Chapter 18
From All Sides
Maisie
Gram’s taillights disappear around the bend, two red pinpricks swallowed by the dark morning.
The studio door sticks the way it always does when the humidity drops, and I have to throw my shoulder into it, the wood groaning before it gives.
Inside, the relief hits me like a key turning in a lock.
Gram knows. Gram approved.
My shoulders drop so fast I nearly sway, and something inside my chest finally unclenches.
I look at Oz, standing in the middle of my living room, and the first thought that surfaces is: I can have this now.
A laugh breaks out of me, bright and loose and exhausted. It bounces off the kitchen cabinets and the soap-stacked shelves and comes back sounding like someone else’s joy, someone who hasn’t been braced against the world for years.
The giddiness shifts, deepens, crashes headlong into hunger.
I close the distance and press my palm against his chest.
Violet and gold flare hot beneath my hand, rippling outward in a wave that matches the pulse hammering in my throat. I step into him, and his body swallows me, yielding and dense, and I’m entirely done with careful.
Oz goes motionless.
Tendrils slide up my back through my shirt, warm and deliberate, chasing the knotted muscles he’s been memorizing for weeks. They trace the wrecked terrain of my shoulder blades, the seized-up ache in my lower back, the rigid column of my neck.
Then he says, “There are depths I haven’t reached yet.”
An offer. His tendrils pause against my spine, waiting, pressing without pushing.
“Yes,” I say. “God, yes.”
His body slips under my shirt.
He takes his time. Every inch of skin mapped slowly, deliberately, his warm mass flowing over me while I stand trembling in his grip.
Then he strips me.
My shirt lifts over my head. My shorts drag down my legs, his tendrils catching the fabric and pulling it away.
The morning air hits my skin for half a second before his heat covers me again.
I’m standing in my living room wearing nothing but the thin light through the window and the shifting colors rolling across Oz’s surface.
He’s savoring this.
He knows I’m desperate. I can feel his awareness of my racing pulse, the wet heat building between my thighs, the way my body leans into him.
And still he takes his time.
His form gathers low.
Mass concentrates below his center, thickening with deliberate intent. Two extensions push out from his body, shaped and specific, formed from all the reading he’s done of what I crave.
Cocks is too simple a word.
They’re glossy and alive, shimmering with violet and gold, a bright pulse visible through them like light through deep water.
And they’re enormous.
I stare.
The sound that escapes me is somewhere between a gasp and a whine.
Oz goes still again. Waiting, the question clear in his quiet.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
His gold patterns flare.
He lifts me, his body flowing under me, shaping into a seat that cradles my hips and thighs, taking all my weight. My legs dangle, my back pressed to his chest.
Suspended in him. Held up like something precious, and the utter helplessness of it rockets through me, sharp and bright.
The first cock presses against my pussy.
Slow. So slow I want to whimper. The head of it parts me open inch by inch, and I can feel every ridge of him, every shifting texture, the warmth radiating from inside his body into the walls of my pussy.
He’s reading me as he goes. I know this because he stops precisely when my breath hitches, holds there, lets me adjust, then pushes deeper the second my body softens around him.
“Here,” he says, and a tendril brushes the exact spot on my inner thigh where my muscle is clenching. The tension releases, and he slides in another two inches, and the sound I make is animal as I’m spread wide open with his cock deep inside me.
He fills me completely. The stretch borders on too much, the kind of full that makes your brain go quiet, and I can feel him pulsing inside me, that slow heartbeat now throbbing against my walls.
Then he thrusts.
The first stroke pulls out slow and pushes back in deep, and my whole body jolts in his grip.
His substance holds me tighter in response, tendrils locking around my hips, my thighs, anchoring me so I can’t squirm away from the intensity.
The second cock presses against my ass, slick with something he’s producing, warm and impossibly smooth.
He goes still.
That stillness.
“Yes,” I say. “I want it. Both. Give me both.”
The pressure against my ass increases. He enters me slowly, the second cock thinner at the tip and thickening as it pushes in, and I can feel both of them now, separated by the thinnest wall of my body, pressing against each other inside me.
The fullness is staggering. My mouth falls open and nothing comes out.
Then he starts to move them at different speeds.
The cock in my pussy strokes deep and slow.
The one in my ass pulses in short, shallow thrusts.
A tendril finds my clit and works it in a third rhythm entirely, tight circles with a texture he’s roughened on purpose, and my brain short-circuits trying to track all three sensations at once.
I stop trying. I grab fistfuls of his surface and hold on.
“Harder.”
He thickens inside me. Mid-stroke, both cocks swell, the girth increasing by a fraction, then another fraction, and the stretch pulls a ragged moan out of my chest. He’s adjusting in real time, reading my responses and pushing right up to my limit without crossing it.
“More,” I beg.
He gives me more. His strokes deepen, the angle shifting as his form reshapes around me, and one thrust hits so deep that my vision blurs. His tendrils tighten on my nipples, rolling them between textured surfaces, and the tendril on my clit speeds up until my thighs are shaking.
The orgasm builds from everywhere at once. There’s no single point of origin. It’s my clit and my nipples and the cocks filling both holes and the heat of him surrounding every inch of my skin.
I come so hard my spine locks.
My whole body clenches around both cocks, and Oz makes a sound I’ve never heard from him, a deep harmonic groan that I feel in my teeth.
He keeps thrusting, keeps fucking me through it with those same polyrhythmic strokes, dragging the orgasm out until I’m gasping and jerking in his grip.
When he comes, I feel it. A flood of warmth inside me, thick and pulsing, filling me past capacity.
His cum spills out around both cocks and runs hot down my thighs.
He’s still coming, still pulsing, and the fullness triggers a second orgasm that rolls through me like an aftershock, my body clenching around all of him, milking his cocks while he holds me suspended and shaking.
He eases out slowly.
His cum slides down my legs in thick iridescent streams, teal and gold catching the morning light through the window. I’m trembling and my legs are useless. If he lets go, I’d drop straight to the floor.
But he doesn’t. He reshapes around me, his whole body becoming a cradle, conforming to every curve and hollow. My head finds the solid warmth of his chest. His hum starts up, deep and steady, vibrating through my sternum.
A tendril smooths my hair back from my forehead.
“Your shoulder finally released,” he says. “Both sides. I’ve been working on the left one for weeks.”
I laugh, then press my face against him and breathe.
“I want people to know,” I say. The words come out before I’ve fully formed the thought, but I mean them. “About you. About us. I’m tired of hiding.”
Oz goes still.
That language I’m learning to read.
“You want to introduce me.” He says it slowly. “To people. On purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Because you want them to see us together.”
“Yes. And because I want to stop pretending you don’t exist.”
Oz’s colors shift, deep teal flooding through the gold, something raw and luminous beneath it.
His body tightens around me, just slightly.
A pressure that says everything his words don’t.
He pauses, and the hum in his core flickers.
“When you purchased me, I thought—I thought I would be a secret. A shameful thing kept in the dark. But you want to be seen with me. That’s—” His voice catches in a way I’ve never heard. “That’s a different kind of chosen than I knew existed.”
My eyes burn.
I press my face into his chest and breathe him in, mineral and warm and mine.
His hum resumes, steady and deep.
My body finally stops shaking.
The exhaustion rolls over me like a tide, and Oz adjusts his form to cradle me more fully.
I’m wrapped in him.
Surrounded.
Held.
Sleep pulls at me, soft and insistent.
“Rest,” he says. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
I let my eyes close.
My last coherent thought is of the ridge, the cave, the green light pulsing in the dark.
Something’s still out there.
And I choose not to think about it.