Strength (Curse of the Gods #4)(68)

I saw a golden stretch of skin right beside my head—Coen’s arm—and then the hand in my hair was forcing my mouth to his, and the pain was sweeping back down the length of my spine. The longer we touched, the stronger the buzzing sting of his power got. I shuddered, and Aros’s hands seemed to trace the reaction of my body, skimming over my back. Pleasure chased the Pain, soothing and stimulating at the same time.

Coen must have been holding himself off me so that he wouldn’t crush me, but the hard pressure of his kiss was enough to have my body turning.

I had never felt so restless before. So completely unable to stay in one spot. I needed them both, and I needed them too desperately to be content with any of their touches or kisses. Aros helped me to turn, and then suddenly I was laying on top of him, my back to his front as Coen lowered himself over my front, just enough to put pressure along the length of my body, but not enough to weigh me down. Both of his hands were now holding him up, and his kiss deepened, broken up only by the small growl emanating from the back of his throat.

His Pain grew heavier, then, but it was countered almost immediately by a rush of heady pleasure, enough to force my body into an involuntary arch. I gasped, breaking the kiss, my head falling to Aros’s shoulder. His hands slipped up over my hips, and Coen lifted a little of his weight. I could feel Coen’s eyes on me, the attention almost like a physical touch as Aros’s fingers pushed beneath the waist of my pants. The Trickery-designed cloth was tight, unwilling to allow him access, but he only applied a quick, downward tug of pressure, and I heard the tear of material as it gave way. His hand pushed beneath the hem of my underwear, his fingers finding my core. Coen watched my reaction: the way my mouth dropped open on a gasp, the way I strained to push up into the body above me while still pushing down against the fingers that stroked me. I needed more.

“Fuck, I can’t stand this,” Coen groaned, his mouth falling down on mine, his body shifting slightly to the side, his weight dropping down to his left elbow.

He wasn’t covering me anymore, only pressing into my side, but I couldn’t complain—not with Aros’s heavy breath against my neck and the feeling of bliss building up quickly through my body.

“Watching this is torture.” Coen sounded angry, but I didn’t have time to respond before my shirt was pulled away and flicked up over my head, breaking our kiss for only a breath before we came together again.

“Need. Both,” I managed, but I wasn’t sure if either of them heard me.

“I need her.” The words had come from Aros, muttered heavily as his fingers pushed into me.

“I fucking need her,” this had come from Coen, the words dashed against my lips.

Both of them pulled back, swearing. This felt like new, uncertain territory, and I wasn’t sure why. My body was suddenly turned again, but this time they seemed to have taken on my restlessness, their hands pulling at the scraps of clothing that still remained on my body, casting them from the bed as though personally offended by them. I was turned toward Aros, Coen now warming my back, and both of them were grabbing a hold of my body, dragging it in opposing directions. Coen had filled his hands with my breasts, pulling my upper half against him as small tendrils of pain licked down my chest, merging into a stinging haze of need as it neared my belly. Aros had taken my hips, dragging them against his, before his hand slipped down over one of my thighs, drawing it up and over his hip. His hardness was suddenly nestled between my legs, and I pressed against it, feeling overwhelmed by their warring powers even though I still strained for more of them.

Aros was swearing again, pushing against me.

“Choose,” Coen growled out, his touch growing rough, his cheek dragging across the back of my neck. “Quickly, before I make the choice for both of us.”

Aros shifted, sliding my leg back down again. His lips pressed hard to mine, before drawing back.

“Willa.” He was demanding my attention.

My eyes were heavy, slow to blink open, unwilling to break the haze of pain and pleasure.

“How do you want to do this?” His voice was strained. “We really need to know, because I don’t think we can hold on any longer.”

“Both,” I muttered, a small gasp escaping my throat. Coen’s fingers had slipped between my legs, his grunt against the back of my neck telling me that he didn’t so much care about the semantics.

Aros took my mouth again, shifting his hips back a little. He pulled my leg out again but placed it against the bed instead of slinging it over his hip, and then his hands were on my face and Coen was drawing his fingers away. I cried out, reaching for both of them, but Aros quickly smothered the sound with his lips, flooding his power into me as pain shimmered across the backs of my thighs. There was another sensation there, too. Something hard, pushing between my legs from behind. A hand was on the back of my thigh, pushing the leg that Aros had positioned further up the bed, and then Coen was sinking his length into me. Aros swallowed up each of my sounds, but there was no masking the rough curse that Coen released against the base of my neck as he drew back and pushed forward again, deeper this time.

I clutched at Aros, the pain-power seeming to surge through me with each of Coen’s movements, even though my body was loving every moment of what he did to me.

“Both,” I finally managed to demand, though I wasn’t exactly sure how that was going to be possible.