Page 167 of May: Bloom & Bane

“We’re not going anywhere,” Ashán reassures her.

A second tendril peels from our spine and glides up the inside of her thigh, a third circling her ankle. She realizes at once what it means to be wanted by something that does not have to choose which part of her to touch.

“Ohhh,” she breathes.

“Oh,” Ashán agrees darkly.

I settle over her, caging her beneath the span of us, and drag my tongue from her jaw to the curve of her breast with no hurry at all. My mouth seals over the thin cotton, lips parting wide to draw her nipple deep. The fabric grows damp and see-through as I suck, pulling her soft flesh into a stiff peak until the pink outline shows clearly through the white of her shirt.

I work the other breast the same way, tongue pressing the cotton against her skin, leaving both nipples visibly erect and straining against the soaked shirt.

Ashán’s shadow pulses and twists inside her, while the other tendrils continue caressing the outside of her body.

“On my skin, Sage. Please.”

The shadows split her shirt in one clean motion, fabric parting from collar to hem with a soft rip. My mouth finds her skin, tongue dragging over her wet nipple. I suck harder now that nothing stands between us, fangs grazing the stiff peak while his hand cups the other breast, thumb rolling over the swollen tip.

“Better, mamé?” I press my vék against her entrance alongside the shadow already buried inside her. I hook her knee over my hip, and the thick crown of my cock nudges in, stretching her wider as his shadow makes room, both lengths sliding forward together. His shadow twists around my shaft, creating a double pressure that forces her open inch by inch.

Gods, that scent, I groan.

“Let me give you something even Death would be afraid to take,” Ashán rasps against her breast.

Another tendril coils higher, banding her thigh and pinning it wider. I sink the rest of the way in. Her body welcomes us. Where we should not fit, she simply… opens, her body yielding around both of us with an abundance of slick.

“So full. Feels—nghhhh—so much better like this.”

“Your body knows us, ílyara. It is not stretching for us. It is making room.” I press my forehead to hers, buried beside the cold dark of my other half. “I want to feel you change beneath my hands until there is no part of you, inside or out, untouched by what we made.”

I give her long, deep strokes, each one pushing the double thickness deeper until the head of my cock kisses her cervix. Ashán’s shadow thickens around me, filling every empty space until she’s impossibly full. Every thrust fills the room with slick, wet sounds.

“So wet,” Ashán breathes against her breast. “Your body is thanking us for every. single. thrust.”

The bloom-collar at my base begins to hum, a low, rolling vibration that builds with every stroke, petals trembling against her clit each time I seat myself deep.

“Can you—” she gasps, “—make them vibrate harder?”

A pleased sound rolls out of us. The petals quivering faster, harder, the slick friction turning into a wet, frantic buzz every time I bottom out. Ashán’s shadow pulses in time with my lím.

His gaze catches on the little black-and-white cookies Eden loves on the bedside table, and a wicked smirk curves his side of our mouth.

“Double stuffed,” he murmurs, his dark eye flashing with delight. “How charmingly inadequate.”

Did you just compare our mating to a cookie? I ask, without breaking rhythm.

I elevated the cookie, he corrects.

I want to be annoyed with him. I want that very much. But the laugh that rumbles through our shared chest is mine as much as his.

“So close,” she moans.

My kná begins to swell as the sucking, squelching noises grow louder.

Our hands slide under her thighs, guiding her legs upward until her knees fold back toward her chest. The angle opens her completely, hips tilting so both of us can sink to the absolute root. Her ankles rest against the broad slope of our shoulders, her whole body folded small and open beneath the mountain of us.

“Look how deep you take us like this.” My voice drops to something I barely recognize, every stroke grinding the humming petals flush against her. “This is where our vúsha begins, ílyara. Right here—” I press my palm flat against her belly, feeling my own thrust move through her. “—in the little garden your body grew just for us. I am going to fill you until it takes. Until you are round, and heavy, and so full of what we made that everyone who looks at you knows exactly whose garden you carry.”

She sobs. Her walls flutter around us, right on the edge.