Dathan never hesitated, just offered his wrists to be bound and spoke with utter certainty. “I will do so.”
“And will you respect your fellow Consorts, giving them the support and friendship they need and deserve?”
Temair felt Miach go still at her side, not even breathing as Sorcha added the unexpected promise to Dathan’s ritual vows. If the moment hadn’t been so fraught with emotion and possibilities, Temair might have hugged her friend for knowing so perfectly what Miach needed, and providing it with no drama or discussion.
Dathan only raised a brow at the impromptu addition. His gaze flickered to Miach, and he made this promise directly to Temair’s First Consort. “I will do so.”
Sorcha gestured, and Dathan laid both hands over the delicate silver cuffs around Temair’s wrists. Temair responded by wrapping her fingers around his cuffs, and Sorcha immediately layered her hands over theirs and began to chant the mysterious, musical words that would join her with Dathan for eternity.
When Sorcha raised her hands from theirs, the thick silver bands around Dathan’s wrists were sealed without even a seam to show they’d ever been open. Temair examined her own cuffs. The copper symbolizing her joining with Miach had always reminded her of a delicate flame, wrapping around her wrists in fine licks of rosy metal. Dathan’s cuffs had twined through the flames, graceful curves of silver that evoked ocean waves, a cool counterpoint to Miach’s heat.
“By the four elements of Emetra,” Sorcha concluded, “By the blood of Zirah’s beasts, and by the soul of Turnin’s magic, you have bound yourselves together.” Magic shivered in her voice, trembled in the aire. Temair felt the tiny hairs on her body raise in anticipation, and saw Dathan’s heavy, dark hair lift in an invisible breeze. Something clicked, soul deep and unalterable, and looking into Dathan’s eyes, Temair knew the future had just altered. She could only hope it was for the better.
* * *
Nuriel dropped next to Sorcha, breathless with laughter and exertion from dancing. Sometime while she’d been clasped in Aquil’s thick golden arms, Temair and her Consorts had made their exit, leaving the party unobtrusively.
Sorcha was staring into the reflecting pool, eyes intent and otherworldly. It was easy for Nuriel to forget that her childhood friend would one day be the most powerful sorceress on the planet. Nights like tonight, when Sorcha’s power shivered on the aire and secrets whispered in her voice, Nuriel had no trouble remembering.
“We’ll keep her safe, Sorch,” she told her friend, already knowing what had the princess so grim.
“We’ve done a pathetic job of it so far,” Sorcha responded morosely.
“We’ve been on a sharp learning curve.” Nuriel shifted closer, laying her head on Sorcha’s shoulder and playfully blowing a fiery curl out of her way. “We know better now, and we won’t be so lax in the future.”
“We can’t lose her, Ellie.” Sorcha turned to her, dislodging her. Wide green eyes burned intently. “I can’t lose either of you.”
“Don’t call me that.” But her heart hurt at the fear in Sorcha’s eyes. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around her friend. “None of us are going to be lost, Sorch.” Drawing back, she met Sorcha’s eyes, letting her own fill with the rock-hard resolve that she rarely allowed to show. “We know better now,” she repeated. “We have Miach and Dathan. Soon we’ll have the magic of Aire and Earth, as well. These rebels won’t win.”
Some of the fyre in Sorcha’s eyes calmed, but Nuriel could tell her friend was far from convinced.
“I hope you’re right, Ellie.” Sorcha’s gaze wandered once more to the reflecting pool. “I really, really hope you’re right.”
Chapter Ten
Amazingly, Dathan was nervous. He laughed a little at himself. He’d never been nervous about sex, not even his first time. But now, facing his sweet little wife, his fucking formidable Queen, he was fairly shaking in his boots. Or would have been if he’d been wearing boots. Like the Consort.
Yes, Miach was another source of anxiety, though Dathan was loathe to admit it. He’d promised Temair he’d back off. He knew he needed to back off or he’d alienate the man forever. Hell, he wanted to back off. As much as the man compelled him, he didn’t actually want to truly upset him. But, sweet Mother, the Consort drew him, and Dathan knew he’d have to keep his wits about him to avoid pushing Miach further than he was ready to go.
Casting his eye around the room, Dathan saw the small bar set up in one corner. With an inaudible sigh of relief, he moved to pour himself a small glass of pale blue liqueur, a potent brew the Children of Rayne were known for.
“A drink, sweetheart?” he asked Temair.
“Perhaps later,” she answered with a slow smile that suggested she was well aware of his nerves.
“We’ve got fyre brandy, too,” he added. “If you’d prefer it.”
Temair made a little choking sound, and for the first time ever Dathan heard the Consort laugh. He turned to face the pale man with one brow raised, and Miach miraculously kept his smile.
“Spark doesn’t drink much.”
“Oaf,” she muttered, smacking at his shoulder as she moved around him to face Dathan, her hand extended imperiously. “Give it here.”
Hmmm. A power play with him smack in the middle. Interesting. He handed over the glass with a raised brow, grinning when Miach murmured, “Take it slow, my Queen,” and she shot them both a dark scowl.
But she did sip the blue liquid cautiously.
Dathan smiled even wider as the pleasure dawned in her eyes. Rayne liqueur was very different from fyre brandy, sliding over the tongue with deceptive sweetness. He reached out to drag his thumb over the damp surface of her lower lip as the drink hit her belly, landing with a soft explosion of heat that had her catching her breath.
“Try it.” She turned to offer Miach the cup, and he took it with a faint curl to the edge of his lips that suggested a smile.
“Trying to get me tipsy so I’ll lose my inhibitions?” he questioned dryly, but Dathan thought there was a thread of seriousness to the words. Damned if it didn’t tug at his heartstrings just a little bit.
“There’s nothing to be inhibited about tonight,” he told the other man firmly. “Nothing but our beautiful Queen, our sweet woman, bare before us and waiting to be pleasured.”
A spark kindled in Miach’s eyes as they traced over Temair’s body, outlined clearly by the pale aqua gauze of her wedding dress. “Not bare yet,” he commented in his deep, resonant voice, and Dathan saw Temair shiver at the words.
Dathan grinned. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Moving up to sandwich Temair between them he sent Miach a conspiratorial wink. “Let’s remedy that right now.”
* * *
Temair sighed at the sensation of being completely engulfed by her two Consorts. Miach stood at her back like a pillar of living flame, Dathan pressed against her front as fluid as the rayne that fueled his magic.
When her Rayne Consort cupped her chin and took her lips in a long, heated kiss, Temair let herself melt.
Miach’s hands shifted to her waist, steadying her as her knees went weak while Dathan ate at her mouth as though he’d been starving for her. One big hand collared her neck as the other held her face still, and Dathan simply devoured her. Teeth tugged at sensitive lips. Tongue plundered slick flesh. She couldn’t breathe, but she was fine with that. Dathan could breathe for her.
Behind her, Miach had picked loose the laces of her wedding gown. He shifted back a scant inch or two and cool aire sent shivers down her spine. One arm lifted without any conscious thought on her part, reaching behind to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. He pressed against her, all hard heat radiating through the silky-soft fabric of his clothing.
Now it was Dathan’s turn to pull back. Miach slid to his knees behind her, tugging her bodice down to bare her breasts for Dathan’s pleasure. Dathan’s pleasure was to cup them in callused hands and bury his face in the deep valley between them.
&nb
sp; “You feel so good, sweetheart,” he mumbled into the soft flesh. “Smell so good.” He burrowed deeper, his tongue sneaking out to trace swirling patterns on her cleavage. “Taste so good…” His words trailed off as he strung quick, stinging kisses over the full globes of her breasts. Funny to think that just a few short weeks ago she’d considered her breasts too full, too heavy. First Miach and now Dathan had shown her the error of that sort of thinking. Her Consorts clearly adored her “excess” flesh.
As if to prove her point, Dathan dropped to his knees and pressed a hot kiss to the under-curve of one breast before sucking the nipple into his mouth. Electricity flickered over her, sparkling along every nerve.
Behind her, Miach had tugged her dress to pool at her feet. He paused to breathe wet kisses at the base of her spine, then stood and stepped back, freeing her to focus all her attention on Dathan.
Up-tilted eyes glinted beneath blue-black bangs, giving him a wicked, teasing look. Temair rested her hand on his head, fingers combing through his hair until she could meet his gaze more clearly. Longing and affection vied with the sheer lust simmering there.
She let her hand drop to his shoulder. His skin was warm to the touch, golden velvet, and hers to stroke to her heart’s content. As she trailed her fingers over his shoulders, teasing the sharp line of his collarbone, Dathan leaned in and began pressing hot, wet kisses in a slow line down her belly. She hummed out her approval as he took deep, soft bites of the tender crease where hip joined leg.
He wrapped his palms around the backs of her thighs, steadying her and drawing her legs further apart at the same time. Temair let him guide her, content to follow his lead.
With a soft groan, he leaned in and buried his mouth between her legs. He ate at her like she was the sweetest, most succulent fruit he’d ever encountered. His tongue snaked between her swollen lips to scoop up the honeyed juices that flowed from her pussy like rayne. Her knees sagged, and Miach stepped close again, supporting her from behind, adding his heat to the whirlpool of desire surrounding her.
Just when she thought she’d go over, when the pleasure built to the point of pain, Dathan stood and began yanking at the tie of his sarong. In an instant he was mouthwateringly naked.
Miach tensed behind her, his cock digging into the small of her back, and Temair couldn’t resist grinding her bottom against him. He was as hard as marble against her back, his cock a brand against her. He gave a low groan at her gyrations, and she just had to smile.
Reaching back, she wrapped her hand around Miach’s hip, tugging impatiently at his breeches. Dathan stood before her, a feast for the eyes. Temair didn’t think she’d ever tire of seeing him, of the feel of his velvety skin. But there was something about Miach. He was so conservative, so formal, that the sensation of his naked skin, so silky against hers, was incredibly precious, insanely arousing.
“You, too, my Lord Fyre,” she murmured, tugging harder at the fabric keeping him from her. “I want you naked, too.”
He groaned again, and she felt his hand delve between them, tugging at laces, dragging his shirt over his head. Dathan watched silently, with obvious hunger that Temair knew was directed as much at Miach as at herself. The thought gave her a little thrill, and she fervently hoped that the day would come when she could enjoy watching her Consorts enjoy each other.
Turning, she pushed Miach back until his legs hit the bed, then gave him a playful shove that toppled him onto his back. Grinning at the look of anticipation in his eyes, she crawled on top of him, leaning in to kiss him with a hunger that suddenly bordered on desperation.
“Naked,” she breathed against his lips, and jerked at the laces of his breeches. He went still beneath her, body jolting slightly, and she realized that Dathan had yanked the boots from Miach’s feet. Before Miach could react, or Temair could begin to worry, Dathan pressed against her from behind, devoting all his attention to licking and nibbling at her neck.
With a short, gasping cry, Temair arched back, dragging her aching pussy over Miach’s erection even as she pressed back into Dathan’s embrace. The Rayne Lord reached around, cupping her breasts in large, callused hands, squeezing her nipples between his fingers until she squirmed in delight.
Miach swore softly and did some squirming of his own, thrusting his cock against her. He reached up to wrap his long fingers around her waist, and she felt him hesitate a moment when he brushed against Dathan’s velvety skin, then he was dragging her down against him, intensifying the press of their bodies.
“The lady said naked,” Dathan reminded them, and lifted Temair off of Miach and into his own arms. Miach jack-knifed up and obligingly tugged his breeches off, then stretched out on the bed, naked and glorious.
Shifting so that Temair could wrap her legs around his hips, Dathan cupped her bottom in his hands, splitting the cheeks wide. Miach grunted at the sight, and Temair spared a second to miss her usually vocal lover’s naughty talk. She hoped that as he became more comfortable with Dathan’s presence, the commentary would begin again, because the dirtier he talked, the wetter she got.
Dathan ripped her back to the present by pressing one long, thick finger against her rear opening. “Have you ever been taken here?” he asked softly, stroking over the puckered flesh and making her squirm. “Ever taken anything in this gorgeous, tight little ass?”
“No,” she panted, torn between pulling away and arching back into his touch.
His smile was pure sin when he looked down at Miach, who’d propped himself on his elbows to watch. “Care to do the honors?”
“Oh, fuck yeah.” Miach’s cock gave a hungry twitch at the invitation. And everything in her went liquid and hot.
“Have you ever done it like this before?” Dathan asked Miach, slowly working his finger into her resisting passage. It hurt, but… not.
Miach shook his head in the negative, and Dathan’s smile grew even naughtier. “Oh, you’re going to love this, Consort.”
Temair wondered if either man noticed that it almost sounded like Dathan was referring to Miach as his Consort. A glance at Dathan’s burning eyes suggested that the implication had been deliberate.
Dathan set a knee on the bed near Miach’s hip and leaned over the man to reach the low table beside the bed. An iron-hard arm around Temair’s waist kept her clasped to his chest, while Miach burned like fyre beneath them. A quick scuffle through a drawer, and he pushed back up, a cobalt glass bottle clutched in his hand.
“Watch and learn, Consort,” he teased, and lay Temair next to Miach on the bed.
Chapter Eleven
Miach was in sensory overload. Temair was spread out next to him, nipples red and swollen from Dathan’s hands and mouth, a shiny glaze of moisture on her thighs betraying her arousal.
Dathan stood before them, proud and aroused, sloe eyes filled with a knowledge that wrapped Miach in fiery bonds. As Miach watched, the Rayne Lord knelt and tugged Temair to the foot of the bed, kneeling between her spread thighs. Filling his palm with oil from the glass bottle he’d set on the floor next to him, the golden man cupped the other hand under Temair’s bottom and tilted her up.
With slow, deliberate movements he drizzled the oil from his palm to pool between her plump cheeks, puddling enticingly over her rear passage. Dipping his head, Dathan opened his mouth over her pussy. Temair gave a high, breathy cry and arched into the suction. The very instant she arched, Dathan buried one finger in her tight little asshole.
She shrieked at the sensation and arched even more sharply, grinding against the finger that was now thrusting lightly into her shuddering body. Miach couldn’t help but imagine how hot she must be there, how tight.
He pushed up higher, trying for a better view. Dathan had pulled back a bit, licking languorously along the folds of Temair’s pussy, stopping occasionally to suck at the lips or nip at the sensitive skin where her thigh met her groin.
When she was surging against his mouth, fists twisted in the coverlet, he slowly worked in a second finger. S
he screamed, and Miach had to grab the base of his dick to keep from spending.
“Ah, fuck, Miach.” Dathan’s voice was just a little bit ragged. His lips were red and his chin was wet with Temair’s juices. Miach had a brief, insane urge to lick the sweetness from the Rayne Lord’s mouth. He told himself he was horrified by the idea, but his dick certainly didn’t get that memo, surging even harder in his grip.
“She’s so hot,” Dathan continued. “Like a burning little fist.” Temair was lifting into the thrusts of Dathan’s fingers, whimpering in obvious ecstasy. He sent Miach a knowing glance through shaggy bangs. “You won’t last two strokes.”
And that little shit did not just challenge him.
“You’re awfully cocky there, number two,” he responded, moving to all fours and crawling over to kneel by Temair’s hip at the foot of the bed. “Maybe you’re afraid you won’t last two strokes.”
Dathan’s finger thrusts into the princess’s rear passage had slowed as they talked. That blue-black gaze locked with Miach’s own and flared. Miach wondered what the Rayne Lord saw in his eyes.
Before he could taunt the man further, Temair pushed up on one elbow and reached out to smack him in the back of the head. Miach jerked his attention to her and found his lovely, sweet-natured wife glaring at him. She turned to include Dathan in her baleful gaze and said, “If one of you doesn’t start that stroking now, I’m going to do some stroking of my own and leave you to fend for yourselves.” Slender fingers slipped down to stroke between her thighs, and both Dathan and Miach lurched into motion.
* * *
Temair had no problem letting Dathan take the lead in their lovemaking, and she absolutely loved the heat simmering between her Consorts, but if one of them didn’t get inside her in ten seconds or less, she thought she might spontaneously combust.
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