Chapter 204: Her Husbands Were Terrible Influences - Part 2

"Still think I talk too much?" he murmurs finally, voice hoarse, and there’s that smile again, lazy now instead of smug, breathless instead of sure.

"Yes," she says, and laughs, a startled, shaking sound, half-exhausted, half-undone. "Always."

Behind her, Edrik huffs a quiet laugh against her neck, lips brushing there one more time, unhurried now, almost soft. "She’s not wrong."

She leans back into him, feels him steady her, feels Thorne’s hand come up to cradle her jaw, and for one long, quiet moment, she lets herself simply exist between them, boneless, wrung out, held.

Dove stops thinking the moment four hands find the edges of her clothes.

Thorne is before her, his fingers working the buttons at the front of her shirt with a slowness that borders on reverent, and behind her Edrik is pulling the fabric from her shoulders, his knuckles dragging along the curve of her spine as he peels it away. The air hits her bare skin and she shivers, but it isn’t the cold that makes her tremble. It’s the way Thorne looks at her, his pupils blown wide and dark, his lips parted like he’s already been kissing her for hours even though he hasn’t reached her mouth yet.

Edrik’s mouth finds the back of her neck first. A soft, wet press of lips just below her hairline, and Dove’s head falls forward on a sharp exhale. He kisses her there again, slower, his tongue tracing the ridge of her cervical spine before dragging his lips lower, following the path his hands have already mapped. Each vertebra gets its own kiss, each one deeper than the last, and by the time he reaches the small of her back Dove is swaying on her feet, her fingers curled into Thorne’s shirt for balance.

Thorne finishes with the last button and pushes the fabric open, baring her chest to him. He doesn’t speak. He just dips his head and presses his mouth to her collarbone, then lower, kissing a slow line down her sternum while his hands slide the shirt fully off her arms. His tongue traces the slope of one breast and then the other, wet heat trailing across her skin, and Dove’s fingers tighten in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing his mouth on hers.

She tilts her chin down, searching for his mouth, and Thorne lifts his head just enough to meet her. The kiss is messy and open-mouthed, his tongue sliding against hers, and Dove swallows the sound he makes, something raw and unguarded that vibrates in his chest.

Behind her, Edrik’s hands settle on her hips. His thumbs hook into the waistband of her pants and draw them down over the swell of her ass, his palms sliding along the outside of her thighs as the fabric pools at her ankles. He kisses the base of her spine again, right where the dimples sit, and Dove gasps into Thorne’s mouth because Edrik’s fingers are already sliding between her legs from behind, tracing the seam of her through the thin barrier of her underwear.

She breaks the kiss on a sharp inhale. Thorne tries to follow her mouth, tries to chase the kiss, his lips brushing her chin, her jaw, murmuring something she can’t quite hear, and she presses two fingers against his lips to quiet him. He stills immediately. His eyes flutter half-closed and his mouth opens around her fingers, his tongue curling around them, drawing them in.

Her other hand finds the waistband of Thorne’s pants. She works the button one-handed, tugging the zipper down, and reaches inside to wrap her fingers around him. He’s hot and hard and thick in her grip, and the sound that escapes his throat when she strokes him is muffled around her fingers, vibrating against her skin. She pulls him free of the fabric and starts to move her hand in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her grip tight enough to make his hips jerk forward on every downstroke. At the same time she pushes her fingers deeper into his mouth, fucking past his lips with the same cadence, the same measured pace, and Thorne’s whole body shudders.

He’s twitching in her hand, his cock jumping against her palm with every stroke, and the sounds he’s making, these soft, broken moans that catch in his throat, send a bolt of heat straight through her center. His tongue works around her fingers, his mouth wet and eager, and when she twists her wrist on the upstroke he groans so deeply she feels it in her own chest.

Behind her, Edrik hooks his fingers into her underwear and pulls it to the side. The first touch of his bare fingers against her is electric. He drags one finger through her slick, gathering the wetness before circling her clit with a featherlight touch that makes Dove’s knees buckle. He holds her steady with his other hand splayed across her hip, his mouth still working at her lower back, teeth grazing the crest of her hipbone before he sucks a mark into the soft flesh above her ass.

He slides two fingers inside her without warning, and Dove cries out, her fingers jerking in Thorne’s mouth, her grip on Thorne’s cock tightening involuntarily. Thorne whimpers, actually whimpers, a high, desperate sound she’s never heard from him before, and his hips stutter forward, chasing her fist.

Edrik pumps his fingers in a slow, curling rhythm, his knuckles pressing against her front wall with every stroke. Dove rocks back against him, pushing her ass toward him, and she feels him there: the hard, thick length of him straining against his clothes, pressing into the cleft of her ass as she grinds back. He groans against the curve of her ear, his breath hot and unsteady, and his teeth close around the soft lobe, tugging gently before his tongue traces the shell of her ear.

"Yes," Dove breathes, and her voice comes out wrecked, barely more than a whisper. "Edrik, there, yes, right there..."

He curls his fingers harder on the next thrust and she keens, her whole body arching between them. Thorne’s mouth is still working around her fingers, his tongue laving between them, his lips swollen and slick with spit, and his cock is leaking against her palm, the head flushed and dark every time she pulls back to look. She matches her rhythms, hand and fingers, fist and mouth, driving them both in the same relentless tempo, and Thorne is shaking apart beneath her hands, his thighs tensing with every stroke, his stomach clenching, his moans dissolving into sharp, staccato gasps.

Edrik picks up speed. His fingers piston into her, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit with every thrust, and Dove pushes back harder, rolling her hips in tight circles against his cock. He’s groaning continuously now, low and guttural, his mouth moving from her ear to the back of her neck, teeth scraping, lips sucking, his free hand coming up to grip her shoulder for leverage. The friction of him against her ass, the thick, hard heat of him even through his pants, combined with the relentless pump of his fingers, sends sparks cascading through her, building something enormous and terrifying in her lower belly.

She jerks Thorne faster, her grip slick with him, her fingers driving into his mouth so deep he gags slightly and then moans around it, his eyes rolling back, his hands fisting uselessly at his sides like he’s forgotten what to do with them. He’s close. She can feel it in the way he throbs, the way his cock kicks against her palm, the way his stomach flutters with every breath. She swipes her thumb over the head on the next upstroke and he sobs, a wet, desperate sound muffled by her fingers, and his hips snap forward erratically, chasing her hand.

"Yes, yes, Edrik, yes..." The words spill out of her unbidden, her head falling back against his shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut. Edrik’s fingers slam into her and curl, hard, and the pressure builds and builds until it crests.

Dove comes with a sharp cry, her whole body seizing between them. She squirts, hard, the release flooding over Edrik’s hand and wrist, dripping down his fingers as he keeps pumping, keeps fucking her through it, and the wet sound of it is obscene, filthy, perfect. Her hand tightens around Thorne on reflex and she strokes him through it, fast and rough, and he breaks a second later. His cock jerks in her fist as he comes, thick ropes spilling over her fingers and knuckles, his mouth going slack around her other fingers, a broken, wrecked moan tearing from his throat as his hips jerk and stutter.

Edrik grinds against her ass one final time, his fingers still buried deep inside her, and she feels him shudder behind her, his breath ragged against the back of her neck, his cock pulsing through his clothes where it’s pressed against her. He groans her name into her skin like a prayer.

For a long moment, none of them move.

Then Dove slowly slides her fingers from Thorne’s mouth, and he chases them with a soft, bitten-off sound, his lips swollen and glistening. She eases her other hand from his spent cock, her fingers coated in him, and brings them to her own lips, tasting salt and skin.

Behind her, Edrik presses a gentle kiss to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, his fingers still inside her, still feeling the aftershocks ripple through her walls. He withdraws them slowly, carefully, and Dove shivers at the loss.

Later, with the papers still set aside, Dove settled between her husbands. The fan pushed warm air over them, and she kicked the blanket away. Even at night the heat wouldn’t leave the room.

Thorne spoke into her hair before she could fall asleep.

"I checked what Ash told us," he said. "He’s staying with security. The gate crew confirmed it, so this isn’t just until they finish storm cleanup."

Dove opened her eyes, annoyed at how quickly he had got inside her good evening without entering the room. "Then tomorrow we take another gate. I’m choosing a trip with my husbands, not spending the day avoiding a dragon."