Chapter 23
STRONG ARMS AWOKE HER, squeezing her around the middle, the salacious dreamscape fading slowly.
When she tensed her cunt, she realized there was something there, a hard length filling her to capacity even as she slept. She let out a groan, rutting against the exquisite sensation, bliss wrapping her in its tender embrace.
“I could watch you sleep for hours knowing every inch of you belongs to us, even in your dreams.”
A grin spread across her face at Bellinor’s possessive words, and she fluttered her eyes open to find him staring at her. She was on top of him, straddling his waist as she had done after conquering le Voile, Rul lying next to them and petting his hand along her side.
What a dream it had been, the truth of Bellinor’s words coiling tension in her core as she ground against him. He gripped the backs of her thighs, and she enjoyed the gentle passion after the ferocity of before.
“You look so beautiful covered in our marks, Isabelle,” Rul murmured, lazily stroking his hard cock as he watched them.
“Ottilie,” she corrected, the word filling her chest with lightness.
“Ottilie?” Rul asked, quirking a brow.
“That’s my name now.”
A smirk lit up Bellinor’s face, and she was unsurprised that he understood the meaning.
“Prosperous in battle. A fitting moniker.”
“Our brave little girl,” Rul said, taking her face in his hands and pulling her into a kiss.
She fucked herself on Bellinor’s cock as she opened her mouth to Rul, her cunt dripping between the cum and her own insatiable arousal. Bellinor helped her along, groaning as he gripped her hips and rocked her against him, his length sliding deliciously over her inner walls.
Rul circled his tongues around her own, running his fingers through her hair while she moaned into his mouth. She gripped his cock with lithe fingers, jerking over the ridges in rhythmic strokes. It was sublime, the sensual movement of their writhing bodies, the fevered love.
Without warning, Bellinor lifted her, Rul helping as he angled her over the incubus’ cock.
She whimpered as he filled her, the delicious ridges rubbing over her sensitive spot in just the right way, and she resumed grinding on his glowing length.
She was close, her cunt clenching against him as she picked up her pace, rocking her clit hard into his firm abs until stars dotted her vision.
As she moaned through her release, Rul cooed in her ear, thrusting even as the aftershocks rippled through her.
“That’s it, baby. I know you’re hungry, our greedy little plaything.”
She was greedy, the orgasm somehow still not enough. She wanted to absorb their essence into her, wanted the three of them to become those skulls in the forest nourishing the soil.
Bellinor had a lazy smile when she glanced his way, vigorously stroking over his length until he met his release. Ropes of milky cum hit just as Rul filled her with his own, her body properly marked by them in every possible way.
She sighed deeply, sinking onto Rul and nuzzling her cheek against his neck. They lay there for a long while, their chests heaving in tandem, until Bellinor broke the pleasant silence.
“I think it’s time we cleaned you up, darling.”
Cleaning up meant removing their marks, though deep down, she knew they would always be there. They had scarred her soul, and that was something that could never be taken from her.
She refused to move first, savoring the wetness between her legs, Rul perfectly content holding her in his arms.
Bellinor huffed, looking like he was chiseled from stone as he got out of bed, his feathers ruffling and deep slashes of red raking over his broad chest where she had scratched him. He helped her up, and she groaned as she was emptied, seed dripping from her as they made their way to the bathroom.
She observed herself in the mirror as Rul filled the tub, eyes wandering over her new form.
It was difficult to tell what the most peculiar feature was.
Was it the light blue skin, the color of the sky at dusk?
Or the dark horns jutting from her head?
Perhaps the black feathery wings dotted with never-blinking eyes, or the tail swishing playfully behind her.
This was Ottilie.
She was strong and lean, with sticky blood coating her skin, milky seed slicking her inner thighs and stomach.
There was the mark Bellinor had given her when she still knew him as Jean-Phillipe, the swirling spiraled scar dancing over her lower stomach now a deep blue instead of light pink, and the small scratches on her face from when he had first chased her through the woods.
The bite mark at her shoulder was scarred over, the new ones at her breast and neck still tender and red.
Each imperfection told a story, made her who she was, and she cherished them dearly.
“You’re the altar we worship at,” Rul murmured, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
Bellinor did the same, swallowing them both in a hug and making her giggle.
“Our goddess,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek and another to Rul’s.
“I love you,” she said, to herself and to them, the words filling her with peace.
“I love you too, just as much as I loved you before,” Bellinor said.
Before. He loved her before she had transformed.
“Do you want me to change back?”
He shook his head, pressing another kiss to her cheek.
“I want you to be exactly who you want to be without regard to what I think.”
Rul nodded vehemently, raking his fingers up her sides and tingling her skin with pleasure.
“You’re beautiful this way and every other way.”
She shuddered under his touch, under their tender kisses, reveling in bliss as they took wet cloths to her body and cleaned the worst of the mess.
Bellinor taught her how to conceal her wings, and it took her several tries before they disappeared, her back ticklish with the strange sensation of feathers. He eased her into the steaming tub after doing the same with his own, letting Rul get in behind her and pull her flush to his chest.
As the incubus dotted kisses along her shoulders, Bellinor got in, sloshing the water onto the floor as he settled in front of her.
He wore a sheepish expression, and she quirked a brow, trying to figure out what was ailing him as Rul ran a bar of floral scented soap over her, a delightfully gentle fragrance for such naughty flesh.
“You can still go back, you know,” Bellinor said, causing Rul to pause his ministrations and wrap an arm possessively around her middle.
“What?” she asked, taken aback by the sudden statement.
“To Marilet. Or anywhere you want. We won’t stop you. You don’t have to stay here.”
Ottilie pursed her lips into a smile, her heart warmed by the foolishness of this devil.
“I’ll stop you,” Rul whispered in her ear, tingling her freshly cleaned skin. “You’re not leaving.”
Bellinor growled, his brows furrowed into a frown, and she shook her head with a chuckle.
“I’m not leaving. I never truly belonged there, and I don’t ever want to go back.”
She had her cottage and her forest, and though she cherished them, it wasn’t because they reminded her of Marilet, but because Bellinor had created them for her even when he had tried to fight his feelings.
“You’re here to stay,” Rul said, biting her neck playfully and sending a jolt through her body.
Bellinor just smiled, content with leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, the love palpable in the brightness of his eyes and the softness of his touch.