Chapter Nine Zara
Chapter Nine
Zara
Oh, hell to the yeah.
It’s only Christmas Eve, and our night started out sucky, literally wheels-up in a ditch.
But fuck if this isn’t turning into the best fucking Christmas of my entire fucking life.
I’ve got a naked Ronin sprawled next to me like a sexy panther, slowly fisting his pierced dick and suckling my over-sensitive nipples, in a way that sends tingling jolts of pleasure shooting through my system to swell my clit and clench my pussy with every pull of his hungry mouth.
I’ve got a naked Max crouched between my quivering thighs, spreading my knees wide with his hot hands and tongue-fucking my needy hole like he’s hunting for buried treasure down there. (Because every dragon loves treasure.)
I’ve got Mordred sexing me up from six feet away, noisily appreciating his first up-close-and-personal with Lucius’ knot, and getting ready to wrap his versatile sex demon mouth around the whole thing and suck Lucius off like a vacuum hose.
I’ve got sweet bookworm Neo close enough to touch, working his way into Ash’s tight ass one gasp and moan at a time.
(Clearly, all the Christmas cuddling has Neo feeling a lot better.) The whole time, Ash trembles and whimpers under this slow but relentless reaming like the sweetly submissive bottom out giant Seelie warrior truly is.
Plus, not to be missed, I’ve got the pièce de résistance.
The cherry on my sundae.
The Olympic gold medal of all our searching and struggling and striving to come together as a nine-person polycule throughout this exciting and invigorating, but also confusing and challenging, year.
To be specific, my cherry on top is Zephyr—in all his Moon-Dazzled Radiance—bending for Vasili over the fireplace mantle.
For the first time ever.
Sweet Jesus. I’m so excited and so happy—for all our sakes—that this shit’s finally happening between those two frenemies, for real.
Not to mention, I’m so turned on I’m gonna cream all over Max’s talented and highly devoted tongue in about fifteen seconds.
Tops.
With the dwindling fire behind them, burning down to a heap of glowing embers and an occasional lick of flame, my two most vicious warlocks are etched in silhouette.
Zephyr’s smaller than Vasili, and V’s standing between us, so I can barely see the Dark Fae.
Only Zephyr’s outstretched arms, honed and knotted with dragonrider muscle, outflung to grip the mantle like he’s about to be crucified.
And then there’s Vasili.
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
I know him but I don’t.
He’s Vasili but he’s not.
Seen in shadow from behind like this, the tall supple length of my dominant alpha is gorgeously familiar, crowned by a punk-rock shag of silver hair that limns his head like a halo. But the thick curving horns that branch over his head… and the satyr-like goat’s hooves planted on the floorboards…
Yeah, no. Those are new.
Not gonna lie. I’m secretly relieved his scary braided horsehair Krampus whip seems to have gone bye-bye. Like, literally, that thing vanished the second V dropped it. But, whip or no whip, we still have the actual Krampus.
For better or worse.
Now he’s gonna give Zephyr the royal ass reaming of Zephyr’s Dark Fae dreams.
What with Vasili being so tall, the angle for a fuck between them isn’t great. My head pops up, peering over Ronin’s shoulder, in a vain attempt to see how V’s gonna handle it.
Feeling the burn of my intense interest crackling through our bond, Vasili—or Krampus—looses a deep thunder of a chuckle. That wicked laugh rolls over my skin like the subtle vibrato of a sonic boom.
“It seems our little queen,” V rumbles, in a voice like black velvet, “craves a closer view of her Christmas gift.”
What little I can see of Zephyr from this angle shivers all over. The Fae are hella sensitive and perceptive in all sorts of ways, but they’re no telepaths.
Yet Vasili’s just told Zephyr exactly what I need.
“By the moon,” Zephyr breathes in a ribbon of voice like gray silk. “Let no man ever say I have not done all in my power to please my bride.”
Hearing that, Max grunts in approval against my clit, a hot puff of breath that licks my swollen pearl like a tongue of fire. Aching with need, that tiny bud pulses against Max’s tongue. I arch into his mouth with a moan. My swollen belly rises, full and proud, against the glowing gold of the fire.
Deftly Zephyr twists away and slips around Vasili’s horned and looming form, with a complicated sidelong look at V’s increasingly obvious transformation into the Christmas monster. Briefly I worry this whole Krampus manifestation might be more of a fuck than Zephyr was actually bargaining for.
But Zephyr’s the Dark Fae King for, like, reasons.
His single eye flickers over V’s junk (still not viewable to me from behind).
Zephyr’s mouth curls in a hungry grin that shows both his tiny incisors.
Honestly speaking, his face should look naked and defenseless without his missing eyepatch to conceal the scarred empty socket he’s always so desperate to hide.
Instead, Zephyr just looks savage. Like the wild, barely tamed predator he is.
His scars only make him sexier.
With a last lingering look at V that really makes me long for the full frontal on our visiting Krampus, Zephyr prowls past the glowing miracle of the Christmas tree and bends—dark and intent with purpose—over the arm of the overstuffed leather couch.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” I mutter. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
I mean it. That placement is fucking inspired.
Making the couch center stage gives me the full frontal of Zephyr I’ve been craving. The small secret smile he gives me through a spill of sleek green hair. And the rock-hard cock jutting eagerly from the lick of moss green pubes between his thighs.
He’s physically the smallest male in my harem. But you’d never know, based on the size of that third leg he’s rocking.
Vasili takes his time lubing his own dick, keeping his back to the room. In the beat of silence as the gramophone skips between tracks, the wet suck of V’s slowly pumping fist fills the throbbing silence.
Cheese. On. Toast.
As our dominant alpha, he likes to make us wait.
This time, the anticipation might literally kill me.
I ease the strain by threading my fingers between Ronin’s—still sprawled beside me on one elbow.
I fit my hand around Ronin’s, so both our hands are wrapped around his dick.
He’s a fire sign and he runs hot. So hot his dick shimmers like a burning coal under my fingers.
The black flames of the dragon tattoo licking up his chest seem to dance in the flickering light.
I squeeze Ronin’s swollen shaft until it pulses against my palm, veins throbbing under drum-tight skin. Tenderly I sweep my free hand through the gleaming fall of his long black hair, sweeping it back to bare his tawny eyes and broody face.
Ronin smolders down at me, like the Adam Driver/Kylo Ren doppelganger of my teenage dreams. His gaze drops to linger on my breathless mouth.
“Don’t bloody start something you’re not ready to finish,” he growls, scowling down at me like the bully he used to be. “You and Max are already pumping out enough mating scent to blow my bollocks off.”
“Poor things.” With a sultry grin, I dip my hand between Ronin’s legs to cup the hot sac of his balls, drawn tight and bulging with need.
Then I nudge his hand aside, tighten my fingers around his shaft, and stroke all those inches jutting between his corded thighs. “Anyway, who says I’m not ready?”
Slow and steady, I fist his impressive length, letting the heavy silver ring of his Prince Albert bump my knuckles on every upstroke.
“Blimey, love,” Ronin says on a groan, head falling back as his burning eyes turn lidded and heavy with pleasure. “I’m warning you. I’m too fucking close to edge tonight.”
“Who said anything about edging you, Adam?” I wink at Zephyr, who’s watching our byplay with the intensity of a cat tracking an unsuspecting sparrow.
Then I turn to fuse Ronin’s mouth with mine.
Ronin kisses me back like he’s starving, a fierce-open mouthed kiss that eats at my dessert-sticky lips.
His slick tongue surges into my mouth, tasting like apple pie and whiskey.
His skin smells like ambergris and sin. His hard hand engulfs my chin to hold me in place and deepen the kiss.
His hair, sweet with bergamot, spills over my face like a silk curtain.
Down below, Max snarls against my pussy like the rutting dragon he is.
Under long strokes of Max’s tongue, delving ruthlessly down the hot slick folds of my slit, my snatch is clenching and aching to be filled. Pumping out his mating scent of leather and brimstone, Max laps up the copious juices seeping from my cunt like he’s dying of a thirst only I can quench.
Then his hot mouth locks around my pulsing clit and sucks.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus in the manger.
Every erg of sensation in my entire body rushes to swirl around the divine suction engulfing my clit. My first big O thunders over me like an avalanche.
Electrifying pleasure pours through every synapse of my body and arches my back from the floor.
A shrill cry, edged and echoey with the lightning voice, spirals up my throat and bursts from my lips.
My heels dig into the bearskin rug. A rush of staticky sparks makes my scalp tingle and my hair float around me in a teal cloud.
Under the pump of my insistent fist, Ronin’s already impressive boner twitches and pulses. Hard and focused, chasing his own climax with single-minded purpose, he fucks into my fist and groans curses into my breathless mouth.
The final coda of my own first O still lingers in the air, voiced by my soft whimpers. I’m vibrating with aftershocks and quivering like a plucked guitar.