Chapter 51: Just the Tip, Just a Sip **
Perhaps it was a tacit understanding between Oathran and Arkai, perhaps... a line drawn in the sand of their own heated tempers. They wouldn’t cross the final threshold. Not like this. Not when the air between the three of them was thick with a cloud of lust.
Lust was a wildfire. Beautiful, consuming, and it left nothing but ashes of regret in its wake. They wanted more than ashes from her.
But. It didn’t an they couldn’t... demonstrate, or... showcase a little expertise. Couldn’t prove the benefits of their... attentions. A preview, if you will. A tasting nu.
Served hot.
"Aaaahhh...!" Cecilia’s sharp, startled cry was punched out of her. A clever, questing touch found a precise point of pleasure.
"Hmm," Oathran humd from behind her. "You found it faster than I did. Good job."
"There’s... a trick to it, Elder Brother," Arkai murmured, focused. Like a hunter sharing his knowledge of the terrain. "A pressure, just... here."
"Mm! Don’t bully just one spo—! Aaaaahhh!!!"
"It’s right where you curl your finger..." Arkai softly said, his movents gentle, slow, almost lazy.
"Yes..." Oathran agreed, his breath hot on her shoulder. "And also, use the pad of your thumb to... there."
"Oh!!" Cecilia gasped, her head falling back against Oathran’s chest, her body bowing forward into Arkai’s steadying hold.
"Oops, please hold her hips in place," Arkai asked, his own grip firming.
"It’s okay," Oathran smiled. "Moving will make her feel it more. Sway with it."
And they did. They moved her along with her own twitching and spasming, gentle, rocking, rhythmic between them, their touches syncing. The two low, dark, harmonious rumble of laughs that vibrated through her bones had beco a bassline to the symphony of her own ragged whimpers.
Sotis, they would even mimic her little sighs and moans in a deep, playful echo. Teasingly. Maddeningly. It was exhilarating.
Between the attention on her twin peaks and the coaxing pressure building on her dark-pink pearl below, her body made its own choices. It pressed itself back into the solid warmth of Oathran’s chest. It arched into the steadying cradle of Arkai’s hands. It clutched at whatever it could reach, whatever. A handful of fine linen tunic, the corded muscle of a forearm.
If she didn’t hold on, who could bla her for falling deeper and deeper?
Forget, for a mont, how debauched this was. Forget who had given two apex predators the brilliant idea to corner an ex-Saintess, a woman who had spent her life in the quiet, incense-heavy halls of a temple, with such scorching intention.
Forget all of that.
Why? She hadn’t expected they would even approach her at once.
She’d envisioned... separate negotiations. Different nights. A manageable, linear escalation.
But what had she truly expected?
One man was a self-proclaid insane who had bonded with her over her own mutilation and asked for death as a wedding vow. The other was a king who had begun coveting her the mont he’d slled another man’s claim on her like a challenge. Their very foundations were built on obsession and transgression.
Or—
Was this synchronized move simply their form of a pact? A way to avoid making each other a cuck? If they moved together, in this strange, competitive harmony, then neither was the other man. Neither was the interloper. They were a team, a unit, sharing the sin and the spoils equally.
Cecilia... truly didn’t understand the dynamic between these two. Were they rivals? Co-conspirators? Brothers-in-arms? The only thing she understood was the devastatingly effective result of their collaboration.
"Have —" she gasped, the words torn from her. "I want—"
The two n stilled for a heartbeat. Their eyes, one pair of misty grey and one of dense void, narrowed. Delight flickered there, bright and hot. A shared mirth. But beneath it swam sothing more complicated.
"Just the tip..." Cecilia pleaded, her hand reaching down to find Arkai’s length, thick and heavy in her grasp, the base already beginning to swell, ready for a knot. A wolf’s ultimate claim. "You two won’t do it... I know... but... just the tip..."
Temptation. It was a blade poised at the throat of their gentleman’s agreent. It was hard to refuse the raw, whispered want in her voice. But it was also perilous to fulfill
Oathran was the one who broke first. He pulled away from behind her, the movent snappy, it could have been anger or myriads of other. His hands guided her, turning her, maneuvering her until she lay on her back at the edge of the wide bed. He pulled her by the under arms, positioning her so only her head hung back over the side, her throat exposed and tilted back.
Cecilia’s eyes widened, her fogged brain understood the geotry of it instantly. With her head fallen back like this... it was the perfect position to fuck her throat.
"Just the tip..." Arkai murmured again, drunk with desire and dizzy with the proximity of a forbidden prize, still pressing himself against her weeping entrance.
"Just a sip..." Oathran sneered, a velvetty voice from above her. He was throwing her own old words back at her, days ago in a different kind of ruin.
As Arkai held himself, dazed at her threshold, Oathran freed himself. The sight, no matter how many tis she witnessed it, never failed to steal her breath. The twin were... as magnificent as ever. And now, Arkai saw them too, his eyes widening.
Oathran’s grin was a flash of white in the dimness, wicked and oddly reassuring. "Don’t worry," he purred, his voice thick. "You are not half the man you are just because you only have one, Brother."
You could sll the salt in the air. The vinegar of it.
Was it because she’d asked for Arkai’s tip? But she’d ant... any of their tips.
Oh. Well. Yes, her hand was wrapped around Arkai’s cock when she asked...
But—
"Aaahlg! Glug—"
The coherent thought shattered as Oathran took gentle, inexorable advantage of her offered throat, while Arkai, with a broken groan, finally, finally allowed her the shallow inch of the ’tip’ she’d begged for.
"Mmmmhh... Saintess..." Arkai’s eyes lost focus, rolling back as he t the subtle, giving resistance of her entrance. The re reality of it, the heat, the slickness, the fact that he was there, even just this forbidden, shallow inch... The coil of pleasure in his gut tightened, a breath away from snapping.
This was the Saintess’ pussy on his cock—
But then his gaze drifted upward.
Oathran was facing him, one magnificent length splayed over the pale column of her throat, the tip resting in the delicate hollow of her clavicle. And knowing the dragon as he was beginning to, Arkai’s brain could imagine the rest. Of how deep the other one was buried within the heat of her...
If the one outside reached the base of her neck, then the one inside must be...
While he was here, trembling at the very gates, permitted only a single, agonizing inch...
"A—hhh... sssssh..." Above, Oathran groaned. Raw, shattered, pained. His beautiful face had collapsed into an expression of strained agony. The pain of holding back a cataclysm, lded seamlessly with a pleasure so profound it looked like dying.
"Kgh—gawk—"
The wet, choked sound from Cecilia’s throat was the final blow. Arkai felt it. Felt it, as the fluttering, clutching muscles at her entrance mimicked the frantic, swallowing rhythm of her throat.
This sight. The visual of the dragon claiming her so completely above, while he was locked in this shallow, forbidden depth below...
It was too much.
Too fucking much.
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