Chapter 53 Briar
brIAR
Monroe gasps.
Copper floods my mouth and light explodes from behind my eyes as Monroe’s pussy flutters around my dick like a fucking dream.
We quiver against each other, and I try absorbing the depth of the emotions colliding into mine through the bond.
It’s as if all the things we’ve suppressed all these months have been unmoored.
Our bodies rock, trying to give the energy somewhere to go.
I lap at the claim mark. After a few minutes, I feel the bond settle, like the breeze calming after a storm.
A strange glow spreads between us, and I pull back just enough to spot the source.
Our mate marks pulse in a stunning rose-gold hue.
“Woah,” Monroe says, watching the shade spread, embellishing the inky lines of my flourish marks.
I press my hand to my mate mark. “A new iteration of us.”
She repeats the motion and scrunches her brows together. It takes a moment for her to find the tether, but she’s already used to my emotions flowing into her—now that connection has rooted itself deep within us, entwined.
“Mates.” Her lock continues clenching around me, twisting and rippling even as we hold still. She could do nothing and she’d drain me of every last drop. Just the idea of it sends a thrill pulsing through me.
Wonder how much of me she can take.
My balls tighten, pelvis pulling taut. There’s an unfamiliar tingle, and I’m not sure if I’m about to come or—
“What the fuck is that?” Monroe says, face rearing back a few inches. She points at the small nub protruding from above the base of my dick. It unfurls, opening into a flower. Her eyes go wide.
“It’s my calyxus.” I smile, seeing it for the first time, and run my fingers over the petals. “All Blooms who don’t possess a lock have one. It grows only for their mate.”
“What’s its purpose?” Monroe arches a brow. “Scientifically speaking.”
The petals jut forward, reaching for her.
My skin tugs at my pelvis, not painful but definitely uncomfortable enough for me to want to give in.
However, Monroe’s slack-jawed expression holds me still, even if her lock is currently sucking the life out of my dick.
I try to focus on her question and not her wet walls massaging me.
I grit my teeth. “Scientifically speaking, it stimulates your mate and increases the—intensity of their orgasms—and internal locking—mechanism—for those who have them.” I barely make it through the sentence before stars explode in my vision.
Hot jets of cum paint her insides, and she curls her hips, taking it all.
“Ohhh. Fuck.” Her sounds are guttural and her pleasure spikes. I don’t have to look to know those little petals have gotten hold of my mate’s clit. They lick and suck and pulse, and her body spasms around me.
Monroe hisses a bunch of curse words I recognize and a few I’m not sure if she’s made up.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” I tell her, brushing back her sweat-slicked strands and lapping at the rose-gold bite mark on her neck. She shudders, and I rock with her, nourishing the aftershocks of our orgasms. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”
Her focus drops between us, then drags up. “Is it…starting over?”
“It is,” I reply, holding her close. “But you can handle it. Don’t forget, I’ve seen your nightstand.”
I chuckle, curling my hips, though her lock and my calyxus are doing most of the work.
“How long—will this go—for?” She nibbles her bottom lip, and I extend my neck to her, letting her clamp down where she bit before.
“Until I have no more cum to give you.” I groan as her walls tighten. More warmth. More of me spilling into her. “You complaining?”
“Not at all,” she cries out.
“Good.”
Our orgasms spin like tops, each one colliding into another, a give and take of pleasure overwhelming my senses until I’m dizzy. At some point, I carry her into one of the tents, instinct driving me to give my mate privacy and rest.
Monroe lies on top of me, her hair sprawled over my chest. We’re both drenched in sweat. She whimpers, quaking against me through another orgasm, and I can barely process anything other than the sounds coming from my mate, the press of our bodies, and the contentment simmering through our bond.
“How will we know when it’s finished?” Monroe asks a few minutes or hours later. Her chest heaves in time with mine.
“The signs will be pretty clear,” I say, though the words are thick as molasses.
Soon after, the grip on my cock twists one final time, and my body detonates.
Pride sweeps through me. I’ve given my mate every bit of my pleasure, drawn out hours and hours of hers.
Monroe’s gasp is the last sound I hear before my head thumps against the floor, my vision goes dark, and the world falls away. ..
When my eyes flutter open, the tip of Monroe’s nose is pressed against mine. Her mint brows draw together. “I screamed for help, worried something was wrong with you, only to be laughed at by Roxy. You could have warned me.”
“How long was I out for?” I push up onto my elbows.
“A few seconds.” Her eyes widen and she grips my chest. “But is that going to happen every time we have sex?”
“I fucking hope so.” I sigh and flex my muscles so my cock jerks inside her.
“Oh my God, Briar.” Her tone is exasperated, but I don’t miss the sweet scent of her desire filling the air. “You passed out.”
Smiling, I cradle her cheek. “Worth it.”
In one smooth motion, I roll us so I’m on top of her and slowly pull out. Pearlescent fluid seeps from her, and we both watch it pool on the blanket beneath us.
“I can’t believe that was all inside me,” she says, eyes wide.
“I can’t wait to do it all over again. At home.” I help her stand, admiring the way the remnants of our claiming streak down her thighs, mingling with the paint, as I follow her out of the tent.
The bacchanal has slowed. Most Blooms have reached the point of napping, hydrating, or lazily fucking around The Nestling Fields.
We head to our flower bed and remove our canvas from the soil.
Looming above us are several rich-purple foxgloves, each bell the size of a toddler.
Wrapped around it, a peony’s layers of petals extend from its center creating a large circle of shade.
In the beds surrounding us, life-size signature blossoms are displayed, living monuments commemorating today’s newly mated Blooms. I’m already counting down the days until I can bring my mate back here and make love to her under our shade.
“I couldn’t have asked for a more incredible bonding,” I tell her, wanting her to understand how much tonight means to me.
The claiming ceremony has always been a special tradition among Blooms, but I thank Fate that Monroe planned ours.
Every detail reminds me of her—from the towering stack of macarons to the canvases painted in the throes of our love.
Once home, the first thing we do is hang our new work of art above our bed.
“What do you think of our new masterpiece?” I ask her, wrapping my arms around her waist.
She leans into me, nuzzling my cheek. “I love it. Though I’m partial to our first one.”
“Shall we get cleaned up?” I ask, and she nods, following me into the bathroom.
We lazily shower, getting the paint out of our hair and off each other’s bodies. As we climb into bed, Monroe glances to her nightstand, furrowing her brow at me.
“What’s this?”
“I know how much you love bedtime stories,” I say, giving her a wink. “Figured I could read you some more passages since you seemed to enjoy the ones at mic night.”
A blush stains her pink cheeks a rich shade of crimson. “I do, but what will your raving fanbase do without your open mic night readings?”
“I’ll still make some appearances to appease them.” I smirk at her. “But next time I do, you’ll be up there full of me.”
“Hmm… I suppose that could be nice,” she says coyly, though the spike of sweetness in the air gives her away. She picks up the book, flipping to where the paperback’s uneven. A small floral band slides down the page and into her lap.
“You said once you claimed me you’d wear it.”
She’s already slipping it onto her finger, a giddy gleam in her eyes. I want to see that look every day. Admiring the tiny glinting petals and moss bound in a never-ending circle, a soft smile graces her lips. “The girls and I will have to make you one.”
It falls from Monroe’s mouth so effortlessly. Like they’re already hers. Maybe they always have been—just like I have, even before either of us knew.
“I’d love that,” I say, stroking her cheek. I kiss her deeply, fold her into my arms, and turn out the light.