Shoulders back, erection bobbing with every stride, I marched next to Cato, smirking when her eyes fluttered open and immediately launched to mine. For a few beats, I enjoyed the show, the way Cato’s length lazily plundered her mouth, like he had all the time in the world. Then, when his right hand fell away, I replaced it with mine, threading my fingers through her hair, weaving control like a tapestry, and then jerked her back so that he popped out of her mouth with a wet suction noise that made her blush.
“Say his name.”
“Cato,” she managed, her voice heavy with desire—and maybe a whiff of shame. Maybe she hadn’t expected to enjoy this. Maybe she hadn’t thought we would consider her pleasure at all.
I tugged her head toward my jutting cock. “Now, say mine.”
She fluttered those damp black lashes, and then, out of nowhere, a little bratty expression flashed up at me. Those full, dribble-soaked lips pressed, almost like she was about to say, Mine, but then—
“Aedan,” she whispered. Protectiveness spiked in my gut, the need to guard and treasure this kneeling creature with my life pounding through me out of nowhere. Schooling my features, refusing to let her see that weakness just yet, I arched an eyebrow and fisted her hair harder.
“And now yours.”
She gulped and barely shook her head. “No.”
Excellent. Hungry as I was for it—not yet. Not until we’d ruined her just a little more, spoiled all other lovers for her so she had no choice but to stay.
“Pity.” I then thrust between her slightly parted lips without warning. While Cato had been merciful, allowing for her fist to make up for her shortcomings, I had always been the crueler master. After hitting the back of her throat, assessing just how deep she could realistically take me, I fucked her faster and meaner than he had, no room for her fist with her mouth full of my cock. Her sputters and coughs went ignored, drool on her chin, her chest, her eyes wide and watery again. With Cato’s hand on the one side of her head, mine on the other, and Geralt rooting her to the spot with his admittedly talented mouth assaulting her sex—she was stuck.
Helpless.
Ours.
Only when her eyes rolled back in her head did I stop, pulling out and passing her back to Cato. My crowned shadow brother gave her a few moments to chase her breath, wiping her chin and cheeks with his knuckles, cooing sweet nothings at her in a leviathan tongue few understood anymore. Then, when the tears stopped falling and her chest stopped heaving, he had his way with her again, slow and steady, even taking a moment to wrap her shaky hand around the base of his shaft for her. It had no rhythm, no consistency, and she almost clung to him for balance, bobbing her head as best she could, struggling under all our attentions.
She whined when he retreated—almost like she knew if it wasn’t Cato’s cock in her mouth, it was mine, and nothing about me had ever been gentle. This time, he allowed me to twist both hands into her coarse locks, and I fucked her face with earnest, her tits jiggling and core shuddering, her hands slapped to my thighs and blunt nails jabbing in as if that might stop me.
Whenever I felt the urge to spill my seed down her throat, I eased off and passed her to Cato again. Back and forth she went, one to the other as Geralt feasted on her, his groans and growls filling the room, the perfect accompaniment to her strangled cries.
Eventually, I handed her off to Cato for the time being—small mercies and all that shit—and crouched beside her. Geralt had her worked into a writhing, grinding, sweaty mess, his hair no longer that neat silky pillow but a choppy sea of white beneath them.
“Pause,” I muttered, tapping his shoulder and waiting. His eyes snapped open as he lifted our magpie ever so slightly off his arousal-drenched face, and I held up two fingers. Literally two seconds, you pussy-obsessed fuck. Those black eyes rolled, and he hefted her higher, handling her like she was nothing—because, really, her frame was light as air compared to the rest of us.
Tempted as I was to pinch and flick and twist that engorged clit, I eased two fingers into her instead with the knowledge that Geralt would have fucked her with his formidable tongue by now. She tightened around the intrusion, her squeals muffled by Cato, but I ignored her, wetting both fingers to my liking, followed by my thumb. Then, satisfied, I shuffled around, watching, the beast in my soul savage at the sight of Geralt lunging up to reclaim her. His arms coiled tighter around her thighs, and, like he sensed where this was headed, he tilted her forward, really zeroed in on the crest of her cunt while spreading her perky cheeks for me.
Exposing the puckered hole there.
Thumb and two fingers slick and sticky with her own desire, I slipped a tip in without warning. Her scream made Cato hiss, both his hands in her hair, hips thrusting ever so slightly as he face-fucked her with more gusto this time around.
“Tut, tut, nameless vixen,” I crooned, nudging a good inch in, followed swiftly by another, her ass a tight inferno I knew I wouldn’t have the pleasure of destroying—this time. Cato was just such an ass hog. “Nothing is off-limits to us anymore.”
Much to my surprise, one deep breath and she relaxed just enough for me to plunge knuckle-deep. After some admittedly cautious probing—virgins required much more finesse than I offered seasoned lovers—I went for that second finger, Geralt so deep in her cunt it was a wonder we hadn’t broken her yet. She swatted back at me, arms free but the rest of her caged, and I scoffed, responding with a cheeky smack to one of her cheeks, loving the way it jiggled.
“Oh, stop,” I drawled, swapping fingers for my thumb, prepping her with her own juices, working her as best I could before that cock in her mouth inevitably found its way here. “Stop fighting, magpie. We can smell the want on you.” Dense and heady, it surpassed all our natural scents combined, the stonewalled room drenched in her.
“We see it in your blushes,” Cato added, every word strained, his resolve to be the gentle, merciful king fading by the thrust.
“You love having all three holes filled,” I carried on, keenly aware of the way her muscles tensed and her body shook, the obvious signs of her desire soaring and staining Geralt’s mouth. “And we’ve barely even started with you—”
A staticky whine slammed through unseen speakers, and we all flinched, Cato’s hackles up, his crown shivering, his eyes screaming bloody murder.
“You assholes have ten more minutes,” came a crackly but familiar male voice from the ceiling, “and then it’s back in the cell. Use your time wisely.”
Collective rage detonated from us like a bomb, and this time, our magpie genuinely tried to escape, pushing and shoving and flailing, almost like she sensed our wrath and wanted no part in it. Despite the fire in his eyes, the war drums pounding in the pulse point on his neck, Cato dropped down to cradle her head, murmuring sweet nothings to calm her.
No matter how a leviathan raged, his mate was never the target. Never.
The same couldn’t be said for demons, naturally, but having been raised by three strong matriarchal demonesses, only a demon with the brain the size of a fruit fly would turn on their females. Most male demons didn’t share our opinion—but this gorgeous creature hadn’t found herself in the company of those pureblooded dickbags.