9. Tabitha
Tabitha
They make camp out of nothing, the way they do, Valerian conjuring a fire and furs while Luka checks the horizon one last time and Gavriel sets the shield to ward us round.
And then it’s the five of us in a pocket of warmth in the middle of hell, and I stop being frightened, because you cannot be frightened and want this much at the same time. There isn’t room.
Azaan strips me out of the leather with hands that know every buckle now, and Luka’s already behind me, his mouth on my neck, that smoke-and-sandalwood scent of him wrapping round me.
“Look at you,” Luka murmurs against my skin. “Our Queen. All this trouble in the world and you still smell like sunshine.”
“Charmer.”
“Mate,” he corrects, and bites down, just enough, and I gasp.
Valerian settles across from me, watching, because he likes to watch before he takes, likes to see me come apart before he touches me. Gavriel sits at his side, red eyes burning, patient in the way only he is patient, waiting his turn like it’s a gift he’s earned.
Azaan lays me back on the furs and puts his mouth between my thighs, and there is nothing careful about it now. He licks up my slit slow, then flattens his tongue and works my clit until I’m arching off the furs, and Luka catches my wrists above my head, holding me open for the others to look at.
“That’s it,” Valerian says softly. “Let us see you, little kitty.”
Azaan slides two fingers into me while he sucks my clit, and I come embarrassingly fast, embarrassingly loud, my whole body clenching. He works me through it and doesn’t stop, greedy, until I’m shaking.
“More,” I manage. “I want all of you. I want to forget my own name.”
“We can do that,” Luka says, and it’s a promise and a threat and I love him for both.
They arrange me the way they’ve learned I like, the way that leaves none of them out, because I’m greedy and they’re mine.
Luka lies back and lifts me over him, and I sink down onto his cock with a moan that echoes off the rocks, full of him, that first thick stretch that always makes my eyes roll back.
He grips my hips and lets me set the pace, feral patience, hellfire warm under my palms where I brace on his chest.
“Good girl,” he growls. “Ride me, kitty cat.”
Azaan comes up behind me, and I feel the cool slick of his magic easing the way, and then the blunt press of him against my arse.
I push back, wanting it, wanting to be so full there’s no room left for anything else.
He works into me slow, murmuring filth in my ear, “That’s it, little one, take us both, look how well you take us,” until I’m sandwiched between them, both of them buried deep, and the stretch tips me straight into another orgasm before either of them has properly moved.
“She came just from being filled,” Azaan pants, delighted. “Every time.”
“She’s perfect,” Luka says. “Aren’t you. Perfect.”
They move. God, they move, Luka up while Azaan pulls back, a rhythm they’ve built between them over months, and I’m reduced to noise, to sensation, to the drag of them in and out of me. There is no Alex here, no Tabeitha, no book, no countdown. There’s just this. Mine. Ours.
Valerian’s hand fists in my hair and turns my head, and his cock is right there. I open for him without being asked, take him into my mouth, and he groans, low. “There she is. Our filthy Queen. Look at you, taking all three of us.”
Gavriel’s hand closes around mine and brings it to him, and I wrap my fingers round his cock and stroke him in time, so all four of them are somewhere in me or on me, so not one of them is left out, so the bond between the five of us pulls tight and starts to sing.
That’s when the power comes. It always does, at the peak, when we’re all connected. It floods up out of the ground and into us, gold and violet and smoke, and I feel the men swell with it, feel their magic filling back to the brim, feel the realm itself sit up and take notice of its Queen.
I come again with Valerian’s cock in my throat and Luka’s teeth on my shoulder and Azaan spilling hot inside me, and it goes on and on. I take them all through it, greedy to the last, until we’re a heap of tangled limbs and heaving breath and I genuinely, blissfully, cannot remember my own name.
“Tabby,” Luka supplies, reading my mind, smug.
“That’s the one,” I mumble into his chest. “Thanks.”
For a long moment there’s only the fire and their heartbeats and the warm ache of being thoroughly, comprehensively loved.
And then, right at the edge of sleep, deep down where the good feeling can’t reach, I feel it. A claw-mark on my arm gives a cold little twinge. And a voice that isn’t mine, snide and patient, whispers up from the dark.
Enjoy them while they last, little bitch.
I don’t sleep much after that.