52 FRANCOIS
The moment the heavy timber door clicks shut behind Layla, Clay, and Sky the atmosphere becomes fully-charged.
Fizzing inside my chest, the bond is a live wire.
I step over to the table and pick up London’s sign. The writing is unsurprisingly messy and erratic, but the message is not.
Don’t come knocking if this cabin is rocking.
Clutching the card, I turn around to face the room.
Aurora is standing near the hearth, cheeks still slightly flushed from the wine and the laughter, her bright eyes lock onto mine. Behind her, Taliesin and London are flanking her like twin guardians.
“Francois?” Aurora's voice sounds husky.
I let my gaze drop deliberately to her mouth. “I believe,” I say, my voice smooth, hiding the hunger and tension inside me, “that I am going to attach this to the front door. Permanently.”
The reaction is immediate.
Taliesin’s eyes flash with a primitive heat that darkens his pupils until they are almost entirely black, while London’s faun ears instantly pop out, his entire body vibrating with excitement.
Fuck the sign.
The three of us move on our perfect girl, in a synchronicity that would have one think this was an everyday occurrence.
Not the very first time.
“Guys…”
We herd her onto the soft fluffy rug set before the glowing logs.
London grabs every cushion we own and throws them onto the floor, piling them alongside the rug. “Must make it comfy, right?” His eyes are wide, filled with desire, and a little nervousness.
It’s endearing.
“So, I—uh—how is this actually going to work?” he mumbles. “Do-do we take turns? Or is it a tactical pile-up? Because I don’t want to get my hooves tangled in Burt’s fur and I really, really don’t want to wait until last.”
Both Tally and Rory chuckle, as Aurora holds her hand out. “Come sit beside me, London. We’ll all figure this out together.” Before London can claim his spot, Taliesin pulls Aurora onto his lap, burying his nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with a possessive hunger.
This.
This does not need to be hurried.
And it is already perfect. I step away slowly unbuttoning my cuffs, then the buttons of my shirt.
There is no hierarchy here. Just a girl we all adore, a hungry wolf, a hapless faun and I.
I am the person who will give them all the steady hand they need.
“Relax, London,” I murmur, my voice dropping into its hypnotic cadence. Not that I’m going to use my powers, but I want everyone to be at ease.
Dropping to one knee on the edge of the cream rug, I reach out and grasp Aurora’s slim ankle, my thumb stroking the sensitive skin.
“There will be no rushing,” I tell London, my dark eyes locking onto Aurora’s with absolute, unyielding possession.
“Each of us will experience more pleasure than we’ve ever known. Questions are encouraged.”
The faun immediately raises his hand so I amend that. “Questions will be allowed sporadically. But first things first.” Tally and London sit back, completely allowing me to take the lead.
I take a moment and think things through. I am French. Elite French.
When I was fifteen my Godfather took me to meet his mistress so she and her friend could initiate me in the ways of pleasing a woman.
I’m sure that it never entered his mind that I might also want to please a man—that I had to learn separately.
“First things first,” I repeat. “She must be undressed. London, if you please. Undo each button of Aurora’s blouse—slowly.”
I watch him take a deep breath, then reach out, almost awestruck, like a conservator taking the first delicate brushstroke to a long-lost Renoir.
The shirt she wears is slightly cropped, a blue and white stripe. He releases the lowest button first, allowing us a further glimpse of her pale skin and quivering stomach muscles.
And yes, I have already seen Aurora half-naked, shivering and clutching a ragged prison towel, but there is nothing sensuous about that memory, just concern that I couldn't express.
As London releases the next button, the underside of a pale pink lace brassiere is revealed. My erection is already pressing painfully inside my slacks.
This minuscule glimpse of lingerie feels like the most erotic moment of my life.
“Again,” I command, my voice rasping. At the last fastening, the soft linen falls to the sides of her sleek torso. Taliesin and London kneel like the acolytes, worshiping at the altar of their goddess.
Her breathing is rapid, the creamy soft mounds of her breasts spilling slightly above the delicate tissu dentelle. “Taliesin, lean forward. Release a hot breath above her left nipple.”
“Fuck…” Aurora groans.
Her sweet, rosy téton is already hardened, visible through the fabric. As Taliesin blows gently, she squirms, rubbing her thighs together.
A rumble sounds from deep in Taliesin’s chest. No doubt his wolf nose is scenting her arousal.
How I wish my own senses were so developed.
“Sit back,” I tell him. “Now, London, pull down Aurora’s trousers.
Raise her hips for him, my love.” She eagerly complies.
The culottes are elasticated at the waist. I think all three of us hold our breath as they slide down her hips to reveal the panties beneath.
Of course.
Though ma chérie has been through hell and back, and lived in cellblock squalor, she is still Aurora Drakeward. Now she has access and freedom to clothe herself, I cannot imagine her ever picking out underwear that does not match.
Pale pink silk panties, with a little lace trim. But not all the silk is pale pink.
Between her thighs, the dampened fabric has become a darkened tone. It calls to me. Begs me to suck the silk into my mouth.
Non.
Patience.
Taliesin is rubbing his own erection through the cloth of his rough work pants. “Taliesin, London, stand and strip completely, and you, my sweet, will watch.”
She pushes up to her elbows, and the blouse slides to the floor. I don’t think she even realizes that she also bends her knees, parting her legs slightly.
Her eyes are watching the faun. His body is almost as pale as hers, and lithe. The scars and old red tattoo stand out starkly, but in some manner they are beautiful.
Like how verdigris forms a protective layer over the shining copper beneath.
His physique stirs me, as I knew somehow it would.
“Kneel, my Aurora. Onto your knees, but do not rest back onto your heels.”
I want her at cock height. I want her to see what she is doing to them. I want her to anticipate what they will do to her.
As she moves, my gaze flicks to Taliesin, and again, his body fits him almost in a clichéd manner. A broad, overly muscled chest, and golden skin. His phallus is slightly vulgar for its monstrous size.
He continues to slowly stroke himself, squeezing the tip from time to time, precum sliding through his rough, calloused fingers.
Poor Aurora darts her eyes from one man to the other. I can make this more comfortable for our darling. “Both of you, stand side by side in front of her.”
London whimpers. “I don’t know if I can last much longer, Shane.”
Ah yes. I must adjust the tempo for each of our players.
“You can, London. For now you will refrain from self-stimulation. Instead, move behind our goddess. I am going to give you the task of lightly kissing her neck and her shoulders. Behind the ear, and maybe a little nip on her lobe. While that happens, Taliesin, you will rejoin Rory in kneeling. You will suck her left nipple through the silk. Tease it. I want her right nipple to be weeping with envy, desperate for your touch. But you will not touch it, not even the merest breath in that direction.”
Eyes glazed with lust, I watch my living sculpture sway, the three bodies, the heavy breath and small moans. The scent reaches me. Hot musk.
Once again, I imagine sucking on those panties, sliding my tongue across the fabric as I feel the hardened nub of her clitoris pulse and dance as ma langue slowly swirls across it.
“Francois, please.” She’s thrusting her chest forward, desperate for more of the wolf’s mouth on her breast.
“All in good time, ma petite. I promise, you will be taken care of. All of you will. London, Taliesin—lie her back down then place a pillow under her hips.
Merde.
Restraint is becoming near impossible, but I take a moment to center myself.
And remind myself that this is our present, but also our future. Every day, every year until we are old, gray and failing to get erections. But even then I will love exquisitely on Aurora’s aged, softer, looser body. There is no one else.
Only her.
Them.
My clothes are no longer tolerable on my body. I shed them with no care, flinging them into a corner. “London,” I croak. “Trail your tongue up the inside of Aurora’s thigh. When you get to her panties, trace your tongue along the edges, where the flesh meets the silk. Both sides.”
For the first time, I allow myself the relief of one tug on my erection.
Gods.
“Do you want Taliesin to make love to your other nipple, sweet girl?” I ask, my voice almost ruined by desire.
“More than anything,” she pants. “Oh, oh, oh, OH!” London has reached the crease between her mound and her inner thigh. I hear him humming as his hot tongue presses into the seam.
“You may flick your tongue just a centimeter under the elastic, if you so wish,” I tell him.
“LONDON!” Aurora’s hips buck.
I clap my hands once. “Both. Stop; sit back.”
With groans but surprisingly obedience, everyone does what I say.
“Look at her, take in her beauty. She is almost wrecked already and we’ve barely started.”
London’s gaze darts from Rory to me. “I’m really sorry, but honestly, I think I’m going to pop any second.”
Aurora’s pupils widen further with lust.
“You’d like to see that, chérie, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us make it so special.” My mind flicks through the possibilities and fixes on one that is new to me, but just seems right.
“Wolf, get behind her, pull her back into your chest so she can be seated, and see, comfortably.” As he moves, I look down at London’s pleading eyes and rock-hard penis.
“Just another minute, little faun. Come—stand next to me.”
He scrambles to his feet.
I check that Aurora is comfortable in Taliesin’s arms. The glance almost undoes me.
Her bent knees.
Wet silk.
White breasts spilling from lace.
Calloused hands still slowly caressing them.
Her long pale neck, red from stubble rash.
Her eyes on me.
On London.
“Now, my friend,” I say to London. “You will have Aurora’s gaze fixed on you as you come.
Don’t hold back, stroke yourself.” He immediately grips hard, his green eyes glancing from me to Aurora, pupils blown.
But just before he starts to pump himself, I tap him lightly on the shoulder.
“But when you come, you will come here, into my hand.”
I cup my palm, bending slightly to accommodate his slightly shorter stature.
There is no uncertainty on his behalf. With a groan, and a mere half-dozen tugs, London cries out, releasing his seed, hot and thick, onto my wrist and into my waiting paume.
As I feel his l'essentiel drip between my digits, I move to kneel next to Aurora, holding my hand close. “Smell him, my love. See how he produces for you.”
She gasps, shudders with longing. I bring my hand to my own face and she watches, mesmerized, as I also take in his odeur. It is quintessentially London.
“Faun, join us.”
I wait until he kneels the other side of our queen, then I dip my head to taste his essence with my tongue.
Très bon.
Then I offer my hand to Aurora, and she nods, no pause. Her pink, hot tongue darts out, dipping into London’s seed, like a cat lapping milk. “Mmmm.”
I open my fingers, letting the rest of the warmth splatter onto her belly.
London looks at me, eyes no longer wild. He looks at me with love.
“Are you steady now, Faun?”
“As a rock,” he chokes out.
That is good, because I am becoming increasingly unmoored. I allow my sticky fingers to trail down her stomach, watching the muscles quiver. Her back arches, begging for more. Over and over my eyes get drawn back to the wet pink silk until it is almost impossible to think.
Delicate, pale blonde curls are pressed down by the almost translucent fabric.
The part of my brain that is still rational praises this. As a Frenchman, I celebrate women's bodies in all states, but au naturel is my preference.
Suddenly, I am between her legs.
I wasn’t even aware of moving.
The wolf holding her fades away. The faun? No longer on my radar.
I hunger. I ache. I’m breaking. She’s destroying my control with her panting and moaning. Her sodden desire on display. I cannot hold back.
I will not.
So I do not.
The taste, the warmth. Slick silk under my tongue. Immediately I’m lost. Her cries fill my head, as I switch from teasing to devouring. I want the panties off, but am too gone. My mouth sucks up her flesh through the silk, until it swells and pulses.
Flicking my tongue I feel her heat rise further. My own body grinds, I’m on my stomach, face buried inside her thighs as she squeezes her legs together. A hand grips my hair, pulling me closer. Fuck.
Somehow I snake up a hand, enough to pull that silken barrier to one side, and yes. My tongue plunges into her entrance, then up through the slick folds.
I lap, tongue broad and flat. Once, twice.
And she shatters, flooding heat and sweetness into my mouth. I claim the slickness, drinking it down as she continues to shudder and whimper.
Le paradis suprême.