You are mine. All of you.
They stepped into the garden together.
Twelve wives.
One man.
One goddess.
And one final surrender.
The garden exhaled as they entered.
It wasn’t like the forest above - this wasn’t wild. It was cultivated. Sacred. The trees were taller, impossibly tall, their trunks black and glistening with veins of amber light. Their roots curled in elegant spirals that frad the ground like a woven rug. Thick vines dripped from their branches, beaded with golden sap. Everything here shimred, not with sunlight, but with life. The Source hovered at the center, suspended between the trees, pulsing like a heart. It was perfectly round, a sphere of glowing light that shifted with slow movent inside, like a storm beneath the surface.
Jude stepped forward, hand still clasped with Lucy’s. The others followed in a loose arc, eyes wide, lips parted - not from fear but from awe.
"She’s alive," Stella whispered, her voice reverent. "She’s waiting."
"She’s inside us already," Rose said, stepping beside Jude. "But this... this is her true form. She called us here because we’re ready."
"For what?" Sophie asked, her voice tight with caution.
"For the final bond," Layla answered. "For the root to take hold."
Grace looked up at the Source. "It wants us together. All of us."
Zoey smirked faintly, stepping behind Jude to press a kiss to his shoulder. "Well then... we better not keep her waiting."
The Source pulsed, once, twice - then a golden mist poured from it in curling waves. It swept around them, caressing their skin like warm breath, wrapping them in thick, clinging humidity. The air grew heavy, perfud with honey and sex and sothing darker - earth and blood and ti.
Susan gasped softly. "It’s inside ."
Jude felt it too. Not pain. Not fear. Just... opening. Like a hand pressing on the center of his chest and pulling sothing free. His heartbeat slowed. His thoughts silenced. All that remained was want.
The mist swirled faster, lifting tendrils of hair, licking along thighs, breasts, lips. They didn’t speak anymore. They didn’t need to. Every touch was understood. Every glance was permission.
Rose approached him first. She reached for him with both hands, guiding him to lie back on the thick moss. His skin sank into it like velvet, and as his body settled, Lucy lowered herself beside him. She kissed him slow, tongue lazy and sweet, while Rose began to stroke him, whispering things against his neck in that soft, ancient language only the goddess knew.
Emma knelt beside Lucy, pulling her close, her fingers slipping between Lucy’s thighs, coaxing her open. Lucy moaned into Jude’s mouth, her hips grinding against Emma’s hand as Jude hardened in Rose’s grip.
Around them, the others moved as if to music only they could hear.
Grace and Stella lay entangled in a patch of glowing moss, mouths eting again and again as their bodies pressed together, writhing slowly. Sophie stood with her back arched against the trunk of a black tree, eyes closed, while Natalie kissed down her neck, her hands pulling at Sophie’s breasts like offerings. Susan and Zoey kissed without restraint, Zoey’s fingers slick between Susan’s legs as they dropped together to their knees in the roots.
Layla approached next, her body shimring with dew. She straddled Jude, her thighs strong around his hips, and she didn’t hesitate. She sank onto him with a soft cry, her head falling back, hair cascading down her back as she took him in deep.
He gasped.
She moved with the sa rhythm as the Source - slow, steady, endlessly rolling. Every thrust felt sacred, like a chord struck in so cosmic instrunt. Her hands braced against his chest, her skin flushed and glowing.
Lucy watched, one hand between her own legs, the other tangled in Emma’s hair. "She’s so wet," she whispered. "She’s dripping for you."
"I feel everything," Layla gasped. "Every ti you twitch inside , it echoes in the trees."
Jude could barely breathe. He reached up to touch her face, but before he could, Layla bent down and kissed him - hot, deep, and hungry. Her tongue claid him while her body took him.
She ca with a moan that shook the branches above them. Then Rose pulled her back and slid into her place, the change seamless, like one flow into another. She didn’t speak. She just looked at him, her eyes soft and burning all at once. Then she took him.
Harder.
Slower.
Deeper.
He arched into her, his hands gripping her hips, and when she leaned down to kiss his chest, the golden mist clung to her back like wings.
"She says your heart is open," Rose murmured. "She says you’re ready to carry her."
Lucy whimpered, watching them. "I want him again. I need him again."
"You’ll have him," Rose promised, never stopping. "We all will."
She ca, her nails dragging along his shoulders, and when she slid off, Lucy was there - already stroking him back to hardness with one hand, kissing down his stomach with the other. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She took him in her mouth like she was starving, and Jude’s entire body tensed with pleasure.
Emma and Sophie were suddenly beside him, mouths on his chest, thighs brushing his sides. Natalie straddled his face, moaning when his tongue t her again, her hands clutching his hair as her hips rocked in slow circles.
He lost himself.
In taste.
In touch.
In them.
They took turns - bodies sliding over him like silk. No one rushed. No one fought. It was a ritual now. A dance. And the Source pulsed brighter each ti one of them reached climax, sending another wave of golden mist through the air.
By the ti Stella lowered herself onto him, Jude had co three tis, and yet he was still ready. Still aching. Still pulsing with need. Stella moaned his na as she rode him, her body trembling, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.
"Fill ," she begged. "I want to carry her. I want to bloom."
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