by L. A. Boruff
"Patience, princess," his endearment rolled off of his tongue even as he licked his lips, clearly savoring my taste. "All good things to those who wait."
"But death waits for no one," Trystan's voice was steady as he appeared behind Septimus. The warrior shrugged out of his robe, his hands going to the laces of his trousers. "And our love is impatient, Septimus. We cannot deny her."
I felt my pussy clench as Trystan's pants loosened enough for his thick cock to be freed, the head already weeping with his seed.
A growl filled my ears and I was surprised to realize that it was coming from me. Caliban held me securely in his arms and I reached a hand out towards Trystan.
He grinned, his boyish charm evident even when filled with lust and magic. Septimus rose gracefully to his feet and stepped aside so Trystan could step between my legs. He leaned forward, capturing my lips with his in a kiss which quickly turned from loving to absolutely filthy as he plundered my mouth.
Breaking away, he rested his forehead against mine and I lowered my eyes to where he slowly pumped his cock, dragging the head against my pussy, pressing against my clit and sending thrills of pleasure along my spine, all while Caliban nuzzled and kissed my neck. I stretched my arms up and backward, burying my hands in Caliban's thick blond hair and raised an eyebrow at my lover.
"And so it is," Septimus said, stepping forward to place a hand on Trystan's shoulder, "that life be joined with death."
"But fear not," Gwayne's quiet thunder pulled my gaze from Trystan's as he stepped to the other side of me, "because there is nothing more that Death cherishes or loves than life."
Trystan's cock pressed at my entrance, stretching me even as Caliban held me still without a sign of faltering. Septimus caught my chin in his hand, pulling me to look at him. "Let the covenant of our love renew the covenant of death's love of life. Let us renew the bond of souls on this hallowed eve."
The magic infusing me churned beneath my skin, desperate for a release even as I felt the magic building in my lovers. Trystan slid into my warmth until he was fully sheathed and Septimus swooped in, stealing my gasp with his kiss. I felt Gwayne's hands, rough from the calluses caused by his huntsman’s axe, graze my breasts as he cupped one gently before I felt the hot warmth of his lips wrap around one nipple. I cried out, moaning into Septimus's mouth even as the magi's hand snaked down my abdomen, his hand seeking out where Trystan and I were joined together until he found my clit.
Trystan slid out of me before pressing back in with a quiet grunt as Septimus teased my clit and the wet sound of Trystan's thrusts spurred my arousal as both my orgasm and magic coiled tighter. I felt my body tense even as I heard Trystan's heavy pants, Gwayne's mouth still lavishing my breasts and Septimus kissing me, tasting of my own wetness. Caliban's fingers dug into my thighs, and I felt the sharp prick of his teeth against my neck, the bite nearly painful but utterly amazing.
"Yes," I whimpered into Septimus's mouth as I felt my pussy clenching.
"Come for us, Maeve," Caliban murmured in my ear. "Come around Trystan's cock."
My back arched away from Caliban's chest, pressing against Gwayne's mouth and I cried out as my orgasm and the magic ripped through me. Trystan grunted, his thrusts stuttering as I felt myself clench around his cock, and I felt him spill inside me.
But they gave me no time to recover as Caliban pulled me off of Trystan, and I cried out at the sudden loss. I found myself on my back on the soft grass of the meadow, and the assassin hovering over me. My legs wrapped around his narrow waist out of instinct, and it was only then that I realized he'd freed his cock. He slid into me without pause, Trystan's seed easing the way and I grasped his shoulders as he slammed into me.
"Easy, Caliban," Gwayne chided the assassin as the man sat upright on his knees, his hands wrapped around my waist and pulling my ass upwards as he ground into me. Caliban snarled at the Huntsman, who only chuckled and looked at me.
"He was right," he said as I struggled to comprehend his words. My orgasm had only slightly fulfilled the desire within me and the magic of All Souls Night demanded more. "You make us this way. We forget ourselves as we lose ourselves to you, Maeve."
Caliban's hips snapped forward as he thrust back into me, his mound pressing against my clit, causing a sweet ache to build in my core. Gwayne smoothed my hair back from my face before tracing my lips with his thumb, the heat of his gaze warming me in the cool air of the night.
"You're not only beautiful to look at," the huntsman's voice was light as if Caliban wasn't fucking me and we were strolling in the gardens. "Your soul is filled with light and love. We don't deserve it and you should run from us, because we might break you. But it's too late for that, you see. We've tasted you and now there is nowhere you could go that we would not follow you."
Love filled my chest even as Caliban's pace quickened and I grasped Gwayne's large hand with both of mine. "You do deserve it, Gwayne," I forced out and brought his hand to my lips, placing a wet kiss on his palm. "You're mine as much as I am yours." His eyes fluttered closed even as he grasped both of my hands with his.
I looked to Caliban, his hair falling in his eyes, and I pressed upwards, reaching out to kiss him. He leaned down, meeting me halfway, and our lips clashed together with a fierce desperation. I felt him groan and his pace slowed and I teased his lips with my own, a smile on my face.
His hands relaxed on my waist, caressing my back even as I felt Septimus slip in behind me. I looked over my shoulder, coyly, to see the magi smirking and holding his arms out in an open invitation.
I pulled away from Caliban, who slipped out of me with a sigh, and turned to scramble into the magi's lap. While I had been distracted by Gwayne and Caliban, Septimus had undressed and was as naked as I in the meadow, his cock long and lean like him, jutting proudly from where he sat cross-legged.
"Death's love is not unrequited," Septimus purred as he guided me into straddling him and I reached down to grasp the base of his cock, the feeling of power returning to me. "Life desires death nearly as much as death needs life."
I hissed as I sank down on Septimus's hard length, my pussy clenching against him as I scraped my nails down his chest. I turned to Gwayne, pulling him closer, needing to be surrounded by my loves. To be filled by my loves. Sensing my need, Gwayne released himself from his pants with a lazy tug and I ran my palm along his thick thigh.
"You don't have to, Maeve," he offered, always considerate.
"But I want to, Gwayne," I said as I nuzzled his groin and felt his breath hitch even as Septimus's hands cupped my breasts. "I want you to make me come while you're in my mouth and Septimus is in me."
"Stars above, Maeve," Septimus shuddered and undulated his hips, thrusting inside me. "You'll be the death of us."
"No," I said, pressing a kiss to the magi's temple. "I'll be your life."
I didn't give either of them a chance to respond as I turned back towards my huntsman and stretched my lips around his wide girth, the head of his cock salty with his seed. Septimus's hands wrapped around my waist, a desperation to his grip rather than control. It filled me with a heady sensation, my stomach fluttering and my determination to make these men come undone grew stronger.
I gripped the base of Gwayne's cock with one hand as I held Septimus's shoulders with my other, gyrating my hips down against him as he thrust shallowly into my pussy. I laved at the thick vein on the underside of Gwayne's cock and took him fully in my mouth, feeling the head as it hit the back of my throat.
Boldly, I looked upwards as best as I could, past the barrel chest and into the darkened eyes of Gwayne. His eyes were blown wide with desire, his mouth dropped open as he panted and thrust gently into my mouth as I pulled back slightly. I knew he wanted to thrust into me, to take my mouth as the others had taken my body. I wanted to make him come apart for me.
I twisted my hand at the base of his cock as I slid him out of my mouth before taking him in as deeply as I could again. I felt a presence behind me and then
Trystan was pulling my hair back, freeing me of its burden as I encouraged the stoic huntsman to thrust against me. When he gave a stilted thrust, I moaned, the feeling of him sliding against my tongue turning me on more than I had expected. My moan seemed to encourage Gwayne as he began to thrust into my mouth.
Septimus's hand sought my clit once more and I felt my orgasm building.
"Stars above, you're beautiful," Trystan whispered in my ear with awe. "If I could make it so, we'd make love to you every day. You'd lack for nothing in pleasure. We'd cover you in our touches, take you apart, kiss by kiss."
My eyes fluttered closed as I lost myself to Trystan's words and the sensation of riding Septimus while Gwayne fucked my mouth. The magic built once more, racing towards a crescendo and my orgasm took me by surprise. I cried out around Gwayne's cock as I felt the magic erupt around us even as I rode the waves of my orgasm. I felt Septimus shuddering underneath me and a hoarse grunt from above me before Gwayne spilled himself on my tongue, his thick seed tasted salty but I lapped at him still, licking him until he guided me gently away.
Septimus stretched out, lying back against the soft ground even as I felt him softening within me. I draped myself across him, contentment settling in my body as the magic trickled out of us and into the world once more. Septimus's arms wrapped around me as he settled me at his side. I felt Caliban lie behind me, his chest warm against my cool back, and I reached a hand backward, holding him towards me.
We lay there in the meadow as the moon crossed the night sky above us, a comfortable yet profound silence settling between us.
"Can you feel the difference?" Septimus asked, his fingers gently teasing the curls in my hair. “Death has joined together what life had divided. The balance has been renewed.”
"I think so," I answered. And it was true. There was a significance in the air around us. An acceptance of our place in the world, magical and mundane. I knew even the others could feel it, though they had no magic themselves.
"And this gets to happen every year?" Trystan asked, his voice eager.
Gwayne laughed loudly and I hid my face in Septimus's chest, giggling. But I knew that we all already looked forward to the next year and what it would bring us.
Read more about Maeve and her harem in Stone and Fire, the first book in the Magical Kingdoms novels.
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About the Author
Marie Robinson lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, son, and furbabies. During the day she wrangles her child, who was clearly a crocodile in a past life, and by nights and weekends, she writes about women who get happily-ever-afters with more than one man, because they shouldn't have to choose! She loves fantasy and creating engaging worlds for her readers to disappear into.
If she's not writing or child-wrangling, she can often be found on trails in the woods or climbing mountains.
May Dawson: A Night with the Fox
Excerpted from the True and the Crown series, which begins with Three Kinds of Wicked
“You’re a show-off,” I accused him. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed his profile and the flames rising from the shattered remnants of the Tiray bridge. The Fox’s handsome jaw, the curves of his mask, and his flop of curls were all silhouetted against the orange streaks and pops.
Then the horses racing in front of the carriage turned the bend. The scene was lost to me, although I could still smell the acrid scent of the demolition. I clucked to the horses. We’d lost our pursuers, but I was desperate to get the families we’d rescued to the safe house. I wouldn’t breathe easily until they were smuggled across the continent and making their way down the coast to Avalon.
“We have different strategies,” he agreed.
“I have finesse,” I said. “And you have fire. Literal fire.”
He shrugged, apparently not very interested in defending himself. He’d interrupted my rescue mission, but he’d made himself useful, at least. As long as Vasiliks were killing off every member of their intellectia who stood against the revolution—and their families—I’d have business to conduct in Vasilik. I didn’t mind having a friend here.
I had good friends in Avalon—Cax, Airren, Mycroft—but I’d left them behind to find myself. I didn’t always know what to make of the would-be hero who slipped in and out of my life, known only by a nickname.
The Night-Blooming Fox.
As Airren had pointed out, it was a real ugly mouthful of a nickname.
But it did strike a certain fear into the Vasilik troopers.
“You can’t complain about having a friend in Vasilik,” he said. “You’re running a dangerous game.”
“I have friends,” I told him. “If you were one of my friends, I’d know your name.”
“You haven’t told me your name,” he said innocently. “And you didn’t need to know my name to kiss me during that masquerade in Misk—”
“You kissed me,” I put in, futile as it was. “I’m never going to kiss you in that mask.”
His lips pursed above that chiseled jaw, as if he were holding back a cocky smirk. “Why not?”
“You have to know who you’re kissing.”
“We do know each other.” He braced one foot on the edge of the rail in front of us; the two of us sat on the driver’s bench, above the catering carriage I’d used to smuggle out the families we rescued. He braced one elbow on his knee, as casual and comfortable in this nightmarish scenario as he had been at that damn masquerade. “We share a common mission. Common goals.”
“I could be a monster behind this mask for all you know.” Half of Avalon thought I was a monster—the dark lord’s once-banished daughter, courted by the True for their nefarious purposes—but I figured it was safe to say without him guessing my identity.
“You’re not,” he said confidently. “You have a beautiful jaw.”
“Well, that really speaks to the quality of my character.”
“The sweetest mouth I’ve ever seen.”
“I curse like a sailor; let’s not make that a condition of our kisses.”
“So you do want to kiss me again.”
“Well, you do liven up an evening on occasion. I hate to be bored.” I drew up the reins, and the horses snickered as they slowed. The carriage lurched dangerously as we left the road for the narrow track through the forest. An alarmed cry echoed from the carriage below. My lips parted, but my unnamed friend was already swinging himself down below.
A minute later, he popped his head back up, climbed out of the hold, and settled down next to me—even closer than before. The carriage lurched, and his shoulder swayed against mine. I breathed in the familiar scent of his cologne.
“Everyone’s doing well,” he promised me.
That was the point of all this. I’d come here because I was running away from the life I’d tried to grab with both hands, only to have it run like sand between my fingers. But I’d found something worth doing.
People could say I was a monster all they wanted, as long as I knew the truth.
It was after midnight, but before the fishermen began stirring, when we reached the most remote dock along the coast of Shay. The air smelled of sea salt and fish, so heavily that my throat felt thick. I climbed down, followed closely by the Fox.
I pushed my shoulder against his wide bicep. “You’re always in my way.”
“You wouldn’t have survived that castle if I hadn’t been in your way,” he teased.
“I would have.” I released the latch on the back of the catering truck and threw the doors open. “And no explosions would have been necessary.”
Inside the truck, the faces of the Vasiliks we’d rescued were faint shadows. We’d run wi
thout lights, escaping our pursuers—that blown bridge had been helpful, but I’d be damned if I was going to thank the Fox—and the ride had been rough. When I leaned in, I could hear a child crying, a desperate terrified hitching cry. It was a knife through my heart. Maybe I could have found a different way to get them out of those cells.
I muttered a few words of an enchantment, and the inside of the truck brightened just enough to see. I didn’t want to blind them. A woman clutched two children, their small, drawn faces pressed against her chest. Another father and mother were trying to hush their baby. A man with a beard sat flanked by his teenage sons, all of them stoic, although they’d all been badly beaten in captivity and still wore the marks. Worst of all were the desperately crying child and his comforting older sister, barely more than a baby herself. We’d been too late to save their parents.
I held my arms out to the little ones who were traveling solo. “Come on. You’ll be safe in Avalon before you know it.”
I’ve never known how to talk to kids.
But the sister handed over the toddler to me. The hot-faced tot curled against my chest, pushing his face into the curve of my neck. I muttered soothing nonsense while the Fox helped the girl down the steps of the truck. Her knee seemed to give out under her and she almost tumbled, but he caught her, cradling her against his chest. I turned away once I knew she was safe. No child should go through what these kids had suffered.
I knew from experience that surviving torture at a young age is not character-building.
When the last of the survivors was loaded onto my yacht, and the two tear-streaked, exhausted children had fallen asleep in one of the bunk rooms, the Fox asked me, “Now what?”
“Now we go our separate ways.” I touched the tear-soaked fabric of my shirt, feeling my clavicle through the wet fabric. I was shaken by that sobbing toddler in a way I never was by the dangers of my chosen calling.
