Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Zara
Tentacle play.
There’s definitely something to be said for it.
And I’m not only a spokeswoman for the Tentacle Sex Club.
I’m also a member.
I lie sprawled limply on my side in a tangle of sweaty sheets and sweaty limbs. All nine of us are swimming in a sea of relaxation in this palatial boudoir Senator Mercury calls the Queen’s Suite.
Downstairs, the grandfather clock wheezes and dongs twice.
Two a.m. on Christmas night.
In the flickering play of firelight and shadow that wraps around us like a womb, the muscled bulk of Mordred’s big body envelops me from behind. I pull in a long breath laced with his yummy scent of rum spice and molasses, mingled with the creamy rose of my own pheromones.
That fug of sex totally overrides the resinous tang of burning pine from the bedside fire.
Well, no wonder.
I’m stuffed to capacity with Mordred’s primary dick, still gently spasming and spurting deep in my thoroughly fucked hoochie. His slightly smaller secondary cock is spent (for now) and slowly softening in my well-stretched ass.
Plus there’s that kraken shifter bonus bennie.
Two flexible tentacles, mottled purple and black and edged with tiny suction cups like a row of tiny mouths, are wrapped around me so Mordred can play idly with my tits.
In fact, two of those suction cups are still latched onto my nipples. Both tiny mouths are pulsing and sucking in a slow steady rhythm that makes my swollen nipples tingle and my boobs feel full and heavy.
“Mmmm. Mordred, that’s so nice.” I curl an arm around the firm mound of my tummy and sigh into the late night hush. Languidly I squirm around the kraken dick in my pussy, enjoying the audible squish of warlock jizz trickling from both my holes.
Wow. I’ve been really well ridden by multiple guys tonight.
Fuck yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.
I’ll probably be dripping for days.
I love it.
Love feeling so claimed and cherished and loved . By all eight of my warlocks.
A naked Lucius lies heavily next to me in a state of total depletion, with Ronin sprawled face down in a sex coma underneath him and Lucius’ knot still wedged in Ronin’s ass.
Now, hearing my chorus of happy sighs and murmurs, Lucius lifts his disheveled head from our shared pillow to peer blearily at what Mordred’s doing.
“Ah, Mordred, well done. That’s very good,” Lucius murmurs, thoughtfully doling out the praise for his newest student, even when Lucius is still hoarse because of the way he howled when he knotted Ronin.
“Although the textbooks would assert the technique might traditionally be considered a bit premature. That is to say, before we enter the third trimester.”
“Glad you approve, Professor.” Mordred chuffs out a sleepy chuckle into my hair. “Kraken just feels like she’s ready for it, you feel me?”
“For what is Zara ready?” Max rubs a protective hand, warm with Sagittarius fire, over the round of my belly.
Our dragon is spooning both of us from his place behind Mordred, probably with his forked dick still tucked into Mordred’s hole, drizzling a little more of the residual alpha jizz our resident sex demon needed to finally break his heat.
“Lactation priming.” Despite being totally fucked out and barely conscious after dicking and knotting Ronin for hours, Lucius still manages to sound like he’s delivering a classroom lecture.
“That particular biological phenomenon isn’t common knowledge, but it’s in the clan lore.
It’s known to occur with Aries pregnancies. ”
I think I’m following, but I wanna be sure. “ What ’s known to occur? Spell it out for me, Teach.”
“When the DNA involved is potent enough,” Lucius says patiently, “pregnant wolf shifter females can—on rare occasions—begin to lactate early in the third trimester.”
“Seriously?” Somehow, I’m surprised but not. “I mean, sure, I read the whole breeding section in that Wolf Shifter Biology textbook pretty closely last semester. Including the chapter on lactation, obvi. But I’m not genetically a wolf shifter, so I didn’t think it applied.”
“I wasn’t at all certain it would. Yet the phenomenon was always a possibility, albeit distant, since one of the offspring you carry is genetically mine.” Lucius sounds half-apologetic, but I’m not fooled.
My wolf king’s quiet pride and satisfaction emanate through our mating bond in this really sweet way.
“You are using many words, but they are not making sense. What phenomenon?” Max hugs my pregnant belly protectively, so I stroke his wiry forearm for comfort.
“It’s okay, big guy. We’re just talking about when my baby milk’s gonna come.” My fingers linger on the barbed wire tattoo inked around his wrist like a quicksilver bracelet.
I understand the ink (finally) that Max mysteriously acquired in the turbulent early days of our polycule. Back when V and Zephyr were feuding.
Just like I finally get Max’s cryptic comments at the time about being a “prisoner of love”.
Cheese on toast.
Still annoyed even after all the explaining and apologizing and subsequent fucking, my gaze narrows and veers to Vasili.
The snake is draped limply over all our legs across the foot of the bed, where he can simultaneously alpha-guard all of us and soak in the warmth of the dwindling fire along every elegant inch of his long limbs and pale skin.
Plus, thanks to our mating bond, I know he’s got one arm hanging over the edge of the bed so he can hold hands with Zephyr, who’s curled like a feral cat on the rug by the fire.
Even half asleep, my dominant alpha picks up my ire and hums sleepily.
You really were a fucking snake with him, I whisper to Vasili through our bond. Poor Max. He really loves you, get it? Don’t ever do anything like that again.
Vasili turns slowly from Zephyr toward me. Through his Goblin King bedhead of silver hair, his ice-blue eyes study my determined face.
He breathes out a tiny sigh. Fine. I won’t. You’re the queen, after all, darling.
Is that the only reason? I ask, because I need to hear him say it.
No. After a tiny pause, he adds, softer than breath, I do love him, you know. I always have. I’ll always love both of you. All of you.
While I scrutinize his acquiescence for hidden loopholes (the way you gotta when it’s Vasili Romanov making promises), Max shifts around carefully behind Mordred, then pushes up to sit.
I guess it’s been long enough post-climax for the barbs in that dragon’s forked dick to retract.
“You are nearly five months from clutching, my mate,” Max says to me earnestly, because a dragon’s gestation period is eleven months, and of course he knows my cycle to the day. “Even if our wolf pup comes early, you will not need your milk until then.”
From the sheepskin rug near the fire, a large pewter-gray angel wing flutters and lifts.
Ash is spooning around Zephyr and Neo down there, with his Seelie wings manifested and wrapped around them all to share extra warmth.
“I ain’t a genetics prof,” Ash says quietly, under the fire’s crackle and snap, “but Zara’s rocking a pretty potent cocktail of witchy DNA.
That’s part of why she’s queen, true? Her shifty biology’s pretty optimized to maximize her chances of success in that whole racial survival hootenanny.
Could mean her body’s getting her all ready to lactate early. Right, Lucius?”
Max has more questions (because of course he does, there is zero part of my whole breeding process he’s not totally obsessed with.)
That dragon launches into his list of Q’s right away.
But I find my attention gradually drifting from Lucius’ patient explanations to the rhythmic suction of Mordred’s tiny suckers, still locked onto my nipples and nursing away. Soft and supple as premium suede, his tentacles flex and knead my swollen tits in perfect rhythm with the suck.
Under this sustained attention, my already sensitive boobs are all warm and tingly and feeling fuller by the second.
Totally unable to lie still under this slow drugging onslaught of new sensations, I arch into my kraken’s touch and nudge my derrière back into his pelvis. My greedy pussy ripples and squeezes around his thick girth.
“Zang, baby queen,” Mordred rumbles, low and growly in my ear. “You’re gonna letdown for us right now, ain’tcha?”
Letdown.
As in, he means letting down my mommy milk.
“Seems like a total waste… if I do,” I gasp in a rush. “It’s months ahead of sked. But I guess, uh, if I do… no use crying over spilled milk, right?”
This is a clarion call Maxim Rasputin and his breeding kink cannot and will not ignore.
Like, ever.
“There will be no waste. No drop will be spilled.” Totally heedless of his bedside manners, Max crawls eagerly over Mordred’s legs and Vasili’s languidly stretched body.
While we all (except V) shift around to accommodate, Max slides his sinewy hot fire-breathing dragon shifter body between me on one side and the sex-drugged Lucius-Ronin sandwich on the other.
Max rakes back his blond hair to bare the sharp angles of his Slavic face. His golden dragon eyes are blazing with heat, slitted pupils blown wide. His gaze locks on the flex and suck of Mordred’s tentacles, still wrapped and kneading and squeezing rhythmically around my girls.
Under all this attention, my spent pussy revives and clenches hard around Mordred’s dick, which totally rises to the challenge. The kraken groans thickly, grips my hips to hold us both nice and steady, and starts rocking into me.
Twin currents of tingling heat streak from my nipples down my torso, shoot down the front of my thighs, and pool pulsing in my clit.
Every sensation is 10xed when Mordred manifests a third tentacle, rubs into the slick valley of my cunt, teasingly circles my sweet spot…
…Then clamps a tiny sucker right over the engorged pearl of my clit.
The big O I totally wasn’t expecting crashes through me like a fucking tsunami.