And Seraph is making sure I know it. Making sure I feel his presence even in this intimate moment.
Through his binding, I feel him stroking himself now, slow and controlled, his hand tight around his shaft as he watches Croesus pound into me.
He's not racing toward release. He's savoring it. Studying us. Memorizing every detail.