Raine: The Lords of Satyr (17 page)

With unsteady hands, he began massaging himself, praying he had the willpower to keep himself from the woman who waited in his bed. Earnestly, he milked the engorged shafts in his strong hands from root to crown and back. The rhythmic pumping elongated and thickened him to the point of pain. But the feel of a fist wasn’t what he craved. His desperation mounted.

A sudden noise alerted him that he was not alone. Turning his head, he saw that Jordan had followed him and was now standing in the doorway between their rooms. She lounged against the doorjamb watching him from below half-lowered eyelids.

Why had she left his bed?

He stood and turned his back to her, continuing the stroking all the while, only to realize she would see his reflection in the mirror. Still, he kept up the motions with his hands, needing the stimulation.

“Shut the door,” he muttered, his tone dangerously even. “Use my bed. Sleep.”

She pouted. “I missed you.”

Frustration welled up in him. Perhaps it was best she see him for the half-beast he truly was and learn to fear him whenever the moon waxed full. He turned to face her again, letting her view him in all his salacious glory. The slurp of his creamy fists was loud now, lascivious. His dual penises jutted from his body like great sausages grown too long and fat for their casings.

But she didn’t run. She only watched, her eyes locked on the movement of his hands.

Watching her in turn, Raine noted the subtle signs of arousal. The more visible venous patterns across her breasts. Her lips had a taken on a sensual curve and her cheeks were flushed and heated. Her unique Faerie scent reached out, intoxicating him.

Why wasn’t she repulsed? Did she think all men changed in this freakish fashion under a full moon, sprouting fur and a second shaft?

Her hand lifted. Oh so gently, she brushed her fingers over a wine-tipped nipple and sighed as softly as a whisper. She toyed with the small tender point of flesh, twisting and plucking. Her other hand drifted downward, finding her own small penis. It angled high, tumescent. She took it between her thumb and fingers and stroked it in imitation of him.

Since she’d first entered her bedchamber, he’d been treading a razor edge between reason and cold-eyed need. At the sight of her touching herself, he toppled completely over the edge into the mind-numbing insanity of crazed lust.

All thoughts of avoiding her tonight deserted him. She was his. He would take her as he was meant to. Damn it all.

He straightened, grabbing the cream jar.

With sultry eyes, she watched the heavy sway of his cocks as he advanced on her.

“I need you,” he told her, his voice rough. “I apologize if it causes you any—distress.”

She only nodded. “Hurry.”

“Bacchus! A lamb to the slaughter,” he gritted. Grasping her shoulders, he turned her and pressed her against the nearest wall. Flattening her palms on it, she brushed her nipples across the wallcovering—an embossed velveteen pattern that he recalled his former wife had painstakingly chosen for this room.

Even as he went to knee her legs apart, she was already spreading them for him. He delved a hand deep into the cream jar, dredging out the remainder of it in one scoop. Then he let the jar fall to the floor where what was left of its contents slowly oozed out over the expensive carpet. The resulting stain would forever be a reminder of this night.

From behind her, the trough of his cream-filled hand dipped through her thighs. Sloppily, he palmed a sufficient quantity of the ointment through her pubic hair and along the plump folds of her labia, then drew it high toward himself to moisten the crevice between her buttocks.

His thumb pressed at the ring he found there. “When I begin to delve inward here, push outward with your muscles,” he instructed. She didn’t answer. “Jordan—!”

“Yes, yes, I hear you,” she said. “I’ll try, but it’s hard to remember.”

Cursing himself for a lecherous bastard, he moved close, gripping a creamy cock in each hand. There would be time enough for regrets later. He worked the broad crown of his lower man-penis just inside her slickened vaginal opening, then nudged the cheeks of her rear apart with the head of his pelvic penis, quickly finding the aperture along the vertical divide.

He glanced down at the play of sacred moonlight across her smooth back and the swells of her buttocks. Gods, she was beautiful.

He planted a hand on the wall by her head. His other hand angled low across her belly, holding her as he flexed his hips, introducing himself. The muscle guarding the opening in her ass defied him, but his crown prodded on and punctured it. Heeding her gasp, he held a moment, gentling her.

Long seconds later she turned her head, whispering. “Please, I’m dying. Come inside me.”

Her words had scarcely evaporated from the air before he was thrusting, lodging himself ever deeper in both rectum and vagina. Though his Satyr blood urged him on, he forced himself to be careful with her, giving her body time to grow accustomed to him. When she whimpered, he soothed. When she begged, he slogged onward. Grudgingly, her slits took more of him, and more and more, until…

…at last, both cocks—that of Satyr and that of man—were buried to the hilt in her.

“You’re tight,” he said against her ear.

“Is that bad?” Her words were thready, and he knew her body was still adjusting to him.

“No, it’s—” He searched for words to describe the sensation of having both of his cocks lodged inside her and found none that were adequate. “Good. It’s good, Jordan.”

“I’m glad.” Her hand reached back to caress his cheek and he turned his lips to kiss her palm.

Enfolding her hand in his, he pressed it to the wall as he began to saw his cocks in a measured lunge and retreat. Their fingers twined, mating as their bodies did. He tried to maintain an easy pace, deluding himself he remained in command of his wits.

But the Calling soon made a mockery of his control, swamping him with cruel need. When she started to move with him, animal instinct overtook him and his very existence was reduced to one desperate goal—to fuck his mate.

He gave himself up to the barbaric rapture of rutting her under the fullness of a sacred moon. Air rasped from her lungs each time he slammed into her, and she caught tiny, fluttering breaths each time he pulled back. He tasted her neck, whispering. The dark words of the old Satyr language fell from his lips unbidden, tying her to him in the ancient ways.

His words soon degenerated to mindless grunts associated with the rhythm of his fucking. Long moments passed with only their toneless gasps and the humid slap of flesh and bone to relieve the silence. He had no idea whether the feminine body before him was experiencing pleasure or pain. His own body had grown selfish, devoted solely to its own rabid hunger, as it hurtled toward climax.

Savagely he fornicated, unable in the heat of the Calling to withhold anything of himself. Unable to take care with her as he should. The beast in him humped her, ramming with a strength that shuddered and reddened the cheeks of her buttocks.

Climax welled in him. He growled—a low, feral sound that vibrated with carnal intent.

He kneed her legs wider, until her smooth thighs lay over his furred ones and he supported her weight. Her feet dangled as his thrusts nailed her to the wall.

Abruptly, his entire body tautened. A primal roar tore from his throat as he…fell…over…the…edge.

Twin streams of molten cum blasted from his balls to his cocks, spewing his sticky-wet seed deep inside her. Distantly, he heard her gasp at the unexpected sensation. His coming urged her body over its own precipice and he felt the walls of her channels wrench on him as she found her own woman’s orgasm.

What he fed, her body swallowed in hungry, rhythmic gulps. Together, they rose on each wave, gasping as it crashed over them, relaxing against each other during its ebb, only to rise again.

When the surge of their coming eventually turned lazy, she slumped her forehead against the forearm she’d braced high against the wall, trying to catch her breath. “That was—”

“—Amazing.” His chest pressed against the warmth of her back and he surrounded her middle with his arms, in a brief grateful hug. He kissed her temple, the flush of her cheekbone, the damp tendrils of her hair that clung to the back of her neck.

His gaze found the window. The moon hadn’t wandered far across the sky. The Calling would be upon him until dawn. Could she withstand his attentions till then?

Though he’d reached satisfaction, the heat of his passion still roiled. He would die if he could not have her again. And again.

She jerked in alarm as his pelvic cock twitched, then retracted from her. “What’s ha-happening?”

“My second cock is done for the night,” he told her. Satiated, it recoiled inside him where it would stay leashed until the next Calling. But his man-penis remained well rooted in her, still throbbing with enthusiasm.

His lust would swell dangerously again within moments. But he would have time to move her before he took her again. Lifting her off his remaining shaft, he carried her to his room and lay her on her back upon his bed. Lazily, she watched him move over her.

The sight of the small, shy rod that lay stiff and unsatisfied on her belly sent saliva bursting over his tongue. Without thinking, he lowered his head, licking the pearl of pre-cum he found in its cockslit.

She came to life, digging her heels into the mattress and shoving herself away and higher along the bed until she half sat upon his pillows. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He gazed at her in disbelief. “You made no demur at my sprouting fur and a second cock, yet now you are astounded by my desire to do this?” He gestured toward her phallus.

She hid it under the cup of her hand and shook her head. “It’s just that this is a part of myself I never considered sharing in
that
way.”

He slipped his palms under her knees, taking one of her legs in each hand and forking them wide on either side of him. Slowly he pulled until her inner thighs met his bent knees and she reclined under him again. His eyes held hers as he bent and kissed the back of the hand she’d lain over her prick. His tongue lapped between her fingers, licking at the shaft she tried to shield.

“I’ve never tasted another cock,” he told her between kisses. “Never taken one between my lips. Never even considered doing such a thing. But this particular cock is part of you. If we’re to be lovers, we can’t let it come between us. Well, I suppose it may
come
between us at times.”

She glared at him. “Are you actually daring to make a joke?”

“I’m trying to put you at ease.”

“Ease?” She gave her prick a quick squeeze, feeling how swollen it was. “It’s not working.”

“Then move your hand and let me apply something other than words.”

She raked her teeth over her lower lip. “I’m not sure.”

He tried another tack. Gently, he rubbed a middle finger between her labia, feeling the slight roundness where testes had puffed it into unusual fullness. With both thumbs, he separated the folds protecting her vagina.

Gods, her pussy was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Like a velvet heart with rose petals swirled around its center. He licked it, tasting himself. Some of the semen he had given seeped from her, trickling onto the bedcovers. His seed. But not his childseed. He’d been careful.

She moaned and her head fell back.

His forefinger replaced his tongue and he felt her inner muscles contract and grip him. His mouth went higher, until it again nudged at the feminine hand that clutched her cock. Her fingers inched away, just a bit. Just enough.

Angling his head, he took the base of her root in his mouth, sliding silkily along it. Below, his finger continued to play, ducking lazily inside her channel and back out.

Her fingers tensed, then relaxed and inched a bit higher, toward her belly button. Then higher still. He took advantage of each retreat, moving his wet, open mouth up her as she slowly yielded ground. Until finally, her hand retreated to her waist and he had her.

His tongue swirled over the smooth velvet plum that capped her shaft. Then he claimed the entire prize, engulfing her fully into the slippery heat of his mouth.

She drew in a sharp breath and then exhaled on another moan as he worked the firm O of his lips over her crown, sucking, tonguing, and lipping its plinth. From time to time he stroked from crown to root, then back again. In this, there was little guesswork for him. Having a cock—sometimes two—himself, he knew exactly what would feel best to her.

Goosebumps formed on her skin and her thighs quivered. Her knees drew up.

She touched his hair, halfheartedly pushing at him. “It’s feeling a little too good. Maybe you should move away,” she whispered. “What if it, you know, spends?”

“I’ll drink it.”

Her eyes widened, fascinated. “Oh God.” Her head fell back again, exposing her throat. Seconds later, her clawed fingers crimped the bedsheets as her prick convulsed, spurting its offering into his throat. Just a few drops came with each spasm, but he savored the salty, tangy-sweet taste of her cum. Gently, he suckled, taking it until she had no more to give.

Then he rose over her.

“Jordan,” he murmured. It took everything within him, but he somehow summoned up the humanity to ask. “I need you. Can you take me inside you again here?” He touched a finger between her labia.

Jordan’s lashes fluttered and her dazed eyes stared up at him. Licking her lips, she managed to nod.

Joy burst within him when he saw his own lust mirrored in her eyes. She wouldn’t fight him, nor would she turn him away. Later, when she was sore from his attentions, he’d introduce her to yet another feature of the Calling—the Seeker. Its ropy length would unfurl from his tailbone. Scenting her slits, it would seek them out and secrete a healing balm there that would ease any chafing his taking of her had caused, thus allowing him to continue his rut with her until dawn.

Leaning closer, he kissed her lips. She draped her wrists on his shoulders and gave him a sweet smile. Her cock was soft between them now. He could still taste it in his mouth.