Chapter 33 Christine #2
As Erik ushers me through the backstage hallways toward the rear exit, I glance into one of the dressing rooms. Meg is there, accepting a bouquet from Gabriella.
I whistle at them, and they both look my way, faces flushed with happiness.
Gabriella, as it turns out, is not only a talented violinist but also an excellent social media manager.
I’m determined to make them a part of our success for as long as it lasts.
I will never forget how they tried to look after me when I was being smuggled out of the theater by that shifter in disguise.
“Where are you off to, Christine?” calls Meg.
“Back to the hotel. Hey, is your mom still coming next week?”
Her face falls a little. Ever since she found out about her mom’s affair with the student, they haven’t been on good terms.
“Yeah,” she says without enthusiasm.
“We’ll be sure to get her a good seat for the show,” I say. “Gotta run. I’m starving.”
“Same. We’re going out to dinner.” Meg brightens.
From just behind her, Gabriella waggles an eyebrow and touches the third finger of her left hand. Which means it’s proposal night, and Meg is about to be sporting a gorgeous diamond during rehearsals.
I almost squeal, but I manage to keep a straight face so as not to reveal the surprise. “Call me tomorrow?”
“You know it. Bye, Erik.” Meg nods politely.
She still has question marks in her mind about him, and I don’t blame her.
It’s not like I can fully explain his quirks, like Oh yeah, well, he used to be the god of the dead, so that’s why he talks the way he does and has weird knowledge gaps and seems to enjoy morbid topics far too much.
“Raoul is waiting,” Erik says with just enough dark desire in his tone to make me hurry down the hall with him.
Raoul didn’t come to the show tonight. He was struck by inspiration this morning and plunged into a creative rabbit hole, so we let his inspiration flow uninterrupted while we went to the venue to perform.
Every time he finishes writing a new song, he’s hyper, hungry, and horny, and tonight is no exception.
He’s naked when Erik and I walk into the suite, and he’s had room service delivered already—steak and salad for Erik, shrimp carbonara for me, a quarter chicken with a side of roasted corn for himself.
I kick off my heels with an eager groan, pulling off my blouse as I race for the huge bed. I take a seat on the edge of the mattress to strip off the leggings, then fling myself onto the sheets in my underwear.
“There is nothing like having bare feet after dancing all night,” I mumble against the mattress.
Raoul smacks my ass lightly, then squeezes it. “Want a foot massage?”
“I want all the kinds of massage.”
“Eat something first, naughty girl. Then we’ll play.”
Erik picks up a cherry tomato and pops it into his mouth. “I’m going to shower.”
“I’ll join you,” Raoul and I say at the same time, both of us eager as puppies.
Erik grins—cocky bastard—and heads into the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes.
Showers are slick, heated affairs now—all three of us gleaming, dripping, sliding against one another. One of us usually ends up kneeling on the tiles with a cock in their mouth and their fingers in a hole while the other two kiss.
For us, sex has no real beginning and no definitive end. We stroke each other while we towel off, then roll around on the sheets naked while nibbling bits of delicious dinner. Then the lube comes out, and Erik gets on all fours, lifting his ass while Raoul eases inside.
“I need your help on the new song,” Raoul says. His eyes roll back as he sinks deeper. “This is truly a divine asshole.”
Erik chuckles, then groans when Raoul begins to thrust inside him. “Fuck, this is exactly what I needed. Only one thing would make it better.” His golden eyes meet mine.
I smirk and take another sip of wine before crawling over, sliding under him, and tracing my finger along his straining cock. “I’m guessing this is what you want?” I take the plump head in my mouth, savoring the salty bit of precum along the slit.
Erik groans again. “Yes, angel.”
I let him pop out of my mouth. “Hey. That’s my name for you.”
“I stole it. You should punish me—ahhh—” He gasps as I shift my position and take him deeper.
Raoul and I love the way he is with us—the way he always seems overcome by the sensations of us with him, around him, inside him. I suck on him luxuriously, like he’s the sweetest treat I’ve ever tasted, until his breathing quickens and his abs go taut.
“Our pretty god is about to come, Raoul,” I say with a flick of my tongue to the sensitive tip of Erik’s cock.
“Yes,” moans Raoul. “Make him come…god, I’m coming now…f-u-u-u-ck…”
I close my lips over Erik just in time to feel the jetting of his cum into my cheek. The taste of these two men is better than any human male, and I don’t mind swallowing every last bit.
Erik is groaning, the broken, blissful groans of a man who just had one of the best orgasms of his life.
Still inside, Raoul strokes Erik’s bare back, murmuring incoherent endearments.
Gradually, he pulls out, and they both go to clean up while I relax against the pillows, anticipating the bliss that I know is coming.
Both of them get hard again faster than a normal man could, and they last longer when they’ve already come once, which is why I don’t mind waiting my turn.
They return with their arms wound around each other’s shoulders, and I nearly pass out from the delight of knowing that both these gorgeous men are mine.
First, Raoul savors my pussy. He has a special liking for it—he says my scent is strongest there, and he enjoys simply hanging out between my legs, lapping at my clit while Erik massages my feet or my shoulders.
Erik works on my feet this time, tending to every sore muscle so skillfully that I can’t decide whether I’m enjoying his ministrations or Raoul’s tongue more.
But Raoul’s tongue…it’s as lovely as his poetry, and there’s a fervent enthusiasm about the way he sucks and licks me that sends warm, glittering spirals up through my belly.
“I’m going to come,” I gasp out. “Oh shit…not yet, not yet. I want you inside when I come.”
Raoul stops immediately. “Double or single tonight?”
I usually prefer just one cock inside me, but sometimes, when I’m feeling especially wild or frustrated, I’ll ask for two. I’m not usually a fan of anal, though. Even with the lube and with practice, it can hurt, so I save it for the times when I need a little pain with my pleasure.
“Double,” I tell him.
Erik kisses my foot and then moves onto the bed, stretching out to his full length, on his back with his perfect cock jutting up, as if it’s begging to be stroked.
I climb on top of him, kissing him softly while I position his tip at my entrance.
Raoul is on his knees behind me. His warm hand takes over, circling both his cock and Erik’s, squishing the heads together and nudging them inside my pussy. He adds lube, the kind that leaves you tingly and warm, applying it in long, practiced strokes.
While Raoul feeds their cocks into me, I shift slowly backward onto them.
We know each other’s bodies intimately now—it’s smooth, easy, flawless.
Even the stretch of taking them both is familiar—challenging but not daunting.
It’s the trust we share that makes it so perfect.
We have complete faith in each other. Much as Raoul and Erik love rubbing against each other, skin to skin, while inside me, I know they would never force it or take the fun beyond my comfort level.
That’s why I can relax, and breathe, and shift my hips backward to take them both deeper.
Raoul is nearly sobbing, out of his mind with pleasure. He craves this more than anything else—the friction of Erik’s cock along the sensitive underside of his own, all while they’re both gliding inside me, welcomed in my heat.
Erik reaches for him, and they clasp hands.
Raoul holds my hip, bracing me, and my hand twines in my angel’s black hair.
We move together, silken skin and slick need and thundering hearts, until Erik’s cock thrums with a light vibration.
At that extra stimulation, a golden burst of exquisite pleasure shatters inside me.
I’m beautifully, thoroughly whole, packed full, coming with exquisite intensity on the thick cocks of two beautiful men.
My pussy quivers around them, and they come with me, Erik’s deeper cries blending with Raoul’s lighter ones.
The heat is intense, magnetic, dizzying.
I can feel their cum pulsing into me, spilling warm around the edges of my stretched hole.
Raoul pulls out first, panting, and flings himself down beside Erik. Cum pours out of me, a creamy flood. I stay on top of Erik, my head resting on his chest, until we’ve recovered our breath and our sanity.
“I think we need another shower,” I murmur, running my hand along Erik’s side. Then I lift my head and look over at Raoul. “You need a run through the park later?”
He enjoys a night run in wolf form, and we’ve developed a system where one of us runs with him, carrying a leash in case we’re questioned.
We’ve been stopped a couple times, and in both cases were able to convince the curious passerby that Wolf-Raoul was actually a large dog, some cross between a malamute and a black Lab.
Raoul prefers it when I run with him, since my vampire speed makes me faster than Erik.
“I think I’ve had enough exercise for one night,” Raoul replies with a yawn. “But tomorrow night, for sure.”
“Get us a towel, won’t you, pet?” asks Erik. “The princess won’t sleep unless she’s clean.”
It’s true. I hate sticky, dried cum on my thighs.
Raoul fetches a damp towel, and we clean up before snuggling together among the sheets.
Our wolf boyfriend brings a tiny golden nightlight with him everywhere we go, even though he claims to “love the darkness.” Neither Erik nor I ever tease him about it.
Nor do we mention it when one of our hotels has a smaller shower than usual and he refuses to enter the confined space with both of us.
We all have scars. Most of them are deeper and less noticeable than the white lines along the right side of Erik’s face.
He dreams sometimes, our recovering death god.
He’ll wake up in a dark panic and start pacing the room with thunder in his eyes and shadows leaking from his body—shadows in the shape of leafy vines.
When that happens, Raoul switches from our “Night Music” playlist to the “Dream Recovery” playlist, and I sing quietly until the frenzy fades from Erik’s gaze and we can lead him back to bed.
Music continues to be his passion. He listens to it, performs it, or composes it during nearly every waking hour of his life. And he can’t fall asleep without it softly playing in the room.
It’s one of the things I love best about him.
Music forged Raoul’s path away from his family. Dance helped me cope with the tragedies of my childhood, and singing gave me my freedom. The musical we created together enabled us to live the dream we’re enjoying right now.
And as for Erik…well, he has often said that music woke him from a living death, and Raoul’s poetry opened his heart.
But my voice made him an angel.