Moonlit Ménage

by Bronwyn Green

  Quill dropped to his knees between their legs and slid his hand behind Brontë’s head, urging her to meet his lips. Kissing her deeply, he slid his fingers over her dripping pussy, rubbing her clit.

  Suddenly, she stiffened, a low keening moan spilling from her lips into his mouth. He could feel her contracting and rippling around Tarran’s cock as his friend thrust one last time into her trembling body, coming on a ragged groan.

  Brontë slumped against Tarran, trying to catch her breath, not quite able to believe she’d just had sex with both guys. Tarran wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed tender kisses to her spine while Quill gently brushed her hair from her face.

  Cold shame crept in, pushing out the blissful contentment. What was wrong with her that one man wasn’t enough? Worse, she’d done exactly what she’d been worried about. She’d let her heart get involved. Slowly, she eased off Tarran and groped for her clothes.

  His hand smoothed down her back. “What’s wrong, love?”

  She blinked back tears at the concern in his voice.

  Quill lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve just never done anything like this before and…I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

  A crooked grin quirked Quill’s lips. “We think you’re amazing.”

  “And that you’re perfect for us,” Tarran added.

  A small kernel of hope grew in her chest, and she relaxed a little, but she still couldn’t imagine a relationship like this ending well.

  “Come home with us,” Tarran urged.

  God, she wanted to, she really did, but she couldn’t. “I’ve got an audition in the morning for class placement.” She needed to get at least a little sleep before then.

  “We’ll wake you in time to get back to your room and get ready,” Quill persuaded. “Besides, with what’s been going on, I think we’d both feel better if you were someplace we could keep an eye on you.”

  Blinking, she realised the night seemed too quiet. The music had ceased as if it had never been there in the first place. But who knew when it would be back?

  * * * *

  After her audition the following morning, Quillen and Tarran were waiting for her outside her residence hall with a bulging backpack.

  “Picnic?” she asked looking from one gorgeous face to the other.

  They shook their heads, seeming tense and almost nervous.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, warily.

  “Can we come in?” Tarran asked, taking her instrument from her hand.

  Nodding, she swiped her key card through the reader and the locks disengaged. She pushed open the door and the guys followed her down the hall to her room. She unlocked her door and once they were inside, Quillen spun her and pinned her against the hard wood.

  “I’ve missed you, cariad,” he growled against her mouth, before capturing her lips and forcing his way inside.

  She groaned at the sweet invasion and twined her fingers through his silky, dark hair. Her nipples hardened insistently against his chest as he gathered her closer, his cock hard and pressing into her body. His hand swept up to cup an aching breast, kneading it as he continued to pillage her mouth.

  Tarran cleared his throat, and Quillen lifted his head, reluctance and amusement showing in his eyes. “Apparently, I’m not the only one who missed you.”

  Pushing away from the door, he stepped aside as Tarran took his place, taking her lips in a desperate, hungry kiss. Sliding his hand beneath her shirt, he caressed her belly, his big, rough hand warm against her skin.

  She’d missed them, too. Liquid need flooded her channel as her body wept for want of him—for want of them. She fumbled with his zipper, as her pussy clenched emptily, needing to be filled. He tugged off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Leaning forward, she pressed kisses across his chest scraping her teeth across his nipples as he groaned.

  Quill slid between her and the door, his cock grinding against her ass. Reaching around her, he unbuttoned her shirt, baring her lace covered breasts to the other man. Tarran kissed a path down her neck as Quill pulled the blouse from her body. Bending, Tarran pulled her nipples into the warm, wet heat of his mouth, sucking hard. Alternating between nipples, he bit and tugged rhythmically at them, dampening the fabric of her bra and drenching her folds.

  A gasping cry burst from her lips as Quill unzipped her pants and worked his fingers inside her swollen folds. His other hand covered her mouth, his lips at her ear. “Careful, unless you want an audience.” A fresh rush of arousal coated his fingers, and he chuckled. “Or maybe you do.”

  She shook her head, biting her lip behind his hand.

  His thumb on her clit, he slid a finger inside her needy passage.

  “You’re so tight. I can only imagine how you felt clutched around Tarran’s cock last night.” He took a shuddering breath. “I can’t wait to be buried inside your sweet cunt.”

  Greedy little tremors of longing shuttled through her body, causing her to pulse and flutter around his finger. At the same time, Tarran pulled down the cups of her bra, letting her breasts spill over the fabric. He lowered himself to his knees, continuing to torment her, sucking and biting at her nipples.

  Release coiled and knotted within her. She was close. Rocking her hips into Quill’s hand, she tangled her fingers in Tarran’s hair and kept his mouth where she wanted it. Her thighs began to shake with strain, but she continued to arch and grind against Quillen’s fingers. Unexpectedly, he flicked his thumbnail over her clit and everything burst. The coiling release snapped and spun like an out of control top through her body while brightly coloured lights flashed behind her closed lids.

  Slowly, Quill lowered her to the floor and carefully removed his hand from her mouth. She dragged gulps of cool air into her lungs, while aftershocks shivered through her.

  Tarran sat back on his heels, his hard cock peeking out from where she’d undone his pants. Bracing her hands on his thighs, she bent forward and took him into her mouth, loving the strangled sound that stuck in his throat. She swirled her tongue around the wide head before taking as much of his shaft as she could. He fisted his hands in her hair, guiding her motion. “So good,” he groaned.

  Behind her, Quill tugged off her shoes and jeans, leaving her in her panties. Kneeling behind her, he palmed her ass, rubbing his warm hands over her sensitive skin. He traced the edge of her underwear, slipping his fingertip beneath the fabric before yanking them down her thighs to leave them draped around her knees. She could only imagine the picture she made—bare ass in the air, soaked pussy exposed and her mouth around another man’s cock.

  Quill slid his fingers through her folds, groaning before removing them. “You taste even better than I remember, cariad.” After a brief pause, they were back, swirling through her juices. He pulled them away and leaning over her back, held out his hand to Tarran. “Taste her,” he demanded.

  Tarran grasped Quill’s wrist and held it steady as he sucked her cream from the other man’s fingers.

  Groaning around Tarran’s cock, Brontë was sure she’d never seen anything more erotic in her life. A bit of precum leaked onto to her tongue, and she swallowed it down hungrily, wanting more.

  Quillen rested his hand on the small of her back as he wedged his knee between hers, nudging them apart, widening her stance. Thick and hot, he dragged the wide head of his cock along her folds, letting it brush across her straining clit.

  Anticipation swirled within her. Moisture trickled down the insides of her thighs as she eagerly awaited his claiming. Any hope that he wouldn’t notice was immediately crushed.

  He trailed his finger through her cream. “You’re so ready for this, you’re dripping.”

  She would have begged, but her mouth was full. Instead, she pushed back against Quill’s hand, hoping he’d take the hint. Knowing she wouldn’t last long once he was inside her, she redoubled her efforts on Tarran’s co
ck. She shifted her hold on him, so she could caress his balls while she sucked. He tightened his hands in her hair, tugging sharply. Sharp pinpricks of pain-laced pleasure blossomed on her scalp. When she groaned around his shaft, he did it again. At this rate, she might come before Quill was ever inside her.

  Quill stroked his cock through her folds again, then steadily shoved his thick width inside her, her pussy grasping and clinging to him as he inched forward. She was still tender from last night, but he felt so good filling her. Any discomfort vanished as soon as he started to shift.

  Slowly, he tunnelled through her swollen tissues, his breath catching as he hilted himself within her. “You feel so good, I don’t think I can move.”

  Oh no. She needed him to move, to touch all those needy spots within her. He couldn’t keep her on edge like this forever. Clenching on him, she pushed backward, shoving her hips into his.

  “Fuck her,” Tarran demanded. “Can’t you see how badly she needs it? Fill her.”

  Groaning her appreciation, she worked Tarran’s cock harder, fisting it as she slid him in and out of her mouth. He pulled her hair off her face so he could watch her as she engulfed him.

  Holding her hips steady, Quill pulled back before thrusting forward—hard. “Like this?”

  “Yes!” she screamed around Tarran’s cock.

  “More,” Tarran urged. “Shaft her faster.”

  Closing her eyes, she met Quillen stroke for stroke as she brought Tarran closer to the edge.

  Tarran’s fingers clutched and released in her hair, and she knew he was almost there. In her palm, his balls tightened. “Gonna come,” he warned her. But she stayed where she was. Suddenly, his body stiffened and she took him deeper as hot splashes of cum spilled down her throat. Swallowing him down, she let him slip from her mouth as her own release crept closer.

  Quillen continued to plough into her willing body, filling her with almost violent thrusts. His fingertips dug into her hips, creating a near biting pain, and she loved every minute of it. Tarran guided her head onto his lap, effectively changing the angle of the strokes, making each one more intense than the last.

  Her womb trembled, climax imminent as Quill’s balls slapped wetly against her pussy.

  “Harder,” she whispered. “I need you to fuck me harder.”

  Rasping curses, in a language she didn’t recognise, filled the air, and he slammed into her. The release that had hovered just out of reach coalesced and burst, sending shards of pleasure streaking through her. Quill shafted her through the shuddering contractions that racked her body, finally exploding in gushes of white-hot cum that seared her from the inside out.

  Breathing heavily, he slumped over her back, wrapping his arms around her. He pulled her to lay with him on the floor while Tarran disappeared into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a wet washcloth. Tenderly, he cleaned her up before tossing the cloth to Quill.

  Tarran pulled back the covers on Brontë’s bed and helped her up from the floor and onto the mattress. Crawling between her warm body and the wall, he drew her close to him, leaving enough room for Quill on the other side.

  As much as he didn’t want to shatter this peaceful moment, they needed to talk about tonight. It was the Solstice. He and Quill both feared that while they were preparing to take their thrones, Rhosyn and her followers would come for Brontë. So far, they’d only come up with one way to prevent it. Hopefully, they could convince her to agree.

  Chapter Four

  “You want me to what?” Brontë demanded.

  Tarran sighed and smoothed her hair off her face while Quill traced invisible designs on her stomach.

  “It’s only for one night—maybe only a few hours,” Quill soothed.

  Neither one of them knew how long the crowning would last, but since they were in agreement to avoid any human sacrifices at all, it could take a while.

  “Let me get this straight…you want me to chain myself to a chair and stay there until you come back the next day to let me out?”

  “Or the bed,” he added helpfully.

  “Look, if you two want to tie me up and have your wicked way with me, I’m totally down with that, but wouldn’t it make more sense if you were here, too?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh…and get hard. She really was perfect for them. Now they just needed to keep her alive long enough to show her.

  “Believe me,” Quill said, “we’re all for tying you up and having kinky sex, but this is about keeping you safe—not getting you off.”

  She frowned. “Explain. Completely this time.”

  “Tonight’s the Solstice,” Tarran said.

  “Longest day of the year. Got it.”

  He sighed. “This would be easier if you’d quit interrupting.”

  She scowled but remained silent.

  “The Sidhe are having a…celebration at midnight. Since you’re already marked, it’s my guess that they’re going to try even harder to get to you. You’ll be unable to resist the lure of the song.”

  “And what’s to prevent them from waltzing in here and unlocking these lovely shackles and dragging me away anyway?”

  Quill rested his hand on her stomach. “They’re made of iron. Too much exposure to iron will injure or even kill a faery.”

  They’d had a hell of a time gathering the shackles and chain, it had burned through the protective gloves they’d worn. Sooner or later, they’d have to tell Brontë the truth about who they were, but he’d prefer to save that discussion until after the crowning.

  “How do you guys even know this stuff?” she asked.

  Tarran smiled tightly at her. “The benefits of being locals with superstitious relatives.”

  “Once you’re secured to the bed,” Quill began, obviously hoping to distract her, “make sure you toss the key as far from you as you can. Otherwise, you’ll be unlocking yourself and following that damn song.”

  “We’ll come for you as soon as it’s safe,” Tarran added. It would be difficult to get away once the coronation had taken place, but somehow, they’d find a way to do it.

  Concern marred her brow. “Wouldn’t it be better if we all stayed together?”

  “No!” Quillen said. “You’ll be far safer here.”

  Brontë pressed her lips together as if she wanted to say more, but she stayed silent.

  Tarran pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’re…meeting with them tonight to try to keep them from targeting you or anyone else again.”

  Her blue-green eyes clouded with worry. “What if they hurt you? I don’t want you two putting yourselves in danger on my account. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to either of you.”

  “We’ll be okay,” Quill murmured, dropping a tender kiss on her upturned lips. “We couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, either. That’s why we need you to do what we ask.”

  “This isn’t the first time we’ve met with them,” Tarran added. “We’ll be safe. We have an agreement of sorts.”

  She nodded, but the anxiety didn’t leave her gaze.

  Worry tore at him. He hated the idea of coercing her, but they needed to be sure she was safe. Waiting until her eyes began to drift shut, he planted a suggestion in her head—the only way she’d be safe would be to follow their instructions. He wished he could combat the pull of the song, but it had already taken root in her mind. Gradually, he heightened her sense of fear, hoping it would be enough.

  * * * *

  Brontë couldn’t believe she’d agreed to chain herself to her bed—to protect herself from faeries of all things. Of course, if she hadn’t experienced the otherworldly spell of their music and the homicidal fireflies or whatever they were, she would have laughed the guys out of her room. She supposed there was still the off-chance that this was all an elaborate joke, but she’d spent enough time with them to know they were completely serious. However, there was still something off about all of this. Well, besides the whole chained-to-a-bed-to-safely-avoid-faeries thing.


  She threaded the length of chain through her bed posts. Fastening the heavy, ancient-looking, iron cuffs around her wrists, she tried to make herself comfortable. She’d left the key on the desk across the room. Even if the song started up again, there was no way she could get to it to free herself.

  She’d have to wait until the guys got back. She shook her head at herself. She still couldn’t quite believe she’d gone and fallen for two guys. Simultaneously. They certainly didn’t seem to mind sharing her. And God knew she loved it. She sighed. It was more than that. She was already halfway in love with both of them. She had no idea how that would ever work. It wasn’t possible to love two people at once, was it?

  Leaning against the headboard, she stared out the window, watching the sun going down, its dying light shining through the Gwydyr Forest. The setting sun had painted the clouds with vibrant pinks and purples that bled into the falling indigo sky. As soon as the glowing ball disappeared from view, the music started.

  At first, it was so quiet, she thought she imagined it, but it grew louder. As the volume increased, the need to find the source grew exponentially. She covered her ears, but instead of dulling the sound, it only made the music echo in her mind as if it were being played in an empty concert hall.

  Dropping her hands to her lap, the chains jangled, creating an odd accompaniment. She eyed the key on the dresser. It called to her almost as loudly as the faery song did. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on something else—anything else—to keep her from fighting against her bindings.

  It didn’t work.

  Even though she knew she couldn’t possibly reach the key from her position by the headboard, she strained against the cuffs until her wrists ached and were covered with bruises. The song wove around every thought in her head until the only thing she could think about was the progression of notes and finding the source of the music.

  Her arm and shoulder muscles shook as she fought her restraints, and she watched dispassionately as blood dripped onto her sheets. In some faraway part of her mind, she registered the pain, but it was inconsequential compared to getting her hands on the key.