Page 73 of Crimson Flames

“I was thinking,” he says, “maybe you should taste what we do to you.” Just then, two fingers press into me, curling and rubbing my g-spot just right. I buck into his hand as much as I can, but he pulls away just as swiftly as he came, making me feel empty.

I open my mouth to complain, but those same fingers press in and my taste coats my tongue. A little surprised, I pause. But when he starts fucking my mouth with his fingers, I accept greedily.

“Do you taste how good it is?” Boris asks, and I hum around the digits.

“It can get even better.”

A cool sensation presses against my entrance before slipping in and back out. His fingers are then replaced with what he slid inside of me.

I bite down, the taste of watermelon and my arousal mixed together filling my mouth. Somehow, it’s heady, almost addicting, and I suddenly understand why they can’t seem to get enough of me at times.

“Delectable, right?” Boris asks.

“So good,” I agree. When I swallow, the leather strap tightens against my throat, but I love the feeling of it there. It’s almost like one of Cillian’s hands, grounding me.

“Time to wake up that sense of smell. Do you remember telling us what our scents reminded you of?”

“Yes, sir.”

He groans when something soft presses under my nose, a woodsy spicy scent reminding me of late nights in the tower. Ihave never seen Boris smoke a cigar, but he had a collection in a glass case in his old office, and it gave the room a unique scent.

A drop of something touches my lips when the cigar is pulled away, I lick them on instinct.

Whisky.

I can smell and taste it, reminding me of the first time Boris and I kissed. He always had a small glass of the amber liquid on his desk, from the moment I tasted it on his tongue, I've been addicted ever since.

“Mmmm,” I moan. “It reminds me of you.”

“Good. This whisky is my favorite, not because of the taste, but because it was what I was drinking the first time I ever laid eyes on you.”

I didn’t know that.

“Now, smell this.”

I inhale the scent of Irish wild flowers filling my heart to the brim, but it’s nothing compared to the soft fabric that rubs against my cheek as Cillian whispers in my ear.

“I had my shirt laying in the sun today for you, and these flowers were shipped here from the field we used to run through together.”

I swear their love is like a never ending fountain, no, a waterfall. They give and give and give with force. It is powerful, and though overwhelming at times, it is also the fullest kind of love.

“I need you,” I admit. “Please.”

I need them to do something, because this is torture. Being enveloped in the smells and tastes of our history, remembering all of the good things and not being able to see them is complete agony.

Cillian strips the blindfold from my eyes, and I glance down at Boris as much as I can as he pushes more of the sweet fruit insideof me. This time when he takes it out he bites it in half, reaching up to feed the other half to Cillian.

The image is so hot, I think I might melt into the chair.Or it could be my arousal pooling under me.

“She tastes divine,” Cillian says.

“As a goddess should,” Boris agrees.

Still staring at my center, he spreads me open again, this time he doesn't tease though. He goes directly for my clit, flicking it back and forth with a tongue created from magic. I’m already on edge, the emotional anticipation leaving me needy and craving everything they have to give.

Two fingers thrust into me, then a third. My eyes roll back, and Cillian is right there. He presses his lips to mine and parts his mouth so that his tongue can claim me, still tasting like watermelon andme. That delicious piercing dancing like a well practiced professional.

A fourth finger presses in, stretching me in a delicious sort of agony. When I let out a small hiss as the stretch surprises me, they both freeze.

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