* * *
Zevan held Temair’s hand tightly as she led him and her other two Consorts into the bedchamber. His nerves were playing havoc with his body, making it hard to draw breath. His wife looked so beautiful this evening dressed in a traditional Aire wedding gown. The dove gray light woolen dress was embroidered in white and silver. Silver flowers were woven through her lovely brown hair. He glanced down at his marriage cuffs and smiled. For the first time in his life he was at peace.
Dathan and Miach moved through the room, lighting candles and making the fire hotter. Temair didn’t let go of him until they reached the side of the bed. She placed her soft hands on his shirt, her fingers deftly removing the ties at his chest.
Self-consciously he peered around her to see where Miach and Dathan were. She squeezed his shoulder gently. “Don’t worry, Lord Aire. They will allow us to start before joining.”
That wasn’t the only thing he was worried about, though. Once Temair removed his clothing, his piercings would be exposed to the other men. Piercings that were clearly punitive and not decorative. Piercings that showed graphically how he’d allowed himself to be abused.
He didn’t realize he’d instinctively raised his hands to cover the thick rings through his nipples until Temair caught them in a gentle grasp. He let her wind her fingers through his, though his face burned scalding red.
“You only have to look into my eyes, Consort. Focus on what we are creating together, and everything else will fall into place.” She leaned up and kissed him. The minute her sweet lips touched his, he forgot about his insecurities, forgot about the other two men, forgot everything but the taste of her, the dizzy intoxication of her kiss.
She released his hands to cup his face, and he took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her and pull her in closer, pressing against her and deepening their kiss. Her tongue played artfully with his, drawing him further under the spell of her desire. She was truly a miracle; a woman of warmth and passion. Of compassion.
He began toying with buttons at the back of her dress, and when she murmured encouragement against his lips, he plucked them open one by one, brushing the tips of his fingers along her spine with each new inch of flesh he revealed.
When he’d managed to open the last button, he smoothed the dress down her shoulders. He gave a gentle tug when it caught on the heavy curve of her breasts, and it fell with a soft sigh of fabric until it pooled on the floor at his feet. The sight of her struck him speechless; golden skin glowing, curves full and soft, she was as sweet and fertile as the Great Mother herself. Awed by the fact that she was his to touch, his to love, he went to his knees and carefully removed her shoes.
He skimmed his hands up the back of her silky legs and over her ass. He licked his lips, leaning forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to her lower belly. She sighed and tugged at his shirt, lifting the heavy linen over his head. He had another moment of panic as the first of his piercings were fully revealed, but Dathan’s low, teasing “Hmm. Sexy,” brought laughter to Temair’s eyes and broke the tension of the moment.
Zevan still knelt at her feet, his every muscle tense with desire, but uncertain how or where to start. Once again Dathan came to his rescue.
“Allow us to help.” The Rayne Lord’s voice shook Zevan from the spell he was under, and he watched both men sit on the bed. Miach drew Temair down between them and then each man grabbed one of her perfect thighs, bending them at the knee and draping them over their laps.
She was splayed wide open for Zevan’s hungry gaze.
“Isn’t she beautiful, Aire Consort?” Miach’s low rumble matched the tremble in Zevan’s stomach. “Come taste our lady. We want to see you make her scream in pleasure.”
Dathan was leaning forward now; full, smiling lips wrapped around Temair’s plump nipple. He made a low, growling sound of enjoyment, and Temair gasped out a pleasured laugh. Her changeable eyes locked with Zevan’s, inviting him to join the love play.
Zevan’s cock was solid and throbbing, more than ready to accept that invitation. He moved forward, his breath brushing across her pussy lips, then paused to savor the moment. When she whispered, “Please,” and stroked her fingers through his hair, he moved, sliding between the juicy folds with his tongue and lapping at her silken depths.
She tasted like honey and the warmth of the sun after a lifetime spent in winter’s chill. She tasted like acceptance, and home, and love. She leaned back, allowing him deeper access, and he took advantage, moving his tongue first along her hardened clit and then thrusting it deep into her pussy.
She whimpered and squirmed, and that was all the encouragement he needed. Zevan began to feast on his bride, taking turns sucking her tight nub and fucking her sweet pussy with his tongue as she writhed against his mouth.
“She’s ready, Lord Aire.” He almost didn’t recognize Miach’s voice. The Fyre Lord’s usual rumble was a rough growl, and Zevan glanced up to see those fyre-streaked eyes glued to the sight of Zevan’s mouth on Temair’s pussy.
“Yes, Zevan. Please, now,” Temair sobbed.
He stood and practically ripped his pants off. The First and Second Consorts drew back, moving to the foot of the bed and clearing the way for Zevan. Crawling onto the bed, he lay back and held his arms out for his princess.
* * *
Temair ran her hands up her newest Consort’s thighs. She loved the shiver that wracked him from head to toe. Straddling him, she grasped his cock and pressed it to her entrance. Never taking her eyes from his, she slowly moved down his length, working from side to side when his girth resisted the tight grip of her pussy. His eyes filled with silver sparks, and she knew that her own had as well.
He filled her completely. The ring piercing his cock-head scraped delightfully against her swollen inner flesh, and she moved her hands to tweak the piercings through his nipples. The pleasure of the unexpected tug caused him to buck up hard, giving her exactly what she wanted from him.
Behind her, Miach pressed his large warm body against her back. He gripped her hips with hard, hot hands, guiding her as she rode Zevan.
“Lean forward, Spark, and let me in.” His breath was hot against her neck, a damp caress that sent tingles down her spine. She kept her eyes on Zevan’s and leaned forward, curving her back until she could catch one of his nipples in her mouth. Her Aire Lord’s eyes grew wide, and his lips drew back in a grimace of bliss as she toyed with the tender flesh around the heavy barbell, then tugged at the metal, drawing his nipple taut, the way she liked hers to be pulled.
Cool liquid eased down between her ass-cheeks, followed by warm fingers. Miach spread the lubricant around her opening, sliding a finger across the tight pucker before pushing slowly into her. She hissed as he moved deeper into her ass, but the burn soon turned to pure pleasure that had her rocking back against him.
Filled front and back, drenched in the heated rayne of desire, Temair lost track of everything except the touch of her Consorts.
Zevan proved to be a quick study, reaching up to pull gently at her nipples. She arched into the sensation, opening even more to Miach’s touch. The Fyre Lord took the opportunity to guide his own cock to her rear opening. Setting the thick, blunt head of his cock against her hungry entrance, he pushed forward through the tight ring of muscle, and she pushed back until he was seated fully in her ass.
It didn’t take long for the three of them to set a blistering rhythm of exquisite pleasure. A moment of awkward fumbling when Zevan’s and Miach’s hands meshed on her hips, then the hard slam of Miach’s cock in her ass beat a scalding counterpoint to Zevan’s grinding thrusts. Miach’s heat, familiar and exquisite, shimmered over her skin. Zevan’s Aire compensated, a soft, cool breeze sending delicious chills over her flesh.
The bed shifted, and Dathan knelt before her, a vision of naked, golden perfection.
“Help me,” she panted, leaning sharply forward. Zevan seemed to understand. He slid his palms up the line of her ribcage, supporting her while she bent l
ow enough to run her tongue around Dathan’s slick cock-head.
Dathan moaned at the contact, and Miach’s hips stuttered in their rhythm, sending jolts of dark pleasure through her. The only one who didn’t seem affected by the sight of her tonguing Dathan’s cock was Zevan, who was so clearly struggling to hold off his climax that he probably wasn’t even aware of what was going on behind him.
“Princess,” Dathan panted, clenching one hand at the base of his cock. Temair ignored his little grunts of distress, continuing to lick him like a piece of sugar candy. When she had him soaked, slick from her mouth and his own pre-cum, she finally released him.
He fell back on his heels for a moment, gasping and squeezing hard around the base of his cock. Then he gave her that naughty, sloe-eyed smile that had first captured her heart, and slipped off the bed.
Without Dathan there to distract her, Temair was once again captured by the sight of Zevan’s face. The young Aire Lord looked transfixed by pleasure. His hands clenched tight on her hips. His own hips moved in short, brutal thrusts that rubbed his cock-piercing over a spot inside her that was almost painfully sensitive.
Miach pressed harder against her, hips grinding, breath almost whistling in his chest. She knew why an instant later when a golden-skinned hand came around her stomach and slid lower to catch the tip of her clit between two fingers.
That explained Dathan’s smile.
She looked over her shoulder to see him pressed against Miach’s back, one hand braced on Miach’s shoulder as the other snuck around to torture Temair’s clit. His cheek rested against Miach’s temple, and the silken strands of their hair tangled together. The picture of black-ruby and blacker-blue was beautiful, but it was the sight of bronzed flesh against moon-pale skin that drove her into orgasm.
Choking out a cry, she felt the cream slide around Zevan’s cock, felt the jerk of Zevan’s hips in time to his own strangled shout, but somehow he held on. Her precious, strong Third Consort.
When the world came back, she blinked her eyes open and leaned back against Miach, slowing their pace. She knew Dathan would appreciate her next words, but she wasn’t sure how Miach would react. Still, she thought it was time.
“Touch him, First Consort. For me.”
* * *
Miach stilled as Temair’s request ripped through him. Dathan’s rigid cock jerked against the small of his back at her words. Yes, he wanted to fulfill her every wish, but that wasn’t what stopped him mid-thrust. What stopped him was the realization that he wanted to feel Dathan’s dick filling his hand every bit as much as Temair wanted him to do it.
Slowly he moved his hand behind his back. Dathan didn’t hesitate in accepting the offer, immediately thrusting his cock into Miach’s hesitant grip.
“Fuck yeah, Consort,” he groaned as he pumped into Miach’s hand. In turn Miach began to thrust forward into Temair.
It was almost disorienting; the hot, slick grip of Temair’s ass on his dick, the teasing rub of Zevan’s cock-head through the tender tissues of Temair’s passage, and the thick, hot length of Dathan’s cock in his hand. Disorienting, dizzying, destructive.
Impatient hands brushed his hair aside, and Dathan’s lips pressed against his neck. Water boy’s tongue felt just as good as when they’d shared that surprising kiss in town; maybe even better, because now Miach was accepting the pleasure rather than trying to deny it.
He moaned as Dathan scraped his teeth between Miach’s shoulder and throat, the sound ripped from his guts. He pumped Dathan’s cock more firmly, more furiously, and matched the rhythm with his thrusts into his wife’s ass.
His body was on fyre, and as he increased his pace steam began to surround the bed. His fyre combined with Dathan’s rayne swirled through the room, carried by Zevan’s aire. Moans filled the aire, carried on Zevan’s breeze, heavy with Dathan’s rayne. They were sweet music to Miach’s ears.
The pleasure built to a resounding crescendo, a straining four-way loop of intolerable pleasure, until Temair came again, going over the edge with a ragged scream. Zevan made a helpless sound and bucked up hard into her. The young Aire Lord’s cry filled Miach’s ears even as he felt the pulses of Zevan’s seed shooting deep inside of Temair’s welcoming sheath.
Surrounded by mind-numbing pleasure, Miach worked his hand hard on Dathan’s cock and felt it grow thicker with each rough pull. Finally, he could hold back no longer. Miach truly let go, burying himself balls-deep in his wife’s sweet, soft ass. His balls tightened, and as if he could read Miach’s mind, Dathan bit hard on that sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder.
Miach shouted his release. The pleasure was so big, so overwhelming, it sprayed out in the form of his seed, and roared out in his rough cry. Dathan’s voice echoed his, a jagged sound of need, and then Dathan’s cock was pulsing in Miach’s hand, slick and hot with the Rayne Lord’s seed as Dathan’s head fell to rest heavily against Miach’s shoulder. He must have lost his senses for a moment, because when he was once again aware, he was leaning into Dathan’s cool frame, a full body caress, utterly devastated by pleasure.
When he could manage to move again, he gently grabbed his wife’s chin and turned her so that their eyes met.
“I love you, Spark,” he whispered against her lips, and kissed her with all the emotion he felt in his heart. It was scary; both feeling it, and saying it. But it was somehow freeing, too. The kiss turned wet and salty, and he pulled back to see Temair’s beautiful, multi-hued eyes wet with tears. He leaned forward and sipped the precious drops from her flushed cheeks.
Miach thought this might be what happiness felt like, this knowledge that he belonged, truly belonged to Temair, and the suspicion that he might just belong with the annoying man breathing hot caresses on his neck from behind. Miach glanced down. For the first time since he’d known him, the young Aire Lord looked at peace. He thought that just maybe Zevan belonged to them all.
Epilogue
“I hate leaving you alone here,” Nuriel whispered as she hugged Sorcha hard before climbing into her carriage.
“I’ll be fine, El.” Sorcha meant every word. The root of the evil in the Aerie had been destroyed. Her job was just to help the new Lady take control of things.
“I know,” Nuriel sighed, letting Sorcha loose. “I guess I’m just still spooked by everything that’s happened.” She blew out a puff of breath, stirring the wisps of hair curling around her forehead. “You’ll be fine,” she said firmly.
“And I’ll join you all at Earth as soon as I can. For the bonding ceremony at the latest.” Nuriel nodded again and swung into the carriage, looking like a lost little girl. Sorcha gave her an encouraging smile and waved as the entire caravan began the journey to Earth.
An odd sense of being watched tickled the nape of Sorcha’s neck. She looked quickly around, but there was nothing to see but the bland stone gates of the main city, and a few scattered citizens and servants who’d come to witness the departure of the future Queen and her entourage. She thought she recognized Zevan’s valet, and felt an instant of surprise that the man hadn’t accompanied his master.
Sorcha dismissed the odd sensation with a shrug and gave her foster sister a final wave before turning toward the Aerie. She had a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it.
Violet Summers
Violet Summers is a married mother of three beautiful children, including one set of twins, one rambunctious puppy, and one husband, except when she’s a single mom of one spoiled teenaged godchild, three spoiled kitties, and two spoiled, elderly parents. Both of Violet’s personalities are very busy!
No, Violet has not suffered a psychotic break yet (though she may after dealing with creating web-pages and MySpace accounts). Violet is actually the writing team of Sierra Summers and Violet (VJ) Johnson.
Neither woman can remember quite when she started writing, though VJ has a vague memory of a story written in the seventies about a girl named Carmel (that’s Car-MELL) who wore designer Sassoon “shapes,” o
r jeans. It was not, she says, her finest work.
Both women read voraciously, and in a multitude of genres. Sierra classifies them as “readers, as opposed to readers of romance. This means when we write, we’re as concerned with the story as we are with the sex.” That said, Sierra has been known to boycott books where the characters haven’t “done the deed” by page 125.
Sierra and VJ live in Southeast Michigan, and the spice of the Metro-Detroit area often flavors their work. “Why look for a more glamorous setting,” VJ asks, “when we’ve got the beautiful, re-vitalized Downtown area to draw from?”
Violet Summers writes in a variety of genres, from contemporary to paranormal; from soft BDSM to fantasy. The two things all her stories have in common are their deeply emotional stories and their scorching erotic love scenes.
Sierra and VJ love to hear from their readers. You can contact them at
[email protected], or on MySpace and Facebook!
Violet Summers, The Queens of Merab 3 Temair’s Aire
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends