Chapter 35 #4
A shiver tore through her, wild and overwhelming. “Yeah,” she breathed, her voice thick and sultry with want.
The Thornfather’s rumble deepened, reverent and commanding all at once.
Bracing on one vast arm, he shifted with the creak of wood and strain of vines, then lowered himself carefully back to the floor.
The massive body sprawled out, chest rising and falling with ragged breath, his cock standing proud, crowned with writhing vines of light.
One hand extended toward her, palm open in invitation. “Lay yourself upon me, beautiful one,” he intoned, voice echoing through stone and soil. “Make me whole.”
Goldie whimpered as Splice’s hands slipped from her body, the loss like a snapped cord. But then his lips brushed her neck in a kiss so tender it unraveled her again. I’m here, it said. I’m not letting you go.
She drew a breath that trembled on the edge of a moan and reached for Mycor’s outstretched hand, her fingers sliding into his with reverence.
Slowly, she shifted forward. Magic and hunger pressed in from every angle, filling her veins like wildfire and honey. She moved with care, knees sinking to the moss on either side of the god’s massive hips.
The angle was wide—too wide—and her thighs burned with the stretch, but she adjusted, leaning forward slightly, steadying herself with both hands on his bark-covered chest. Her whole body trembled, flushed and open, as she hovered over him.
Splice followed, silent and steady, his heat at her back again. He kissed the base of her neck, lips soft and sure, a breath of grounding in the storm.
Hot and awkward, she thought wildly, her lips twitching even as her thighs quivered. Gods help me, I am literally straddling a god.
She reached down and wrapped one hand around the Thornfather’s cock. He groaned, a guttural sound that vibrated through her core. At once, vines stirred from his body and coiled around her fingers, writhing with a pulsing rhythm that made her gasp.
“Oh… damn,” she breathed, her hips twitching helplessly. “That’s gonna feel incredible.”
She glanced back, breathless. “Can you do that, too?”
Splice let out a gasping laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I can’t help it,” she whispered, stroking again, her fist sliding slowly over Mycor’s thick length. He was hot, pulsing, slick with glowing sap that clung to her skin like liquid starlight. The weight of him in her palm was obscene and beautiful, a thing carved from power and worship.
Her lips parted on a moan. “You both have…” she trailed off, voice cracking, “…really excellent design features.”
A strangled sound came from behind her. Goldie’s head whipped to the side, looking at Splice out of the corner of her eye, even as she stroked Mycor once, drawing a deep, guttural sound from the god’s chest. “Are you… laughing?” she hissed.
“No,” he said too quickly. “No.” But his lips betrayed him, curling into a crooked smile.
“You’re smiling,” she accused, scandalized.
“It’s only that, if that was dirty talk, it was… unique.”
“Well, excuse me, plant boy,” Goldie snapped, even as her cheeks flushed hot. “It’s very hard to concentrate on forming words when—ngh—”
Her retort broke off in a gasp as a vine slithered from Splice’s wrist and snaked to her clit, flicking it with ruthless precision. Her toes curled against the ground, back arching violently into his touch.
“In that case,” he murmured, low and smug against her ear. “Stop talking. And just feel.”
Goldie’s laugh caught halfway, dissolving into a shaky breath. Her thighs trembled as she shifted forward, hovering above the thick, glistening crown of the god’s cock. Even after everything, after vines and visions and impossible pleasures, this made her falter.
She swallowed hard. “Okay,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Okay.”
Mycor’s eyes, glowing and infinite, opened fully and locked on hers. His massive hands rose, curling around her hips with aching tenderness.
“Be my vessel,” he rumbled, voice like thunder over water. “Let me root in you.”
The words reverberated through her bones.
She shifted again, breath stuttering, and angled herself carefully. The thick crown of him pressed against her slick entrance, and even that small contact made her gasp.
He was so big. Too much. Perfect.
Slowly, exquisitely, she began to sink.
Her lips parted around a strangled moan as inch by thick, stretching inch, he filled her. Every movement was a shock, a burn, a bloom of unbearable pleasure. Her body yielded around him because it had to. There was no room for anything else but him.
When she finally seated herself fully, a cry of half-pain, half-exquisite bliss tore from her lips. The vines of Mycor’s cock stirred in response, flexing inside her, stroking her walls with a pulsing rhythm. Magic surged through her, hot and feral, igniting every nerve.
She rocked against him, hips trembling with the effort, and the god’s hands tightened on her hips, guiding her in slow, deliberate rolls. Sparks flared in her vision, her body alight with magic and desire, as if the very Grove Core bloomed within her.
Splice pressed closer, his chest flush to her back. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice rough with awe. “Taking him like it was written in your bones.” His mouth found her shoulder again, and he bit down, slow and firm, a mark not of possession, but of devotion.
Goldie’s moan broke into a sob as the rhythm deepened, every thrust a collision of flesh and power that left her undone.
The Thornfather hummed, a sound so deep it vibrated through the stone floor, primal and guttural as he flexed his hips and thrust upward, driving into Goldie with a force that rattled her bones and made the very atrium quake.
Splice’s hand slid down her belly, fingers teasing, pressing, dragging tight pleasure out of every nerve. His rhythm matched the god’s perfectly, and the thick weight of his cock ground against her ass, hard and insistent even through the barrier of his pants.
She was blazing. Alive in a way that cracked her open and filled her with light.
She gasped as something cool and slick slipped beneath the hem of her dress. Vines, wet and writhing, crept up her inner thighs, curling around her breasts. She couldn’t tell whose vines they were. The Thornfather’s? Splice’s? Both? They moved like shared breath, pulsing with one will.
Orgasm slammed into her like a lightning strike. Goldie screamed, body locking up as her cunt clamped down around the god’s cock. Wetness spilled down her thighs, over his hips, soaking the ground beneath her. Her muscles spasmed, every nerve a live wire.
“He may be inside you,” Splice rasped, “but it’s my fingers on that pretty clit. You’ll break around him, witch, but I’m the one making you break.”
Goldie whimpered, wrecked and wanting, the words unraveling something molten and wide-open inside her. She couldn’t feel the floor beneath her, couldn’t feel the air—only the god beneath, his graft behind, and the Grove Core pulsing like a second heart inside her bones.
The Thornfather’s massive hands tightened on her hips, anchoring her as he rocked up into her with slow, devastating force. His chest heaved. When he spoke, his voice was thunder softened by hunger.
“Together,” he rumbled, eyes glowing as they fixed on Splice. “All three. Root and flower and graft. Together we are whole.”
Splice leaned in, his voice low but reverent against her ear. “Would you let me join you? Let me be inside you, with him? Not instead. Together.”
Goldie’s breath caught. Her mind reeled with the image: Splice at her back, Mycor beneath her, their bodies grinding, stretching, and filling her until she could feel nothing else but them. Her throat worked around a soft gasp, awe and arousal tangling deep in her belly.
“How—how would that work?” she gasped, dazed and shaking. “I can’t—I don’t—”
Splice’s hands settled on her waist, firm and warm. “Do you trust me?” he asked softly. “Do you trust him?”
Goldie’s eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.” Her voice broke on the word. “Yes.”
Because of course she did. She trusted them both like she trusted gravity, her breath, her bones. She was the bridge between them, the bloom on the branch, the vessel that held god and graft alike. The magic crackled through her blood now, lust and power and life and the pulse of the earth itself.
Splice kissed her temple, reverent and slow. “Then let us open you. Together.”
A golden pulse shimmered beneath her skin, spiraling low into her belly, then lower still.
She felt her body shift, softening and opening.
Magic swelled in her womb like spring sap in a branch, making room where there had been none.
Her muscles loosened, her walls fluttered, and the ache inside her became something almost sacred.
The Thornfather’s chest rumbled beneath her. “The vessel unfurls. She is made ready.”
Goldie exhaled shakily, easing down and laying herself fully atop the god’s vast form, her cheek pressed to Mycor’s chest, her fingers digging into his bark skin.
Splice’s presence blanketed her back, his hand sliding between her shoulder blades, steadying her.
The pressure of his body behind hers, and the heat of the god beneath cradled her in a living altar, a trinity made flesh.
“Beautiful one,” he whispered again. “Let me in.”
And then, finally, he pushed into her. His cock slid against Mycor’s, slicked and impossibly hot, forcing her body to yield a second time. The magic held her open, trembling and divine, as Splice sank into her inch by inch.
She screamed, not in pain, but in something close to rapture. Her walls clamped around them both, impossibly full, impossibly perfect. It was impossible. It was glorious. It was divine desecration.
Inside her, the two cocks ground against each other. The friction between them was brutal, obscene, perfect, dragging pleasure through her in shuddering, unbearable waves.