He released her hands and she made good use of their freedom. Tangling one of them in the long strands of Eamon’s hair while the other went to the front of Cathal’s jeans.
Satisfaction purred through her at the feel of his hardened cock pushing aggressively against the zipper, that satisfaction deepening when his hands joined hers, making quick work of button and zipper, granting her access accompanied by a husky moan.
She loved the feel of him. Silk over hot steel. Loved finding the tip of his cock already wet in anticipation of being inside her. But more than anything, she loved the lack of tension and resistance, the sense of rightness at being together like this.
One of his hands covered hers, controlling the up and down slide of it while the other went to the front of her shirt.
Desire was a liquid heat in her belly, an ache centered in taut nipples. The promise of longing fulfilled.
Her back arched and it was Eamon who swallowed the soft moan that was agonized anticipation and a demand for Cathal to hurry with buttons and bra clasp, so she could feel his hands and lips on her bared breast.
Her cunt clenched at the imagined feel of hard tugs and sweet suction. Her stomach quivered, retreating from the waistband of her jeans, as if providing a gap between material and skin would summon touch, the slide and cup of a masculine hand. The torment and ecstasy of fingers on her clit, taking possession and returning pleasure, playing a game of dominance and submission as she grew wetter and wetter, her hips lifting and thighs splaying in a pleading for penetration and release.
She closed her eyes, taken over by the sensations bombarding her. The smooth satin of hair, and lips, and cock. The wet heat of an endless kiss. The rub and twine of tongues accompanied by the hot pulsing of a thick, fisted shaft.
Air caressed her breasts. And then Cathal did.
She cried out, pressing her nipple against his palm. Circled her thumb over the tip of his cock and was rewarded with the jerk of his hips, the slick flow of arousal—his, hers. She tore her mouth from Eamon’s just long enough to say, “Touch me.”
And he did, in the place that needed it most. His hand lingering only a moment on her belly, burning hot there then sliding lower to discover for himself just how ready she was to be loved.
This was magic enough for her. Having them both. Being able to enjoy them together like this. Deep relief and solidarity.
She lifted her pelvis in welcome. Her folds plump and swollen like well-kissed lips, her channel clenching with the proximity of Eamon’s fingers to it, begging to be filled by them, stretched and plundered. Her clit was erect, a knotted bundle of nerves sending fiery streaks of ecstasy all the way down to her toes with each of his strokes to it.
More. Harder. She wanted—
Her channel clenched violently, repeatedly, as orgasm came shockingly fast, her cry making the cock she stroked pulse and swell and strain. But rather than being sated and content, release only left her needy for more, for a deeper connection, a physical joining, to give as well as to receive.
She chose Eamon because they’d been separated, because he’d saved their lives today, because he’d made further inroads into her heart, and because he’d issued a sexual taunt about having her on her knees, with Cathal serving as witness.
Her lips curved in feminine anticipation of answering that taunt now, in this moment of bliss, when there was harmony instead of dissention.
Her hand slid from beneath Cathal’s, leaving his to continue the up and down stroke to his cock. She sent him a sultry glance, a challenge. “Your turn to watch.”
His nostrils flared but he didn’t deny her, didn’t snarl or bare his teeth when she moved, one knee settling on the cushion between Eamon’s open thighs, her hands going to the front of his shirt, freeing buttons as he placed his arms on the back of the couch, a lord waiting for his due, and she laughed against his mouth because even those who ruled could be made to beg.
She kissed him long and slow, captured and sucked his tongue in prelude to going to his ear, tongue exploring the new earrings he’d added along the shell, mouth settling on the tip, lingering there.
Victory was the catch of his breath. The arch of his back and the drop of his hand to his lap to free himself, to curl around his thick erection.
Elven pheromones. The scent of arousal. The feel of Cathal watching, all of it turned desire into a burning need, an inescapable destiny.
She captured tiny masculine nipples, tormented them with her fingers and then with her mouth, kissing downward until she was finally on her knees in front of him.
His expression was fierce demand. But she didn’t answer in the way he wanted.
She nuzzled the head of his cock, tongue darting out to lick, to explore the slit in it, to lash the part of his shaft above his hand. Only when his hips jerked upward with each of her touches did she relent, replacing his grip with hers, a tight fist that allowed her to take only what she wanted in her mouth.
“Etain.” Growled, masculine command. Lord still.
Until she began sucking. Then the sound of her name became a pleading for pleasure and finally a shout of it as he came.
She swallowed him down, the taste of his release like molten magic. And even when liquid essence ceased pulsing into her mouth, she kept him there, worshipping him with tongue and lips as he hardened because of it, her movements allowing Cathal to see what it meant for the both of them, to be part of this world Eamon had revealed.
Jesus, he was beyond denial now. He couldn’t look away as Etain continued to go down on Eamon. Couldn’t stop the up and down sweep of his hand on his shaft.
All he could think about was how much he wanted her mouth on him. Fuck, want was too tame a word. He was desperate for it.
A moan escaped. A pant followed.
He was burning up despite having shed his shirt. He was seconds away from coming on his chest and abdomen. His buttocks clenched as he remembered the way she’d ground her cunt against him the day before, ready to let him mark her with semen on her belly.
She finally stopped treating Eamon like a lollipop and came to him, eyes hot as she straddled him, sultry gaze promising ecstasy if he could survive long enough to experience it. Her lips were swollen, making him want to drag them downward.
“You could have made a fortune as a porn star,” he said, hand fisting in her hair.
She laughed. “Objectifying me now? Or offering to pass me on to one of your partners for representation?”
His lips pulled back. Instinctual baring. Possessiveness fully present even if jealousy had been submerged beneath an onslaught of lust the moment she’d put her hand on his dick. “Never.”
She bent down, mouth going unerringly to his nipple. Tongue a hot caress, a lightning strike straight downward.
His hips jerked upward. He didn’t even pretend control of them. “Put your mouth on me. Suck me off like you did Eamon.”
Points for him for acknowledging they weren’t just a couple. Instead of making him beg, she slid downward, taking him in hand, taking him between her lips.
“More.”
Deeper. Harder.
And she gave him what he wanted.
Took him until there was only white noise and searing, addictive release. Ecstasy that ebbed into a sensual lethargy invading every cell until it was dissipated by the swirl of her tongue and pull of lips.
He began to harden again as Eamon had. Desire returning in a thick fog. “I want inside you.”
Etain wanted it too, but the screeching, trumpeted, fingernails-over-chalkboard rendition of
