Chapter 350: First Summon **
[Eastiel: Summon
now or I will summon Cecilia here.]
The transmission sounded desperate. The lion had been listening to his brothers and wife engage in elaborate, invisible balcony acrobatics while he was stuck hundreds of miles away in a war camp, surrounded by soldiers and strategy etings and the injustice of not being inside his wife.
[Mmm—fine—ngh!] Cecilia’s ntal voice was fractured, each syllable a negotiation between pleasure and concentration.
The rhythm of her husbands’ thrusts had not paused for logistics, because of course they had not. Why would they? A teleportation request was simply not a compelling reason to stop railing her.
[Oathran, can I borro—]
[Take it, Saintess. My mana is your mana.] Oathran said, ntally thick with pleasure but steady with control. He thrust forward as he spoke, a deep, grinding motion that buried Richard to the hilt in Cecilia’s other hole.
The force of it pushed her body forward, which also—
Slap.
William’s equally hard, equally enthusiastic body made firm, unapologetic contact with Arkai’s balls.
Arkai blushed. His cheeks flushed the approximate color of a winter sunset. Half mortified crimson, half shy pink that spread from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears.
[Brother...]
He sounded awkward.
[William is...]
[What?] Oathran asked innocently. Suspiciously innocent. Of course he knew his second cock slapped against his brother’s balls.
[You want
to put it in her cunt alongside yours?]
Arkai’s cock twitched inside Cecilia at the suggestion. Oathran, equally aware of the twitch, smiled against the back of her neck.
[Let us reserve that for our Youngest Brother, hm?] The dragon said.
[It is slapping my balls...]
[If it does not hurt, do not complain.]
[Also, I did say I do not want to rub mine with his spiky Peter...]
[Fine.] Oathran said magnanimously. [I will be the one rubbing cock with him this ti—]
[PLEASE LET
CONCENTRATE!]
Cecilia’s ntal scream cut through the bond.
Both n froze. Not their cocks, of course. Those were still very much in motion, buried inside her, twitching with the effort of not thrusting while their owner’s brains processed the interruption. But their argunt stopped.
The elder brother and the middle brother, the dragon and the wolf, both redirected their attention to the woman impaled between them.
She was trying to summon—and they were, again, arguing about whose cock goes where.
[Apologies, my Lady.]
[Yes, Ma’am.]
Cecilia, still blushing red, took a breath. Centered herself. She reached through the bond for Oathran’s mana and began to initiate the summon.
The air around them shimred.
The silence bubble and the invisibility held. And in the war camp hundreds of miles away, Eastiel felt the first tug of the summoning and grinned with all his teeth.
The air above the grand balcony folded. The aggressive wrench of space-ti being told by a woman currently impaled on two cocks and running on borrowed dragon mana, that it would kindly rearrange itself imdiately.
A seam opened in the grey winter sky. And then Eastiel materialized. The Golden Lion King landed on the balcony in a crouch, one hand braced against the stone, his golden-blonde hair windswept and chaotic from the abrupt transition between hundreds of miles.
His gold eyes, bright as molten coin, burned, swept the empty balcony with imdiate focus. He looked around. Nothing.
The balcony was empty. Just stone and winter sky and the distant sounds of a banquet drifting through the windows. His eyebrows creased.
He looked confused since he had been promised a wife and found only... architecture. But the most obvious thing was the bulge.
His trousers strained. After all, he had been listening to his wife get railed by two n for the better part of an hour, and his body had opinions about it.
[Show yourselves.] He said, already exhausted his patience approximately three thrusts in and had been running on fus ever since. [I cannot take it anymore...]
Oh... Cecilia felt her heart lurch. How adorable. Her youngest husband, her golden lion, her fierce and fiery king, the man who was currently waging a war against an entire faction of Saintess-supporting northerners, was being so desperate.
He needed her. He needed them. And he was not too proud to beg for it.
She loved it.
Her hand found his wrist, and the mont skin touched skin, she materialized into view.
Her hair first. Wild and disheveled plastered to her temples and throat with the fine sheen of sweat. The love bites followed, a constellation of purple-red marks blooming across the curve of her shoulder, the slope of her chest, the delicate skin just below her collarbone.
Her lips, swollen from kissing. Her eyes, glassy and dark with the hunger of a woman who had been thoroughly ravished and was not nearly finished.
Behind her, Oathran materialized as well. The dragon’s white hair was a ss. His hands were still anchored on Cecilia’s thighs, lifting her up against Arkai, his chest pressed to her back, Richard still buried deep in her other hole. Arkai’s cock still sheathed inside her, his hands still gripping her waist, flushed and breathless and mortifyingly aroused.
"Co here," Cecilia whispered. "Co and be with us."
Eastiel’s golden eyes locked onto her and he leaned in.
He kissed her hard. Desperate, starved kiss of a man who had been imagining this for weeks. He would sotis feel it through the bond, secondhand and torturous, while his body ached for the real thing. His mouth crashed against hers, making her gasp, and he swallowed the sound whole.
His tongue swept past her lips without preamble. Just the hot, demanding slide of muscle against muscle, the slick of saliva and the faint, lingering taste of whatever he had been drinking at the war camp, sothing sharp, sothing burning, sothing that made her head spin.
The noise was obscene. Wet. Slick. Tongues tangling, lips sliding against each other with too much friction and not enough restraint.
His tongue curled around hers, stroking strong, alive, velvety and textured, dragging her into a rhythm that matched the pace of his brothers’ cocks still moving inside her.
He tasted like golden heat. Like sumr lightning.
Saliva slicked between them, a thin, glistening thread that connected his mouth to hers when he pulled back for the barest fraction of a breath.
His golden eyes were burning, pupils blown wide, and he chased the thread with his tongue, licking it from her lower lip with a slow, deliberate stroke that made her shudder.
Then he was back.
His tongue plunged deep, filling her mouth the way his cock was about to fill her body, and the dual sensation, Oathran behind her, Arkai in front, and Eastiel’s mouth devouring her like she was the only source of air in a drowning world, made her keen.
The sound vibrated against his lips, and he drank that too.
His hand ca up, gripped the back of her head.
Fisted in her hair and held her, angling her face exactly where he wanted it, and his tongue fucked her mouth with the sa grinding rhythm she could feel building in his hips.
He ground against the side of her buttocks, that straining bulge pressing against her through his trousers. The wet sounds continued. Slick and slide and suck. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, bit down just hard enough to sting, then soothed the bite with a slow, textured lick.
Arkai slid a different copy of a Presence Concealing Ring on his finger and Oathran held Cecilia even firr.
It was nice to be here together, Eastiel thought. He grinned, "Want so spiky friction?"
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