Page 48 of A Taste for the Peculiar

Cascade shudders and bucks. Runes glow in Selbie’s skin as Cascade applies the same fervor between her legs. Avirin’s face is powdered with pollen, but she doesn’t stop moving her mouth between Cascade’s legs until Cascade’s entire body tightens.

Selbie curses and shudders, her cheek pressed to Avirin’s temple. Avirin maintains her pace, determined to bring both women to the peak, and Cascade’s leaves shiver when she rolls against Avirin’s mouth.

The sweet rush of her release drips over Avirin’s chin, but Avirin continues, slowing only once Selbie is twitching and combing through Avirin’s hair. Selbie kisses Avirin languidly, licking Cascade’s desire from Avirin’s face before she holds it in admiration. “A perfect student.”

Avirin barely restrains herself from mewling at the praise.

After a moment, Cascade settles Selbie back onto the seat and moves down to the floor. She grips Avirin’s cheeks in one hand and kisses her slowly. It steals her breath, but then Cascade lies back on the floor, stretching like a cat and settling her head between Pye’s feet. “Attend me, Lady Riften.” She crooks two fingers. “Let’s show your husband what they’re missing.”

Pye’s smirk doesn’t dissipate, but their breaths are deeper, chest rising and falling beneath the open buttons of their shirt. Avirin crawls into place over Cascade’s mouth, gripping Pye’s legs while she straddles Cascade’s face. She draws sounds out of Avirin immediately, and Avirin presses her head into Pye’s knee, holding her skirts aside to watch Cascade’s tongue.

Behind Avirin, Selbie draws closer, tracing fingers against Avirin’s back. Whatever else she’s doing makes Cascade groan against Avirin’s cunt, and Avirin’s hips stutter at the sensation.

Pye brushes a hand through Avirin’s hair. What must she look like? Pathetic. Debased. Debauched. Her mouth hangs open, caught on a constant string of whimpers.

Pye drags their thumb across her lip. He collects the remnants of her saliva and laps it up, like it might hold some semblance of the noises she makes.

Avirin shudders. She remembers what Pye’s mouth can do. Her hips buck, grinding against Cascade’s face like an animal in heat. Cascade hums with approval, and when Selbie moves behind Avirin, it rocks Cascade and drags her lips against Avirin’s pussy.

A warm coil winds tighter in her belly. Her fingers grip Pye’s trousers, and Pye touches her cheek softly to bring her unfocused eyes back to his. “Don’t release it yet.”

Selbie cackles. “Oh, he is mean.”

Avirin wants to sob. The pleasure is too strong, swarming her and dragging her toward an inevitable conclusion.

Pye curls their hand gently around her throat. “Do not.”

She nearly cries at the sudden swarm of desire. If he doesn’t want her to come, then why is he touching her like this? This touch should be threatening. It should be terrifying. No one else has held her this way, yet having her throat in Pye’s hand makes her body pulse with need.

She presses further into his grip, and his eyes spark. Cascade doesn’t slow her motions; if anything, she’s more intent to bring Avirin to the pinnacle, filling the room with their slick sounds. There is some war of domination between Cascade and Pye, and Avirin is trapped at its white-hot center.

She keens. For every second she holds back, the pleasure grows. Her toes curl while she rides Cascade’s mouth, and Pye’s fingers tighten enough to make her head spin.

Everything they’ve done tonight should be wrong, but somehow, the shame acts like kindling to the heat inside her. Her mind may be addled with lust, but it’s clearer than it’s ever been, a still lake where she can see straight to the bottom. How can this be wrong? How can finding joy and pleasure in each other, without force, without persuasion, be worthy of damnation?

Why should she feel guilty for any of this?

She can’t hold it together. She needs some relief from this delicious torture, needs to fall over the edge. Pye lowers his head to press their foreheads together, breathing in her gasps and moans. “Please,” she whimpers. “Let me. Please —”

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “So perfect. You bear it so beautifully.”

Pleasure jolts through her body. He refuses her, yet everything he does is meant to shatter her. It’s cruel. It’s awful. It’s exactly what she wants. It’s too much, too good, and she can’t — she can’t —

“You can,” Pye breathes. “I know you. I know you can.”

She grits her teeth, warring with the pleasure that threatens to consume her. “Please — have —” Her voice cracks. “Mercy, my gods —”

His touch is devastating in its gentleness. “Not yet, sweetheart. Not until I tell you.”

She nearly sobs. “I can’t —”

“Hold onto it.”

“Please!”

“There you go.”

“Please, Sir —”