Page 52 of Penny for Your Saints

“I wonder, will you be this chatty once you’re in heat?” Frank sneers as I tuck the end of the gauze into the tightly wound bandage, ignoring him as I reach for a pair of butterfly closures for the wound on his forehead.

“Or—” Frank reaches up and takes both of my braids in a single hand—turning his hand over so that my braids loop around his hand and wrist once like a boxer’s wrap, pulling my head back.

Against my best wishes, I let out a high, breathy moan—my hands frozen in place above the freshly applied adhesive butterfly closure.

“Will you be reduced to a mewling, simpering little slut begging for my knot?” He growls, low and intense.

I think the noise I’ve just made is enough of an answer—because suddenly Frank’s mouth is on my neck. No teeth—no bite, but he sucks hard at the tender flesh, drawing the blood to the surface in an exquisite combination of pleasure and just the slightest glimmer of pain.

“You know what I want, Frank?” I challenge, voice husky with want.

“What’s that, Sweetheart?” he rumbles as his lips leave my throat.

“I want to forget everything for a while—no thoughts about the bloodbath today, no worries about how we’re going to handle this mess of a heat or what comes after,” I sigh as his hands begin to creep at the hem of my sweater, his rough fingers tracing their way up my spine—to the double set of hooks and eyes that fasten my bra. “I just want to feel good, and sleep like the dead,” I confess, all the fight—the will to resist—gone from me.

“Well, praise the Saints.” He smiles, his white incisors glittering in the dancing firelight. “That’s a prayer I’m sure we can answer.”

The first time I spent one of Quentin’s heats with the Saints had been an earth-shattering experience for me.

I’d never been with an omega before, certainly never in heat. It only added to the discovery and delight that none of the other Saints had ever been with a theta before either.

While I don’t have a knot like Frank, an alpha or Seb, a gamma; my perfume is unique to my designation. Outside of a heat or rut cycle, my perfume has the power to act as a minor psychotropic—most often presenting by making those affected feel sleepy or slightly drunk. However, once I’m fully in the throes of a breeding—the effect intensifies exponentially; heightening senses, amplifying pleasure, even producing psychedelic effects in the height of the act.

Now, in the small hunting lodge nestled in the woods off of one of the great lakes, I find myself desperate in a way I’ve never experienced.

Before I had even touched her, I’d admired her perfection as she slept; porcelain skin, long scarlet hair, and delicate frown—even in sleep, like a warrior princess from tales of old.

After that fateful day in the bath—tasting her, being inside her—I’ve scarcely been able to think about anything else.

I’ve never been jealous of any of the Saints. Everyone knows that Seb and I favor each other, but I’ve never felt anything but compersion and delight when I’ve seen him giving Q his knot—or when he whines and begs for Frank’s knot during his rut. By the same token, I’ve never coveted Quentin—his omega perfume; sweet and heavy, or Frank; his power, his strength, his raw machismo.

Not the way I have felt that deep, crazed obsession for Louise Penny.

Listening to her and Quentin fuck in the safehouse was the most sublime torture. Their scents—sweet rose and creamy iris—like a garden fresh from the rain creeping beneath my door while the sounds of their moans and husky, dirty talk reached my ears.

Part of me hated hearing her make those sounds for Q—hearing him unravel as she racked him with pleasure; desperate to return to those few golden moments in the bath, deep inside her—our bodies and souls clashing and interweaving in an otherworldly harmony. The other parts of me came twice just listening to Louise lock Q inside her—actually being in the middle of their dual heat might just drive me mad.

“Jesu Crist, Cazzy,” Seb grunts, tearing his eyes away from Frank and Louise to eye me, his nostrils flared, eyelids fluttering.

“I’m going to be high as a kite if you can’t turn that down,” Quentin purrs, one of his long-fingered hands walking its way to me over Seb’s soft tummy until his willow-switch fingers curl into a fist in my t-shirt over my solar plexus—pulling me towards him over Seb.

I can’t spare another second of diverted attention, even though Q reels me in and Seb’s strong hand closes over myhard cock—standing at attention, tented in my omnipresent gray sweats.

My eyes jerk back to Louise—my breath coming in stringy gasps as I watch Frank’s lips close around one of her perfect pink nipples as she writhes atop his lap.

Her long red hair tumbles over one shoulder, her head lolling back as one of Frank’s hands finds her other breast, rough fingers toying with the pink point of her other nipple. Louise’s eyes find mine over the porcelain round of her bare shoulder, vivid red brown and crackling with desire.

It’s all I can do not to spring from the improvised couch and snatch her out of Frank’s arms—to put my mouth on those perfect breasts—to lap the slick honey from between her perfect marble white thighs only to bury myself inside her again and again as my perfume makes each touch break into a kaleidoscope of candy colors and heightened sensations.

My body lurches toward her, but Quentin’s grip on my shirt and Seb’s leg, laid over mine just above the knee—keep me from springing into action, a plaintive, desperate whine escaping me.

Quentin shifts, his face momentarily eclipsing my view—his snake green eyes flashing first with understanding, then pity, then mischief.

“I know the phrase ‘green-eyed-monster’ is meant to be figurative—but I happen to make the joke a little on the nose,” Quentin leans in across Seb’s lap to meet me halfway, his own gaze slipping away guiltily before he returns his focus to me—eyelids drooping, he draws close enough for his breath to whisper over my lips. “But if I'm honest with myself—I want to watch her take Frank and Seb’s knots.”

Seb lets out a sound somewhere between pleasure and a staccato laugh as he takes in Q’s words—clearly prone to similar imaginings as he leans in and kisses my neck—my theta perfumemaking his motions slow and syrupy compared to his usual keen sharpness.

“That’ll take care of any pesky brain activity—eh?” Seb growls as his powerful grasp on my hard cock gives an encouraging squeeze just below my head.

---