Dante kept up his thrusting, the rough, uneven shape of his knuckles stroking the inside of her pussy.
Sasha leaned forward and sucked her mound into his mouth. His tongue pushed roughly between the pillows of flesh and up against her frantically throbbing clit. He teased it with his tongue, stroking it with devastating expertise.
Rory gripped his shoulders. She would have fallen, otherwise. She couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. The climax built, stealing her thoughts. She couldn’t stop it and she didn’t want to.
She orgasmed and it felt as though thunder erupted inside her, while the lightning zapped her nerves and snapped taut every tendon in her body. It rampaged through her.
She screamed, unable to stop herself.
When she could open her eyes once more, Sasha was standing, watching her pleasure. Only Dante was holding her up and he removed his fingers from inside her and turned her around to face him.
His expression was heated. “Hold her steady for a moment,” he told Sasha.
Sasha gripped her waist as Dante tugged his shirt up and over his head. He dropped it onto the sofa behind him. His muscles bunched and flexed as he moved.
Then he dropped his hands to his jeans and swiftly unbuckled the big belt and tore the zipper down.
He stripped the rest of his clothes with an impatient shove, bending to rid himself of the last of them.
When he straightened, Rory drew in another unsteady breath. She had seen him naked before. It had always been casual, accidental moments, that had passed by unremarked because they were friends who trusted each other completely and for whom such things didn’t matter.
Except now they did.
Rory let herself study him, taking in the satiny skin and his engorged cock, thick with pumping veins and a head that was flared almost painfully hard. The powerful thighs beneath.
All the better to thrust deep and hard with.
Dante curled his hand around his cock, almost as if he would pump himself to climax right there. Rory caught her breath again.
“I could come, just looking at you,” he said, his voice low.
“That would be a waste.” She could barely form the worlds.
“So, instead….” He gripped her waist once more and lifted her.
It was an athletic move, one that only a very strong man could make. He raised her up, lifting his head to watching her face. “Put your legs around me,” he commanded.
She wrapped her legs around him and it opened her up, exposing flesh and organs.
Dante lowered her down again and this time, his cock pushed up against the very slippery cleft. He found her pussy unerringly and for a moment he paused, looking at her.
Rory knew what he was thinking. All the years when this pleasure could have been theirs and she had denied it. Now, the pleasure was different, because Sasha was part of it.
Dante penetrated her, spreading her tissues, opening her up and filling her. It was a deeply satisfying sensation and her clit throbbed as if it was in agreement. She put her arms around his neck, holding herself up, even though there was no need. Dante was more than strong enough.
Sasha pressed against her from behind and she shivered, because it was the touch of bare flesh against her ass and back. His lips trailed over the flesh where Dante had been kissing her, at the base of her neck. He rolled and teased her nipples and her hips thrust forward as her clit stirred, her pleasure building once more.
“Kiss me,” Sasha breathed.
Rory turned her head. Sasha leaned over her shoulder and touched her lips with his.
“Me, too,” Dante said.
Rory kissed him, too, then gasped, straightening up, as Sasha’s fingers pressed between her rear cheeks, up against the opening, rimming the sensitive muscle and making everything clench in response.
Dante hissed. “You’re squeezing me.”
“Sasha’s fault,” she breathed.
“All my fault,” Sasha agreed. He sounded pleased about it. His fingers were pushing deeper, opening her up. Preparing her. There was a foreign slickness to his touch that told her he was using lubricant to ease the way.
Rory liked anal sex. She liked all sex, any way, although anal sex was a particular favorite. Now, though, with Dante already inside her, the promise and anticipation was almost overwhelming. She moaned and rested her head against Dante’s shoulder. “I’m going to die.”
“Too late,” he whispered.
“Again,” she amended.
“Let me help you with that,” Sasha said. He was breathing hard. He gripped her waist, his hands meshing with Dante’s. His cock pressed against her, seeking entry.
Rory let herself relax and felt the muscle open up. Sasha eased inside, a bit at a time and she relaxed even more. He knew what he was doing. Even though she healed instantly, it was unpleasant if a man didn’t know how to approach such matters.
Yet Sasha seemed to be able to read her body. His entry was smooth, as simple as if it was her pussy he was pushing into.
Rory gasped at the sensations having both of them in her produced. She had never indulged in threesomes before, because with three egos together it was that much easier to lose control. Control wasn’t an issue now and she was secretly pleased it was Dante and Sasha who introduced her to this very satisfying arrangement.
“Don’t move for a moment,” she begged and closed her eyes, siphoning every dollop of pleasure from the moment.
“Not possible,” Dante breathed. His hips shifted and his cock pulsed inside her, causing Rory to clamp down.
That made Sasha suck in a quick breath. “I am already far too close…” he muttered. He withdrew and pushed back into her.
“God, I can feel you,” Dante said, with a groan. He thrust, almost helplessly.
The two of them were rocking in and out of her as they held her between them. Rory gasped as the uneven, desperate thrusts slammed her into an unexpected climax. It showered over her, giving her no chance to brace herself or anticipate it. It encompassed her whole body, making her shudder with the power of it.
Light flared, fading her vision.
She was tossing on a stormy sea of pure pleasure, a helpless vessel.
Dante’s agonized thrusts and groans restored her senses. Sasha was almost panting as his hips worked against her. They were pumping into her in shortened strokes. Then they came together, both of them leaning in, holding her between them, their bodies fiery with heat and passion.
* * * * *
When they had untangled themselves, Sasha found he was still reaching for both of them. A hand, a stroke, a kiss. He couldn’t leave them alone.
When Rory suggested they all shower together, Sasha was relieved. That would extend this moment for a while longer.
The shower was one of the big walk-in ones, which gave them room to cling together under the spray of hot water from two shower heads.
The hot water felt good. The kisses were better. Even though Sasha had a beautiful woman and an equally beautiful man in his arms and would normally have found that stimulus enough to push one or the other against the tiles and have his way with them, he was less interested in doing that now, than he was in seeking Rory’s mouth, or Dante’s.
What was wrong with him? He had tucked away the little kernel of worry when Rory had said he should. Now it bloomed again, even stronger than before.
Dante wanted him. Rory wanted him. Why was this even a concern? He had never been a monk. Dalliances in any city he found himself in were common. The cold war was far enough in the past that being Russian was now an exotic thing. A sexy thing. So partners were easy to come by. This was just another moment.
Wasn’t it?
He had come here to help with the war and to get away from the heat in Moscow. Eventually, things would settle down there and a friend or a colleague he trusted would phone and tell him it was safe to go home once more.
Sasha had always assumed he would return, sooner or later. Yet he had spoken the truth
out there in the main room, when he had said that perhaps he had not been faking his dismay about Dante’s departure.
He hadn’t lied to either Rory or Dante once, not in all the days since he had met them. How unusual. He lied for a living and found masks convenient for deflecting people away from learning too much about him.
Rory had speared him with her disdain the moment they met, which had never given him a chance to let a mask slide into place. Instead, he had scrambled to defend himself.
Now he couldn’t stop kissing them. Either of them.
He was going back to Russia. Not today or tomorrow, but soon. That was a fact. It was the pattern of his life. He had counted on that to disentangle himself more than once before.
So why was he so full of dismay at the idea, now? He was fond of them. They were unique people and if he was the catalyst that had brought them together, then he was happy to serve that role. They deserved each other.
This will end, he told himself. I will have to go home, eventually.
Rory’s blue eyes were half closed as she pulled her full, pouting lips away from Dante and sought his.
Sasha kissed her willingly, his body tightening as he ran his hands over her wet curves, the flare of her hips and her softness, so different from Dante’s iron-hard body.
I am not in too deep. Not yet, he told himself, as Dante coaxed Sasha to let Rory go and turn to him.
As Dante kissed him, Sasha remembered an English phrase, something for which there was no equivalent in Russian. He thrust the thought away hastily.
He was not whistling in the dark. He was not in too deep. He was fine. He was going to return to his life and everything would be as it should.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Francesca slid into the room without disturbing anyone. She didn’t like to disrupt the work they did here, because even though she did not understand all of it, she did know it was important. Dominic had explained some of it to her in his English-accented Spanish. Every day he was becoming more and more westernized.
The big office room was busy, with people peering at computers. There was some sort of classical music playing, down low. She thought it might be Mozart and wondered if Dominic had put it on and left it running when he had gone up to bed.
There were only vampires and the strange man they call an Elah, whose name was Koca. His odd-shaped head drew attention in the room. He was also the reason she was here. She went up to him and held out the big glass. “Water at room temperature, filtered twice. That is right, isn’t it?”
Koca sized up the glass, then took it. “Thank you,” he said. “That is right. You are very considerate.” He drank half the glass and sighed.
“And that really substitutes for sleep?” Rory asked.
“If I can put my feet in soil and drink water, then I can go without sleep for two or more days, yes.” Koca moved his mouth in a strange way. “This is a household that never sleeps. I must match that.”
“There are many sleepers,” Francesca said.
Koca looked at her. So did Rory.
“It is four o’clock,” she said. The attention was making her feel awkward. “There are six humans sleeping right now, so they can hunt tonight. The only human in the house who is awake right now is Kate, who is in the conservatory, caring for Lini.” Francesca liked Lini.
Koca moved to put the glass on the desk nearest to him and Francesca jumped a little when she realized that Azarel was in the room. He had been standing behind Koca. He was staring at the screen that Nial was working on. It looked as though he had not noticed her arrival or anything she had said.
Relieved, Francesca waved toward the glass. “Well…anyway….”
“Nial, you should see this,” Roman said sharply, making everyone look at him, even Francesca.
Nial pushed a hand through his hair, got up and moved to stand behind Roman’s shoulder and look at his screen. Then he frowned.
“Link?” Rory called, for she was sitting at a computer that was facing Roman’s.
Francesca saw a live link appear at the bottom corner of Rory’s screen. The rest of the screen was numbers and columns of text and that was all.
Rory clicked on the link and a news site popped up. There was a picture of mountains that reminded Francesca of Chile. The page was in English, which Francesca could still barely comprehend as a written language. She didn’t try to read even the headlines. They were large and black.
Azarel moved to look at Nial’s screen. Francesca wondered if he could read English. He seemed to have arrived here with basic skills like that already built-in, for which she envied him.
Koca moved around behind Rory so he could see her screen. He didn’t seem to have any trouble reading it. His gaze moved from one side of the screen to the other. “Oh dear…” he said, his voice soft.
“What is wrong?” Francesca asked quickly.
Azarel looked up. “In the Andes, a whole valley of Ĉiela were found. All dead.”
Sadness touched her. “Is that all of them now?” she asked.
Nial looked at Azarel.
“There were few of them left,” Azarel said. “I cannot tell in this human form if there are any more.”
“They’re dying, the ones that are left,” Rory said softly. “They will be no opposition for the Summanus.”
“Certainly not hiding up at the top of mountains,” Nial said dryly. “Rory, how close are you to having that model finished?”
“A day, perhaps,” Rory said. Francesca liked the way her voice didn’t rise. She wasn’t upset by Nial’s short tone. Francesca also like the way she was dressed, today. The dress was a soft knit material. It had big sleeves that narrowed down to tight ones at the wrist. The top of the dress seemed loose, only once it reached her thighs, it hugged them. It stopped quite a few inches short of her knees.
She was also wearing high heels, as she very nearly always did, whenever she was not hunting. Francesca also liked what she wore when she was hunting. If Dominic had headed out into the night in shiny black leather and boots, she would have accused him of being melodramatic. On Rory, though, the leather and studs and heavy boots did not seem ridiculous. They suited Rory and they matched the heavy sword on her hip, too.
There was not much about Rory’s clothes and accessories that Francesca didn’t like. She would never in a million years even contemplate wearing such outrageous clothing herself, although she did like them on Rory. They suited her personality, from the little Francesca knew of it.
Rory crossed her legs, a calm look on her face, waiting for Nial to react to her estimate of how long the model would take to complete—whatever the model was.
Nial stood up. “You’ve been working on it for a week.” His voice was harsh.
“Any system that includes human behavior as an element is automatically highly complex. I’ve worked with quantum system models that were simpler than what you’ve asked me to build here. You should consider yourself lucky I will finish it when I do.”
Everyone else remained perfectly still and silent. They were all looking at Nial. Francesca didn’t know why they would be watching him so carefully, but her heart thudded heavily, anyway. It was as if she was sucking up the tension in the room.
Only Rory looked calm as she stared at him.
Nial shook his head. “Every day we fool around here, is another night the Summanus can cut down our numbers.”
Everyone was silent again, only this time, Francesca knew why. There had been three hunters killed last night.
Nial blew out his breath. “Tomorrow, then,” he said and walked out of the room
Everyone relaxed.
Roman blew out his breath. “Someone needs to pop his cork before the whole damn bottle goes up.”
Rory turned back to her computer screen. “Then I should warn you that I won’t be giving him good news when I have finished the model.”
Azarel and Koca were listening intently.
Roman winced. “How bad?”
; “That is why I need a day. I don’t know yet how bad it is. I can only say it does not look good.” She spun on the chair and crossed her legs again, showing lots of thigh. Francesca wondered how she could do that and not be self-conscious about it. Rory didn’t seem to even notice.
The vampire woman looked up at Koca. “If I could ask you more questions about your nature and your culture, that would help complete my model in more significant detail.”
Koca bent his head forward. He did that a lot, instead of saying yes, Francesca realized. “I would be pleased to help,” he told her.
Rory smiled. She had a beautiful smile. It made her eyes glow. “Longevity. Fecundity. Population rates.”
“Attrition?” Koca suggested.
“Then you understand these concepts. Good,” Rory told him. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Now?” Koca asked. His voice was flat. It always sounded flat. Francesca thought he was surprised by Rory’s request, though.
“Before you start filleting him,” Roman said, “let me finish up first. We were interrupted.” He moved back to the computer he had been sitting behind when Francesca first came into the room and Koca moved back around the table to stand next to him.
Francesca went up to Azarel, who was still reading the screen showing the news clip about the Ĉiela. He seemed sad. She dared to let her hand rest on his arm for a moment. She could feel the play of muscles and tendons beneath her hand, right through the cotton of his shirt. “Are you going to go hunting, after all?” she asked him, keeping her voice down.
He looked at her and she had no trouble reading his surprise. “How did you know that?”
“It was a guess,” she assured him. “If you’re going out tonight, you should go and sleep now.”
“I’m fine,” he said stiffly, staring at the screen.
“Now, you are fine,” she replied. “Later, when it is important that you’re alert, you won’t be.”
He didn’t react.
“Azarel,” she said and shook his arm.
He blinked and stirred and looked at her.
“Sleep,” she said as firmly as she dared.
Blood Ascendant (Blood Stone Book 5) Page 25
