Feed the Fever #2
Desire, yes, but also devotion, loyalty, and worship in a way that resonates with clarity. Because to him, I am something he venerably cherishes and safeguards in a way that rivals his duty to that of our maker.
I fall to the claim. Not because the beast, the creature who has taken up residence in my mind, loses her mind at the nearness and claiming, but because he begins to pet that damn mark, and grabs my thigh and lifts me out of Orán’s arms and brings my body fully to his as he continues to dominate the kiss.
Warmth sparks to life, turning into a heat that is both unnatural yet somehow welcome, though I still struggle to understand what exactly it all means.
Kisses, not his, begin to pepper my skin—over my shoulder and slowly up the column of my neck, deep and meaningful, not mere pecks. Another set of hands lands on my hips, and fingers knead at my flesh.
A whimper reaches my ears—mine—and then a moan as one of Pollock's hands draws down the line of my spine.
Orán lifts my hair up and over my shoulder. His lips find the tattoo, and it’s a shock wave straight to my core. Every part of my body lights up.
I begin to move of my own accord as the ridge and outline of Pollock's cock finds my bare sex. When I moan at the contact, Pollock clutches me tighter to him.
Then we’re moving, and Orán's touch momentarily disappears.
Pollock delivers a massive assault on my senses, enough to distract me, until he lays me out on top of my mattress. I shift up and lock eyes with him.
Oh God. Am I really doing this?
Yes, love. We are. You have nothing to fear. We will both take care of you in a way you’ve only ever dreamed about before. Let us make that a reality.
I scowl at the reminder that he knows this, too.
Not to wield against you. Only to know what it is you need from me. From us.
He pauses, and his clothing melts away before my eyes. One hand is braced on the mattress beside my calf. The other is on his cock and running up and over its thickness.
The flash of heat starts in my gut and pulses. My damn beast purrs internally at the sight of his perfect form. The dark art, the wealth of muscle, and the size of his cock have her salivating.
She very much desires to touch and taste his skin, explore his body in a way that’s beyond my own imaginings.
As Orán steps to the bed, my gaze rises slowly to meet his. His clothing has already been stripped away, and he now stands proudly in only his own skin, all devastating sinew cast in ominous red moonlight.
The color of danger, war, and anger, yes, but also that of passion, carnal need, and temptation. And he is indeed that.
My body, not my mind, begins to guide my actions. I reach for him, unable to help myself. His fingers connect with mine, and as he crawls on the bed toward me, he raises our hands and kisses the ridge of my knuckles.
Pollock crawls up the bed and over me. His body is just as lethal, covered in similar runes as Orán's, but no less captivating, even with the constellation of scars mapped out across his chest. As his weight comes to rest over me, I raise my other hand and let it navigate the terrain of the painful history revealed there.
Curiosity replaces reason. “What are these from?”
He closes his eyes at my touch, and a shudder rolls through him. “From war long ago. Before I was reborn as I am.” I learn the pattern of each scar, the jagged edges of each so-called flaw, though I don’t see them as such.
Because my own, if I still had them, would tell a story as well.
Orán turns my head to him and whispers, “You can learn all about them later. For now, turn off your mind. Just feel. There will be time. We have time.” His mouth descends on mine, and all thought of Pollock’s scars and runes vanishes.
Pollock's hands roam over my body, up my thighs, while Orán makes love to my mouth.
A wave of need rolls through my body as Pollock fingers find my sex, that damning little nub. He begins to play with my clit, as his velvety voice enters my thoughts.
I wish only to give you pleasure, the likes of which you’ve never known, little mate.
Orán's hand ventures from my face, down the valley of my breasts.
His mouth makes art of love, laying foundations of it across my skin as he works his way down my neck and collarbone.
A new kind of devotion, kisses with invisible brands, delivered with the utmost care.
Homage paid in full to flesh that once held no meaning.
I turn off my brain and get lost in the sensation as his talented tongue delivers decadent torture in its wake.
Pollock's attention is focused lower, heady kisses across my stomach as he works me over with his fingers. His impatience is felt. His purpose is clear. His hunger is at a level in exchange with my own. Emotion brimming, in an electric arc as our gazes meet and hold.
He moves farther down and does not hesitate to replace his fingers with his wicked mouth.
The sound that leaves me is of no language known to man. My body tries to rise off the bed, but Pollock holds me down and explores my sex greedily, as if gluttony is a sin he’s fully on board to lose himself in when it comes to my body.
There’s no tenderness. He devours, forces compliance, and though his hands knead my flesh while doing so, they soon venture south and enter me beside his tongue. His thick fingers begin to pump relentlessly inside me. Pain crests for only a second until pleasure replaces all else.
Pollock
Her body responds perfectly to my touch. Her mind half lost to it, this dual assault Orán and I are delivering. Her thoughts haven’t been given time to catch up.
I should feel guilty about that.
I do not.
I am consumed with want. My hunger has been caged long enough. This yearning to have her in whatever way I desire has been given free rein to unravel, and I wish to claim what I know, in the center of my soul, is my other half of this three-part division.
Different from the half I share with Orán. And just as essential. Perhaps more so.
I’ve felt the absence of acutely. Something I’ve lived lifetimes without, and though I knew not what it was, I knew something was missing.
Now this holy trinity of three is mine for the taking, and once our souls intertwine, I will be whole.
This thought rings with truth, as do the darker ones that follow. How I want to wreck this creature beneath me.
Not break her.
Unmake her in pleasure. Claim her in ways that leave no room for doubt. Give her so much of me she’ll never again deny what stands between us. Brand myself into her memory so deeply, she hungers only for my return.
I make a mess of my meal, of my shewolf, my mate.
I lick her essence from her clit and core, and drive my fingers, two, deep inside her.
Her sigil-covered body is a work of art, moving like deep waves in a turbulent storm.
She’s half risen and kissing Orán’s chest as he kisses her neck, leaving traces of his scent behind.
Her eyes are dilated but heady with want, as I’m sure mine are. A mirror image.
The hedonism. The carnality. The opportunity to indulge in what, for so long, I’ve abstained from. It all now stretches before me like a feast laid on an altar.
Her body will be the only temple I kneel before, worship at, and conquer in the name of, from this day forward. Another truth that resonates inside me even as they trade places above me, Orán paying homage to her beautiful breasts as she stares at me from behind him and kisses his neck.
She is decadence—divine in her own right. Her star birthmark seems like a proclamation of what I already know. She is an unknown goddess who’s just been born into this life, and I’ve been sent not only to protect her but also to have a singular claim over her.
She is mine—soul shared, yes—but mine.
Her body. Her heart. Her heat, and in time, her love as well, will belong to me.
This goes beyond sense. Beyond the desire to taste her flesh.
I crave her beyond reason. Her mouth on mine and her scent woven into my lungs, even every little sound she makes as they etch into memory.
But instinct also demands that I feel her writhe beneath me and bury myself so deep inside her that there can be no doubt which man she truly belongs to—a primal urge that overrides every other feeling—to place a claim on her that no other can hold.
I only hope that after satisfying this hunger, the beast raging inside me will be sated for a time, long enough to give me a chance to mark her properly.
I don’t wish to harm her in any way, and I fear letting him free will have me breaking my recent vow.
It’s the mate bond.
The part of her I will not share with Orán. I am and will retain the claim over something he does not. As if a small piece of her was reserved for me and me alone.
I thank God for that special blessing, even as I stare up at her and flutter my tongue over her clit.
I keep pumping my fingers until she’s stretched enough to take me.
Each time I rub that tender spot deep inside her, she cries out and writhes on the bed as if aching for more.
Not only am I preparing her for my size, but I am showing her a truth her Order spent a lifetime trying to bury—showing her our bodies were made for exactly this.
Taking pleasure and receiving it.
That is why we work like a lock and a key. This too is part of God’s design. Pleasure was never meant to be feared. It is woven into us as surely as hunger, grief, and love, whether men wish to admit it or not.
There is no sin here.
Only desire. Curiosity. Connection.
Deep down, she is wanton and yearns to be taken in ways that test limits and cross the boundaries of what her training deemed good and evil.
I wholeheartedly want to be the one who helps her demolish those antiquated beliefs and tear down those walls.
Because here, there are no absolutes.
Only discovery.
A future spent learning one another piece by piece, uncovering every hidden corner of who we are and who we might become together.