A Lesson in Thorns (Thornchapel #1)(93)
But he doesn’t, and by the time Saint starts on my hair, my lazing has become something more restless. Needy. Life is still hazy and delicious, but all this touching, this slippery stroking and cleaning, has rekindled the heat in my belly.
My hands roam behind me to find the thick rod of St. Sebastian’s erection through his wet boxers and play with it, and he lets me, washing my hair with admirable focus as I squeeze and stroke him as much as I can with my hands behind my back.
Auden watches it with something like agony, and he shudders when I cradle Saint’s balls and Saint lets out a ragged, helpless moan.
“You’re being very bad,” Auden says, wrestling for his control. He reaches forward and pulls my hands away from Saint so Saint can focus and finish rinsing me off. “And we’re not doing this in here.”
“Then we’re going to do it somewhere?” I ask hopefully.
“You’re in an altered state of mind, Poe. The answer is no.”
“Then what if we did this instead?” I ask, sliding my hand free from his and then guiding his hand to me. I mold it against my pussy, loving how firm and certain his hand feels against my slippery flesh. “It’ll only take a minute, please, Auden, I want it so bad.”
“If you don’t do it, I will,” Saint tells him.
Auden makes an exasperated sound, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. “You heard Rebecca. We need to take care of her right now.”
“Seems to me like ‘taking care of her’ can include lots of things. I mean, just look, Auden. She’s not going to be able to get any rest like this.”
Auden turns his gaze back to me, back down to where I’m actively arching and pushing against his touch. Even in the hot water, my nipples are still erect and tight, and I don’t have to look at myself to know that I’m pouty and flushed like the little slut Rebecca accused me of being.
Almost as if it’s against his own will, his fingers stroke along my seam, pushing ever so slightly into the place where I open. I lean back against Saint to give him better access, whispering please please please all the while.
“Okay,” Auden says. “But this is only to put you to bed. Got it?”
“Got it,” I purr.
“I’m new to this too, you know,” he says, a bit shyly. “So tell me if I do anything wrong.”
And then he starts rubbing me for real, giving me easy circles and slow, curling caresses lower down. I let out a short, needy pant and slump back, and Saint moves us so that he’s leaning against the wall and I’m leaning against him. And then Auden braces one hand by Saint’s shoulder, leaning in as he increases the pressure on my clit, one strong shoulder dipping down as he finally penetrates me with his fingers. He’s gradual with it, nearly leisurely—but it’s not tentative or hesitant how he works my cunt. There’s a few times I feel him search for parts of me, see him studying my body to make sure he’s doing the right thing—but he assumes the role of orgasm-giver with complete seriousness and grace. He locks my eyes with his own, and I’m burned alive with all the hazel hunger and possession I see there, I’m consumed with it, and there’s no question what he’s thinking as he slowly and deliberately fucks my cunt with his hand—
Mine.
He wants me to be his, he wants to earn me. He wants to know how to take care of me after a scene so that he can do the scenes, and the thought of that on top of everything else pushes me to the edge. Knowing he might spank me or hurt me or even fuck me . . . and feeling the tense stretch of aroused, trembling St. Sebastian behind me . . . along with the perfect bite of pain from my sore pussy as Auden fingers me—
I come so abruptly it takes me by surprise, my knees giving out and Saint having to wrap his arms around my waist to keep me from collapsing on the floor in a climaxing heap.
“Fuck,” Auden swears, because the only other thing keeping me from falling are his fingers in my cunt, and I end up impaling myself even deeper and harder—and therefore redoubling my orgasm into a yelling, crying, writhing thing. And he can feel every shivering contraction, every wet, clenching squeeze, everything and all of it around his fingers, and when our eyes meet, I know he’s thinking about how it would feel around his cock.
I moan. He swears again.
He lets me use his fingers and Saint holds me up by the waist until I’m completely finished, my body wrung out and sensitive and soft, and then Auden slides his hand free. He licks his fingers without thinking twice, giving me a long, searing inspection as he does.
Then he looks past me to his enemy. “You need to come,” he says.
I look back in time to see Saint shake his head in lust-glazed confusion. “I don’t—I don’t think so—”
“That wasn’t a question,” Auden says impatiently. “You need to come. I can tell.”
Weak knees and orgasm-daze and all, I manage to turn to face him. The water has turned his hair oil-black and pieces of it are stuck to his cheeks and jaw, like dark slashes of ink. His eyelashes too are wet and black and spiky, blinking fast over gorgeously glassy eyes, and his jaw is clenched so hard that a muscle jumps in his cheek.
He looks vulnerable and edgy and in pain. He looks angry and sad.
Trapped, even, like a wolf with its paw caught, ready to snarl and bite at anyone who dares to help.
“Let me,” I whisper to my wolf, hooking my fingers in his wet waistband and dragging the fabric down. His cock springs free, and I can’t resist, I look down and murmur my appreciation, because it’s perfect. So big and beautiful and thick with its one vein along the top and its flared crown all dusky and swollen.