A Lesson in Thorns

by Sierra Simone

  “You can fuck right off,” Auden says, and clearly whatever happened between them as they shared my mouth has been smothered along with our bonfire. Crushed, like our altar under a fallen tree. “We both know how much you can be trusted with someone else’s pain.”

  Whatever this means, it silences Saint. The light around us grows a bit fainter, as if he’s fallen back a couple of steps out of anger or hurt.

  I should say something, I think. But the fog of subspace is too thick, too good, and too dizzying. I don’t even perceive that I’m shivering like crazy until Auden pulls me even tighter to his chest to keep me warm. I nuzzle against him in response, and that stirs a noise out of him that seems to surprise us both. A growl of approval.

  He likes holding me as much as I like being held by him.

  “You’d make a good lord,” I murmur as I lace my arms around his neck. I bury my face in the Thornchapel-scented curve of his neck and shoulder. “You’d make a good lord to me.”

  “Enough to earn you?” he asks seriously.

  “Mmm. Mmhmm.”

  His voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “Poe, how do I take care of you when we get back to the house?”

  I wasn’t lying earlier, it really is too hard to think. I’m so buzzy and floaty and good right now.

  The hoarseness fades, replaced by something stern. “Answer me.”

  That voice, like a rich boy all grown up into a rich king, cuts through the haze a little. “My pussy hurts,” I say dreamily. “You could take care of that.”

  “I could. And your hand?”

  “And my hand.”

  “What else?”

  “Mmm, I should probably have more water and—” I yawn “—a shower. And I like to be snuggled.”

  There’s something tender to his words. “You like to be snuggled after?”

  “And held and petted and nice things said to me.”

  God, he smells so good. And his neck is so warm. And his arms are so strong and his steps are so sure and he holds me so firmly and so well that he even makes the rain warm and the wind weak. He even makes the darkness feel homey and inviting, he makes me feel like I’m already safe and cozy inside the house, and he even makes the creaking trees sound like the click of a happy dog’s paws on the floor—

  My eyes flutter open as he sets me gently on my bed and starts unzipping my coat. Saint is tugging off my boots, and within a few seconds, I’m completely naked again, and so fucking groggy I can barely hold my eyes open.

  My head falls against Auden’s sweet-smelling chest. “Want to sleep,” I fuss against him.

  I can hear the smile in his voice. “Shower first. Then we’ll take care of your hand and then you can sleep.”

  “She can’t go into the shower like this,” Saint points out. “She’ll fall and crack her head open.”

  “I’m going in with her,” Auden says.

  “Like hell you are.”

  Auden’s arms tighten around me. “You have no idea what she needs right now,” he says coldly. “I do.”

  “You can pretend with her, but you can’t pretend with me. You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing.”

  Auden’s about to shoot back when I say—my voice muffled by Auden’s chest—“Why don’t you both come in with me?”

  It makes total sense to my dreamy, subspace brain, but the answering silence is tumescent with horror. I force my eyes open and see Saint kneeling on the floor next to me, looking like I asked him to cut off a limb and toss it into the sea.

  “Or not,” I suggest on a yawn, closing my eyes again. “I can just shower tomorrow . . .”

  “No, you can’t,” they both say at the same time.

  “You have mud in your hair,” Saint says.

  “And you have blood on your thighs,” Auden says, his voice going hoarse again.

  “You can’t sleep like this,” Saint adds.

  I pout against Auden’s chest. “Fine. But no more fighting. Too tired.”

  The plaintive note in my voice does the trick, and there are reluctant noises of assent from both men. Auden gently presses me back into his arms, and Saint trails us as we go into the bathroom. Auden sets me down on the edge of the tub, and I blink and yawn like a sleepy kitten while he and Saint start undressing. And then there’s a long blink, one of the long narcolepsy blinks I know so well, and I open my eyes to see both of them staring down at me wearing nothing but tight, dark boxer briefs.

  It’s the most I’ve seen of either of their bodies, it’s the first I’ve seen of their strong, muscled legs and wide, naked chests and lines of hair disappearing into the waistbands of their underwear. The first I’ve seen of their warm skin, their flat nipples, their lean stomachs lightly corrugated with tight bands of muscle.

  Fuck, they’re sexy. I want to have sex with them. Both of them, right now. I don’t care about being sore or sleepy or still floating in subspace—I want to fuck until I can’t move my body anymore.

  But when I lift my head to tell them this, I have another long, narcolepsy blink and nearly fall off the tub. It’s Saint who catches me this time, scooping me up and then walking me over to the ugly brass-trimmed shower stall in the corner.

  “You have a nice body,” I mumble to him as he sets me down and turns on the water. “I like it.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” he says dryly. “Although this isn’t exactly how I planned on showing it to you.”

  Auden steps into the shower too, just as the water starts spurting out of the showerhead. It’s freezing and we all shriek and jump back—or at least try to jump back, since the stall was only made for one person, and now there’s three people inside, and two of those people are big boys with long, muscled bodies. Their shoulders are so wide I feel like I’m in a second stall made of men instead of glass.

  The water runs warm finally, and I relax, swaying back into a solid, unmoving chest. Saint. Two big hands go to my hips to steady me, and I sigh with contentment and lean farther back, until my head is tucked under his chin. I look up at Auden. “You’re getting your boxers wet,” I tell him. “You two should be naked like me.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” he responds at the same time Saint issues a flat, “No.”

  “Fine,” I sigh, stretching my arms up behind me to lace around Saint’s neck. I can arch my back like this and feel the water running hot over my stomach and over my no-longer-virgin pussy. It feels good, but the effect it has on Auden and Saint is even better. Saint freezes into a tower of granite behind me, and Auden’s hands brace on either side of the shower stall, as if to keep from grabbing me.

  Within seconds, the plump head of Auden’s erection is stretching the waistband of his boxers, sticking out of the top like the world’s most delicious forbidden fruit.

  “I could suck on it,” I tell him, my voice drowsy and husky all at once. “I could suck on it until you come.”

  With his arms outstretched like this, I can see the struggle of his restraint quivering through every part of him—his arms and his chest and even his belly. His cock is bigger, duskier now, begging to be seen too.

  But when he finally answers me, his voice is controlled. “Not tonight,” he says. “Not like this.”

  “Why not?” I complain.

  “Just not like this,” he repeats, in a tone that brooks no argument, and then he looks at Saint. “We should wash her.”

  It’s ironic that just a few hours ago, the idea of bathing together seemed far too intimate to even consider—a little taboo even—and now I’m lazing against Saint as he and Auden pass things around and apply creamy body wash to loofahs and shampoo to the other’s waiting palm. Saint holds me while Auden carefully and thoroughly washes every fold and tuck of my body. He scrubs the mud from between my toes, cleans away all the streaks and spatters of it everywhere else, and he gently sponges the blood from my wrist and hand. Saint holds up my leg so Auden can kneel down and wash my inner thighs, and for a moment, I think he might lean forward and kiss my pussy
because he can’t keep himself from looking at it. He licks his lips and I nearly die with wanting him to press that crooked-grin mouth against my cunt.

  But he doesn’t, and by the time Saint starts on my hair, my lazing has become something more restless. Needy. Life is still hazy and delicious, but all this touching, this slippery stroking and cleaning, has rekindled the heat in my belly.

  My hands roam behind me to find the thick rod of St. Sebastian’s erection through his wet boxers and play with it, and he lets me, washing my hair with admirable focus as I squeeze and stroke him as much as I can with my hands behind my back.

  Auden watches it with something like agony, and he shudders when I cradle Saint’s balls and Saint lets out a ragged, helpless moan.

  “You’re being very bad,” Auden says, wrestling for his control. He reaches forward and pulls my hands away from Saint so Saint can focus and finish rinsing me off. “And we’re not doing this in here.”

  “Then we’re going to do it somewhere?” I ask hopefully.

  “You’re in an altered state of mind, Poe. The answer is no.”

  “Then what if we did this instead?” I ask, sliding my hand free from his and then guiding his hand to me. I mold it against my pussy, loving how firm and certain his hand feels against my slippery flesh. “It’ll only take a minute, please, Auden, I want it so bad.”

  “If you don’t do it, I will,” Saint tells him.

  Auden makes an exasperated sound, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. “You heard Rebecca. We need to take care of her right now.”

  “Seems to me like ‘taking care of her’ can include lots of things. I mean, just look, Auden. She’s not going to be able to get any rest like this.”

  Auden turns his gaze back to me, back down to where I’m actively arching and pushing against his touch. Even in the hot water, my nipples are still erect and tight, and I don’t have to look at myself to know that I’m pouty and flushed like the little slut Rebecca accused me of being.

  Almost as if it’s against his own will, his fingers stroke along my seam, pushing ever so slightly into the place where I open. I lean back against Saint to give him better access, whispering please please please all the while.

  “Okay,” Auden says. “But this is only to put you to bed. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I purr.

  “I’m new to this too, you know,” he says, a bit shyly. “So tell me if I do anything wrong.”

  And then he starts rubbing me for real, giving me easy circles and slow, curling caresses lower down. I let out a short, needy pant and slump back, and Saint moves us so that he’s leaning against the wall and I’m leaning against him. And then Auden braces one hand by Saint’s shoulder, leaning in as he increases the pressure on my clit, one strong shoulder dipping down as he finally penetrates me with his fingers. He’s gradual with it, nearly leisurely—but it’s not tentative or hesitant how he works my cunt. There’s a few times I feel him search for parts of me, see him studying my body to make sure he’s doing the right thing—but he assumes the role of orgasm-giver with complete seriousness and grace. He locks my eyes with his own, and I’m burned alive with all the hazel hunger and possession I see there, I’m consumed with it, and there’s no question what he’s thinking as he slowly and deliberately fucks my cunt with his hand—

  Mine.

  He wants me to be his, he wants to earn me. He wants to know how to take care of me after a scene so that he can do the scenes, and the thought of that on top of everything else pushes me to the edge. Knowing he might spank me or hurt me or even fuck me . . . and feeling the tense stretch of aroused, trembling St. Sebastian behind me . . . along with the perfect bite of pain from my sore pussy as Auden fingers me—

  I come so abruptly it takes me by surprise, my knees giving out and Saint having to wrap his arms around my waist to keep me from collapsing on the floor in a climaxing heap.

  “Fuck,” Auden swears, because the only other thing keeping me from falling are his fingers in my cunt, and I end up impaling myself even deeper and harder—and therefore redoubling my orgasm into a yelling, crying, writhing thing. And he can feel every shivering contraction, every wet, clenching squeeze, everything and all of it around his fingers, and when our eyes meet, I know he’s thinking about how it would feel around his cock.

  I moan. He swears again.

  He lets me use his fingers and Saint holds me up by the waist until I’m completely finished, my body wrung out and sensitive and soft, and then Auden slides his hand free. He licks his fingers without thinking twice, giving me a long, searing inspection as he does.

  Then he looks past me to his enemy. “You need to come,” he says.

  I look back in time to see Saint shake his head in lust-glazed confusion. “I don’t—I don’t think so—”

  “That wasn’t a question,” Auden says impatiently. “You need to come. I can tell.”

  Weak knees and orgasm-daze and all, I manage to turn to face him. The water has turned his hair oil-black and pieces of it are stuck to his cheeks and jaw, like dark slashes of ink. His eyelashes too are wet and black and spiky, blinking fast over gorgeously glassy eyes, and his jaw is clenched so hard that a muscle jumps in his cheek.

  He looks vulnerable and edgy and in pain. He looks angry and sad.

  Trapped, even, like a wolf with its paw caught, ready to snarl and bite at anyone who dares to help.

  “Let me,” I whisper to my wolf, hooking my fingers in his wet waistband and dragging the fabric down. His cock springs free, and I can’t resist, I look down and murmur my appreciation, because it’s perfect. So big and beautiful and thick with its one vein along the top and its flared crown all dusky and swollen.

  Saint lets his head drop back against the wall, his throat a divine arch of bronze skin. The knot of his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and swallows and swallows.

  “Let me,” I whisper again, and I finally get a short, agitated nod.

  For the first time in my life, I wrap my hand around a bare cock, and marvel at the heat of it. At the velvet of his skin, so soft and yet stretched so thin over the hardness underneath. And when I fist my hand around him, I can feel how the skin moves over that hardness, how he swells and thickens when my fingers massage certain parts of him. I can feel the slick glaze of pre-cum covering his tip.

  But for all my fondling and exploration, St. Sebastian isn’t any closer to the edge than he was a few minutes ago. I could blame it on clumsiness or inexperience, but then Saint’s eyes flutter open, and he says, “Please please,” like I should know what he’s asking for, and that’s when I realize I’m missing something, I’m not giving him what he needs.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Auden says and pushes my hand off Saint’s cock. He replaces it with his own at the same moment he steps forward and collars Saint’s throat with his other hand.

  The change in Saint is immediate. Staggering. His lips part and his piercing flashes and his belly tightens as Auden jerks him off hard and rough. Wordless cries escape his throat in short, helpless pants, and his fingers scrabble helplessly at the tile behind him, like he can’t even handle the feeling of being in his own body right now, but in the best possible way.

  Hurt and maybe even a little indignation roll through me, because I always figured no matter how clumsy I was around a penis, it ultimately wouldn’t matter, since penises usually seem very easy to please. But by the time my mouth pulls into a pout—a real one this time—I understand what’s going on. It has nothing to do with how skilled I am or even how sexy I am, and everything to do with how gently I held him. How softly I touched him. I was giving him a vanilla hand job, and St. Sebastian, my pierced and sullen library boy, needs something else.

  I’ve never hurt someone, and I’ve never been hurt. But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t wanted it, you know.

  I’d asked him who he’d wanted to be, me or Auden, and he’d said he’d always thought both until he’d seen Auden’s face as Auden spanked me. And then h
e’d trailed off, refused to answer—but I know the answer now, I see it right in front of me.

  All it took was Auden’s hand on his throat, and Saint was transformed. All it took was a cruel touch instead of a kind one.

  Saint is as submissive as I am.

  But as hypnotic as his face is right now—all open and wondering and vulnerable as Auden strokes him vicious and quick—it’s Auden that I suddenly can’t look away from, Auden with every single emotion moving over his face in waves. One stroke and he looks furious, another stroke and he looks anguished—and then another and he simply looks like he wants to fuck St. Sebastian right through the wall and out the other side. And his breathing is just as ragged and quick as Saint’s, his sides are heaving like he’s running a race, his stomach jerking with each tight, hungry breath. And I can still see the huge head of his cock above his waistband, bigger and fatter than ever. I can see it jumping in time with his pulse, with the rough movements of his hand on Saint, and then when Saint lets out a broken moan and says Auden, you’re making me come, I see when Auden comes too.

  Without being touched, without anything but the friction of his waistband and Saint’s milky surrender coating his fist, Auden’s cock pulses in response, white ropes jolting up against his belly and surging over his boxers. Like when he spanked me, he’s getting off on the pure, uncut high of dominating someone, the giddy rush of power that comes from bringing someone pleasure or pain or both, and from the involuntary grunt he gives and the heavy rushes of semen, I don’t have to guess to know that he’s getting off hard.

  The muscles in his legs and abs clench and pump as he ejaculates, but he doesn’t stop jerking off Saint, he doesn’t let go of Saint’s throat until Saint is slumped back against the wall, and even then he puts a steadying hand on Saint’s shoulder until he’s certain that Saint can stand under his own steam. He looks him over the same way any good Dominant would, and I don’t think it’s because he knows he should, I think it’s instinct, a natural impulse of his, and it makes my belly flip just watching.

  I remember my observation from earlier tonight as I watched him walk toward the ruins.