Jory Strong

“Let’s start a fire and sit in front of it,” Laith said. “I promised Rykken you would capture his likeness on paper.”

I am only barely hanging on to my control, Rykken shot back, rising from his seat, his body protesting the thought of posing motionless even as it thrilled to the idea of being on display for Cyan.

The full heat of the Vesti mating fever was on him, had been from the moment he’d seen her captured in the headlights of the car. He wanted to strip her of her clothes, to fuck her until she acknowledged his dominance and accepted his protection, until she craved his touch as much as he now craved hers.

There was nothing gentle in what he felt. It was animal desire and raw hunger, tempered only by his deep friendship with Laith, his willingness to trust in Laith’s vision.

He stripped out of his shirt, reveled in Cyan’s small whimper, in the way she fought against looking at his chest and lost. When his hands went to the sweatpants, her whispered, “No,” made his cock pulse in protest.

“No, leave them,” Cyan said, nearly light headed from the lust pounding through her.

They wanted to share her. As soon as Laith had pulled her from the chair, told her of his promise to Rykken, she’d known. What she didn’t know was whether she wanted to accept the pleasure they offered.

It was one thing to fantasize about having two lovers, but to actually risk her heart… That’s what it would be for her, a risk with the potential of leaving her devastated. She knew herself well enough not to hide from the truth.

Casual lovers weren’t her style. She’d never been able to separate the needs of the body from the needs of the heart, the soul. And for weeks Laith had tormented her with his closeness, his sensual appeal, the mixed signals of desire and reserve that left her aching and feeling confused. To give in now then return to the way it had been… She didn’t think she could handle it and yet… She let Laith guide her to the rug in front of the hearth.

Her cunt spasmed when Rykken lay down in front of her on his side, assumed a classical pose, the same one Laith took when she’d drawn the first nude of him. She forced herself to breathe deeply, to slow the wild rush of her heart, to see Rykken as an artist’s subject instead of a man who wanted to cover her body with his.

It was almost impossible to do.

Laith started the fire then positioned him behind her. She wanted to ask why and why now. Wondered for a split second if they were bisexual, then discarded the idea, knew instinctively these two men desired only women.

Cyan fell into the rhythm of drawing, tried to keep her distance but the atmosphere in the cabin found its way into the picture, captured heat and intimacy, smoldering desire, all made more so by Laith’s presence at her back. Fantasy intruded, slowed her hand as images of being held between Laith and Rykken intruded, the two of them potent masculinity, beautiful power given perfect form.

Her breath grew short. Her cunt lips were flushed and swollen beyond bearing by the time she was done sketching Rykken. She handed the tablet to him, thought to rise and escape the cabin but Laith’s hands on her shoulders stopped her, his lips on her neck sent her resistance tumbling.

“Cyan,” he murmured in between hypnotic kisses, the sound of her name holding such profound desire she whimpered in response, closed her eyes against the thick burn of lust.

His hands moved down her arms, stilled at her waist but only long enough to push under her sweatshirt. Sanity tried to surface but it lost against the smooth glide of his palms over her abdomen, against his whispered, “Let us have you, Cyan. Let us take care of you. I’ve dreamed of this from the first moment I saw you.”