Page 122 of Caged Kitten

Mine, meanwhile, was on the brink of detonating again, wet and swollen between my thighs, my clit aching for someone’s mouth, anyone’s fingers. But when Fintan stiffened and growled, spilling himself inside me, marking me up with his fingertips—temporary, unlike Elijah’s mark on my shoulder and Rafe’s bite on my neck—I wasn’t allowed to come.

Again.

Ugh.

Just as I slipped my fingers between my folds and gently pinched at my clit, Rafe grabbed my arm and hauled me off the fae. Dragged me to his usual chair in front of the roaring fire and bent me over the armrest.

Up on my toes, ass in the air, I planted my hands on the rigid cushion and stilled when Rafe’s fingers whispered up the backs of my thighs. A moment of gentleness promised a thorough ravishing, and I closed my eyes, savoring the sweet caress before yelping when he took me hard by the hips and shoved into me. Claimed me. Made me his in front of the others. Lashes fluttering, I pushed up so they could watch every part of me—Fintan sprawled on the rug, head pillowed on his folded arms, hazy with post-orgasm bliss; Elijah on his chair, stroking himself faster, his eyes bright and beastly.

A familiar hand wove into my hair. Tugged me back. Added an arch to my neck that always drove the vampire pounding into me nuts. His hips quickened, his pace brutal, the slap of skin to skin ringing out in a bedroom accustomed to the symphony of moans and squeals and wet. No more orgies though—not unless it was the four of us. Fintan had barely even glanced at any of the gorgeous fae men and women of the Midnight Court since we arrived. Rarely accepted a drink from them. Ignored all invites for a secluded catch-up somewhere on the grounds.

Briefly, I’d been afraid that I wasn’t enough—that we weren’t enough for a prince accustomed to lavish luxury. But from the way he watched Rafe and me now, eyes shimmering with need, his cock already at half-mast again, we were more than enough.

This was precisely where he wanted to be, same as me and the others.

Taking me from behind, Rafe became the savage lover who wore the mask of a quiet writer everywhere else. In here, he fucked hard and fast, making every bit of me wobble, making my eyes roll back in my head as fiery pleasure seared through me, my muscles tensing, an implosion imminent—

And then he fucking stopped. With a strangled snarl, he spilled himself inside of me, same as Fintan, and immediately withdrew. My head drooped forward, and I let out a frustrated moan that had the trio chuckling again—apparently tonight was the night to edge Katja, because usually by now I’d have had at least three climaxes and would be begging for a break before the next one. Ugh.

“Oh, darling, are you disappointed?” Rafe teased, his hand finding my hair again before hauling me off the armchair. My sweaty back met his clothed chest, my legs weak and on the verge of collapse as I stumbled into him. He dragged his fangs up the column of my throat just as Elijah stood, and the vampire licked at the blood still smeared from his previous bite. “What happens if none of us let you come?”

“Then I’ll make myself come,” I managed, eyes locked on Elijah as he crossed toward us, towering over everyone, his aura engulfing the massive room.

“Is that so?” Rafe whispered. Then, without warning, he hoisted me up, one arm hooked around my waist as his free hand bared my neck to him again, then buried his golden fangs in my throat. Pleasure exploded with the intensity of the sun, and vaguely, I heard my own mottled scream of relief. It vanished immediately when he withdrew, my body buzzing and desperate for more, wet heat slicking down my neck to my chest.

Spurred by the savagery, Elijah didn’t take his time. He scooped me up, hands bruising my thighs, and sunk into me with a single thrust. Stretched by him and dangling precariously between two men who I loved with all my heart, I came undone. That alone was enough to tip my tormented body into the black, and I came with a breathy cry, abdominals tensed and eyes clenched shut. The climax sapped any fight from me, tangled my tongue and jumbled my words. Elijah watched it all with a gritted jaw, the muscles dancing just as my pussy tightened around him, then dragged a possessive hand up my body to the mark he had left on my shoulder the very same night we left Xargi.

Here. In this room. The second we were all alone, he snapped—stripped me out of my jumpsuit while the others watched, all of us grimy and stinking of rebellion, and pounded me into Fintan’s pristine bedlinens until we imploded together. His teeth found my body ravenously, and beneath the royal canopy, he had marked me—his fated mate—and branded me forever.

Since then, he hadn’t been able to not touch it. Sometimes he stroked it absently, his arm on the back of my chair at meals and his fingers grazing the mark that would never fade, but others, like now, had more intention. Even with Rafe holding me up, feeding from me, pleasuring me with his vampiric toxin, Elijah planted a hand over the mark and gripped tight as he rocked his hips to mine.

While Rafe had been rough and Fintan an absolute tease, Elijah was all passion. Deep, purposeful movements paired with a lot of soul-consuming eye contact. I lost myself in his golden irises, in the dragon gazing deep inside me, right down to my core. Magic quivered in my belly, spurred by our connection and sparking at my fingertips. No spells cast, of course, but the intensity of our bond usually set off the unstable well inside me—like my magic was just tickled to be so near the man ordained to be mine by fate.

Time lost all meaning when Elijah was inside me, and when he finally stilled, head bowed in almost reverence and his mark prickling like fire, I was done for. Light-headed. Weak. Boneless. Pleasure addled and in no place to stand on my own two feet.

As soon as he finally eased out of me, my body slick with sweat and my thighs painted up by my guys, Rafe scooped me into his arms and perched on the edge of his usual chair. He held me in the afterglow, cuddled me, as his toxin sealed my open wounds. Elijah kissed my temple, stroked my cheek, gently cupped my chin. Fintan fetched something soft and silky and soothing to drape over me as one of them—I was too far gone to be sure of which, my head in the clouds and my body floating into oblivion—carried me up to the enormous bath one floor above.

I came back to them sometime later, surrounded by rose-scented suds and dunked in pleasantly toasty water. Someone had washed my hair, my red mane soaked and tamed, and while I slumped back against Elijah, Rafe floated in front of me massaging my feet.

Then there was Fintan shooing off the servants, a feast of grapes and cheese and more fae wine set out at the rim of this mammoth tub. Inhaling deeply, body totally relaxed except for the pleasant dull ache between my thighs, I pushed off Elijah’s chest, then reached back to grab a cube of cheese that tasted an awful lot like brie and a handful of grapes. Needing some space, I settled on the marble bench that ran the perimeter of the pool—alone and content and beyond satisfied.

Golden orbs drifted throughout the room, like candlelight only everlasting and much brighter. One touch and you could change the color; I tapped one that floated by and it bled from gold to light green, identical to the juicy grapes in my hand.

“Wine, anyone?” Fintan held up a recently uncorked bottle, shaking it a little. I crinkled my nose with a grimace.

“Gods no,” I insisted. “I’m drunk enough on you three.”

“Stop trying to see if you can make me vomit again,” Elijah growled, his arm stretched along the pool’s porcelain edge, fingers toying distractedly with my hair. “I know your schemes, fae.”

Fintan rolled his eyes and filled a lone champagne flute with a snort. “Fucking lightweights.”

Unable to help myself, I watched, utterly enraptured with the spill of strawberry-pink liquid that sparkled in the orb-light. An explosion of fruity sweetness filled the air around us, but just to be safe, I stuck to my grapes and cheese. Munching away, I settled into the usual post-frolicking chatter in silence, slowly swishing my feet back and forth beneath the bathwater’s bubbly surface. The boys, meanwhile, discussed what tomorrow had in store for us: a trip to a royal vineyard.

Another day spent in a drunken haze, likely to end the same as tonight.

Perfect.

Just the holiday I needed after Xargi, but that was all this was—a holiday. A honeymoon period all new relationships fell into, reality and hard work and maintenance waiting on the cusp of a bubble that could pop at any second.

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