Feed the Fever #3
Our bodies are merely instruments for seeking this deeper understanding. And in this, I will deny her nothing.
I will revel in being her guide through the pleasures of the flesh—in teaching her all the ways in which her body can succumb and unravel.
So showing her how good I can make her feel is vital because I plan to be between these thighs as often as possible and without repentance to cement my place as her soul-bonded.
The slick on my fingers is silken, and the taste of it divine in a way drinking pure sunlight might be.
The hints of honeydew mixed with ripe plums make me damn near feral.
She is a dessert I will relish for time eternal.
She is life, and her essence moves inside me even now.
But also, the more I consume of her, the more my riotous wolf wants.
He will not be wholly satisfied until our teeth sink into her neck as her climax coats my cock.
A higher power is at work here. Not just animals and immortals seeking consummation of a bond, to claim, to rut, and to bite one another.
Though there is that rising beneath Eridessa’s and my own skin.
This is other. This is the work of the goddess of the fates and her skilled weaving, her hand having spun this moment into a sort of soul collision, until we couldn’t run from it and fell together in the way she intended.
I move up Eridessa’s body. A growl leaves my chest, and for a moment, I place my hand on Orán’s shoulder and ask him with only a look to give me this moment with her.
Then I’m all she sees, and Orán watches from beside us as I prepare to take my mate for the first time.
I stare into her eyes as I tell her my truth.
Your beauty, love, undoes me. I may be unworthy of this gift, but I’m taking it just the same. I warn you now, once I do so, I will never let you go.
I don’t give her a chance to rebuke me or let her mind fight it.
In fact, I wield a little of my power to heighten her pleasure and push all the worries to the back of her mind.
A small mental nudge. It’s what she wants, but old thoughts, bad memories, and those shaped by false doctrine try to surface.
I bury them, letting this moment be pure of any of her history.
I pull her leg up and around my waist. Her fingers sink into my hair, and she pulls on my bicep with the other.
Inviting closer in a way that I’ll be grateful for later.
For now, I’m too busy laying my weight fully over her, taking in the feel of her entire body underneath mine, the way her curves melt against me, and how her mouth seeks mine out as I near.
She moans into the demanding kiss as if she’s been waiting and wanting more of me.
The kiss itself is a shared raw need, teeth, tongue, her essence there between us, which she does not shy away from. Then my cock finds her entrance, and the head slips greedily inside.
I sink deeper with each rock of my hips. She’s tight and her body protests at my size, but eventually relaxes enough to take me fully.
It’s then that I pull back and begin to move in earnest. My hips snap forward, and with each driving thrust, a small gasp escapes from her lips.
She moans, and her head kicks back.
“Does my little dove like being taken like this?”
The yes she gives voice to comes out as more of a hiss than a spoken answer to my question.
I lift her body entirely off the bed. Sitting back on my knees, I clutch her to me and pump my shaft until my pelvis meets hers.
Orán kneels on the bed behind her and trails his mouth over her shoulders and the top of her spine.
His skin occasionally brushes mine as if to make me aware that he will not give her up to me entirely.
She’s such a small thing that it’s too easy to lift her and force her back down over my cock. We begin to move together, and I’m not gentle. I give her all of me, thrusting with abandon as I bring us to the peak we both seek.
She whispers my name. Mine.
I kiss her again and take her body more roughly, my restraint evaporating.
But also, my little mate gives me pleasure as I give her in return.
She rides my cock. Her hips bounce above me, greet mine again and again.
Her walls grip me fiercely and pulsate as if she’s already on the brink of an orgasm.
Her needs take over. Her mind, when I dare to tunnel inside again, is a place where only hunger waits.
She craves this. Me. My cock. My hands on her body.
My mouth learning and devouring hers. She wants only to revel in this feeling, drown in it until the urge, this all-consuming fire within her, is sated and doused.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Her yearning defies my own.
Her fingers traverse over my back, and her nails rake down my tense muscles, leaving a trail of pain in their wake. Her mouth leaves mine, and it’s her teeth and not my own that strike first. Sinking deep into the ridge of my neck and marking me.
I feel her swallow, feel the tremor that follows, the growl building in her chest as something inside her answers the call. Her pussy grips me like a vise, and she cries out against my skin, shuddering and unraveling.
I can’t rightly explain what that does to me, except set my wolf free to do the same.
His need to claim rises swiftly, and I release some of my hold on him.
The moment she settles, I grab a fistful of her hair as I continue to rut and drive into her, seeking my own glorious end.
I pull her head back and complete the rite.
Teeth slice through her skin. Her blood floods into my mouth and slips down my throat.
As it does, a change begins to take place inside me.
My heart pounds. My veins burn. Like sorcery is at work and it’s lighting up every nerve, every cell.
Her blood becomes part of me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
Atoms fire and detonate, and the being I was before becomes something else.
I feel her. I sense her. I share her mind, and the connection becomes singular, something else entirely, like a piece of our separate souls nits together and heals wounds I didn’t know remained inside me.
When I do finally pull back, I study my mark. My brand on her skin. We share no audible words because words are not needed for what we share in this moment.
Pride and communion swell inside me. A new intimacy lies between us, and when I lift Eridessa’s face to mine, it isn’t wrath staring back at me anymore or fear or uncertainty. A new emotion rests there, an almost shy knowledge and tenderness that fuck…nearly has me weeping.
My wrathborn mate. You are now mine in all the ways God divined. My life is yours.
I kiss her to seal that vow.
Orán
I let them have their moment, but that does not mean I don’t burn to do the same.
Jealousy is not an inherent part of my personality. It never has been. But here it is. It does not roar or bare its teeth. It moves more slowly, heavier—rifling through my thoughts, settling beneath my ribs, pulsing there in a quiet rhythm with each breath I draw.
Still, I’ve had my time with her. And I will again. That certainty steadies me and reminds me to be patient.
Plus, this is as it should be. After all, they aren’t just a bonded pair; the three of us are a union of souls.
Yes, she is Pollock’s mate in the way wolves understand such bonds, and their instincts will demand nothing less than taking what they believe is theirs.
So I allow it.
Because I know it is not the only bond she carries.
The power I gave her was not Dagda’s alone. It was mine as well. My essence moves beneath her skin just as surely as his mark does. She is mine in a way he may not see as equal to his claiming, but it remains true all the same.
And she has already chosen me in quieter ways.
In glances that lingered too long. In questions asked only when the world was silent.
In the way her anger softened differently when it turned toward me.
She pulled me into her bed, clear of mind and certain of her choice.
What we share was shaped in those early days here—before Pollock arrived—when time was slower, and trust was earned breath by breath.
I thank God for that time, because it changed the course of her fury when she woke. It kept me from standing fully in the crosshairs of her wrath.
Now, as she calms in Pollock’s arms, I see the shift happen. Her body relaxes. Her breathing evens. And then she turns—seeking.
Me.
When she reaches for me, I close the distance and palm her face, my thumb brushing along her cheek. I take my time with the kiss I press to her lips. It is not devouring. Not urgent. It is tender, loving.
Pollock draws out her fire and passion. I intend to give her something else.
To make her feel what I feel—that this is more than bodies colliding in a moment of heat.
That my heart has already made space for her.
That she lives in my thoughts, in dreams and waking alike.
That I desire not only her body, but the years ahead—the unfolding of who she was, is now, and will be in the years to come.
“Give her to me,” I say to Pollock.
It is phrased as a request, but the weight in my tone leaves little room for refusal.
He hesitates. I see it in the tightening of his jaw, the way his hand lingers at her waist before he releases her. Reluctant—but trusting.
Eridessa unfolds from him and turns, pressing herself into me. She buries her face in my neck, and I gather her close, adjusting our bodies until we are stretched lengthwise along the bed. I settle her against my chest while Pollock shifts behind her.
For a moment, there is no rivalry.
Only breath.
Only the steady rhythm of three heartbeats finds a shared cadence in the dim red light.
Pollock runs his knuckles slowly up and down her back, the light touch almost reverent, while I hold her as tightly to my chest as I dare.