I moved behind her, reached around and cupped a breast with one hand, and settled the other between her thighs. I had missed her slick heat, always wet, always dripping for me.
“Trist,” she breathed.
“You like his touch.”
“Yes.”
“I felt how much you like the clamps. I admit, seeing my color upon you makes me wish to fuck you.”
“Trist,” she repeated.
He stepped back, but didn’t tear his gaze away. I took it as my signal to continue. The hand that had only cupped her pussy began to play, to slide over her folds, slip fingers deep inside her, to pull out and circle her clit, again and again. She began to writhe, to ride my hand in her need to come. It set the chain in motion, which made the gems sway, which tugged on her nipples.
“Yes!” she said again, this time all doubts, all worries gone. She was lost to the pleasure I worked from her body.
I imagined the collar about her neck made Trist feel her need and in turn, she no doubt felt his. He might not say it, but he was turned on by the sight of Miranda being touched by another. She was able to give over her control to me because she sensed his satisfaction. He might not like me, personally, but he liked how I cherished her body.
“You are ready, gara,” I said when she’d all but drenched my hand with her arousal.
She nodded against my shoulder, and I walked her forward toward the bed until she was standing directly at the foot of it.
“Bend over, gara. I will fuck you now. I will ease your pussy’s need for my cock.”
Eagerly, she set her hands on the bed, ass up. She gasped as her action set the chain in motion, her nipples taking the sweet brunt of it all.
Trist grabbed the chair and moved it a few feet from the bed, and settled in it, legs spread. Miranda was in profile to him and he would be able to see every inch of her as she got fucked.
I opened my pants and pulled out my cock. While remaining clothed wasn’t as intimate, I wanted Trist to only see our mate. I wasn’t bothered by him seeing me naked. I wasn’t modest, not when it came to pleasing our female. But this was all about Miranda.
Gods, it would always be about pleasing her.
I slid a finger over her plump, pink folds, dripping and ready for my cock.
Stepping close, I took her then, slid deep in one long stroke until I bottomed out.
“Brax!” she screamed, her inner walls clenching about me.
“Fark,” I growled, reveling in the hot, wet feel of her as she all but strangled my cock. It had been five weeks and I’d missed this. Missed her.
Gripping her hips, I took her, hard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trist open his pants, pull out his cock and stroke it.
“Yes!” Miranda shouted. Obviously his burst of pleasure hit her as well.
Her breasts swayed with each thrust, the chain in constant motion. Fark, it looked so good on her. I awaited the day it was affixed to rings that were through her nipples and not clamps. In the meantime, she would know what it would feel like, I would know what it looked like, and Trist, he would discover his mate needed more. So much more than a rigid Prillon could ever offer.
“I’m coming,” she moaned, just before I felt her walls ripple around me.
I couldn’t hold back a second longer, the tight feel of her pulling the cum from my balls. I thrust deep, gripped hard and filled her.
When my brain began to function again, when I was no longer blind from the strength of my orgasm, I looked to Trist. His gaze was on Miranda, panting and gripping the bed as if it were the only thing keeping her from floating off into space.
I pulled out, took male satisfaction in watching my cum seep from her.
Miranda remained in place, but I hooked a hand about her waist again, helped her to stand.
I kissed the shell of her ear, then murmured, “Your mate, gara. He needs you.”