Page 63 of Penny for Your Saints

Louise, a textbook sigma, seemed somewhat baffled by my precipitous need—found herself spurred on to help by my heavily pumping omega perfume, a sweet promise of a key for her lock as her own urgency grew.

Little did we know that we’d end up so worked up that we couldn’t even stumble out of the starting blocks.

After we’d hung the bedsheets and bedded down in the new linen canopy—articles of the other saint’s clothing helping to furnish the amber-lit bower, we’d started to strip one another down—leagues of skin against skin as our perfumes mixed and mingled. At some point in the delirium—our mouths parted and fingers untangled—two mirrors of need reflecting endlessly back on one another in the space between unreality and daydream.

I don’t know how long the two of us would have stayed like that—our fevers building, our bodies beginning to waste themselves, to burn up and away if the others hadn’t returned when they did—but thankfully I don’t have to think on it too hard.

The deep, near perfect harmony of our bodies together only underscored how my heats with the saints before had been missing a crucial element—not that I ever would have thought as much before now.

Even this morning, playing with Caz and Seb in the outdoor bath as we do our best to maintain our bodies through the mind fog and dreamy intensity of the heat; I found myself longing to be reunited with Louise just as badly as Frank… more if I’m being honest with myself.

The sharp edge of jealousy threatened to draw blood when the three of us hustled back into the house from the hot tub, only to find Frank and Louise still knotted together—their aggressive kissing full of tongues and teeth; Louise’s body suspendedbetween a set of improvised leather cuffs and Frank—his cock pinning her against the door as they savor their tightly fastened union.

Caz and Seb, needing more time to rebound than Frank, Louise, or myself, insisted that we should try to eat something once Louise and Frank could physically separate. Grudgingly, I agreed—even though I’d rather have had Louise lock me tight inside that sigma pussy of hers again instead.

Working up a decent pout, I crawled into the nest while Frank and Louise waited for his knot to subside; Seb setting about preparing something to eat from the supplies on hand in the cabin.

Lazily I stroke my hard cock as I lay in the cushions and blankets—the smell of the other saints and Louise heavy and close in my sunlit confines of cotton bedsheets.

There’s some grunting and sighing from Frank and Louise along with the clattering of a brass belt buckle and the jangling of the iron ring door handle

“I need to tap out a round—take a piss, stretch it out, hit the hot tub, have a smoke, let my fucking cock have a minute’s rest,” Frank grunts as I watch him step back into a discarded pair of Caz’s sweats through the narrow opening in the nest’s bed sheet curtains.

For a moment, I contemplate following him back out to the wooden hot tub where I took Seb’s knot half an hour ago—but find myself shockingly exhausted without having eaten anything since yesterday’s breakfast.

I hear the sounds of Sébastien peeling and chopping, the murmur of his and Caz’s voices overlapping while someone pumps water at the basin. As my eyes drift shut—my hand coming to a slow stop, still tightly clutched around my gently throbbing erection, I see Louise dip a rag beneath the runningwater—wringing the small bit of cloth out before running it over her face, her neck—down between her breasts.

Between the sound of the running water and the soft rasp of their voices—I’m out like a light before I know it.

When I wake, there’s the sharp tang of onion in the air, the rich smell of red wine cuts through even the dense scent cloud enveloping the nest. I roll onto my hands and knees, my cock already hard again—insistently flipped up against the rippling of my lower abdominal muscles, my balls hanging heavy and full below. It doesn’t seem like it should be possible after the near non-stop cumming I’ve done over the past few days—but the fact of my desperate need remains.

I crawl toward the curtains that separate the nest from the rest of the small hunting cabin, and suddenly my view is filled with an incredible vision: Louise on all fours—her knees splayed open wide, Caz laying beneath her—his tongue working her clit eagerly as she sucks down his cock up to the last rung of his Jacob’s ladder, Sébastien standing just beyond the table’s edge, fucking Louise’s pussy from behind.

Caz’s cock pops free of Louise’s mouth as she lets out a quiet whine, the backs of her thighs trembling as she works through another orgasm.

“I want you both—inside me,” she gasps raggedly, Seb’s thrusts slowing until he pulls out of her entirely.

“Shouldn’t we stop to eat, eh?” Seb pants, helping to steady Louise as Caz shifts, wriggling out from beneath her body to sit next to her on the tabletop.

“I can eat food later.” Louise protests petulantly—rising on her knees at the edge of the table to reach for Sébastien—her fingers combing back through his snarling, dark curls, stroking the stubble at his jaw before she kisses him sweetly, both of their full, plush lips pressing together with unspent passion.

“I want you and Caz to take me to another place,” She almost whispers before adding dreamily, “There’s something about this heat… about all of you,” Louise turns her face away from Sébastien as Caz curves himself around her body. He wreathes his arms around her clavicles, enveloping her from behind—his erection fitted against the curve of Louise’s ass—his hard cock peeking up from the high curve of her ass, his gold prince Albert winking against her freckled cheeks.

I bite my lip to keep myself from betraying my voyeurism with some kind of whine or moan, stroking myself slow and hard as Caz and Louise make room for Sébastien on the large wooden farm table, a faded floral tablecloth spread beneath them as they exchange kisses and gentle caresses—the sound of mouths parting and hitching of breath the only sound for several long moments.

“I want to make you cum with Sébastien, but even if I beg you to—don’t bite me,” Caz suddenly blurts out before adding “I can’t explain why it’s different than before you… came to the Saints,” he stumbles over the words, barely able to transmute his desire into speech, but Louise seems to understand; pressing the pad of her index finger to his lips.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about biting you both a few times.” She gives a devilish grin, and my stomach nearly turns inside out with icy jealousy and the subsequent white-hot panic that she might not feel the same about me.

I almost sob when I hear her voice pipe in again, soft but mischievous: “And Quentin? Jesus, fuck—I almost bit him back in the beach city safe house, and I wasn’t even in heat,” she confesses, placing a kiss over the place she’d pressed her finger seconds ago, her mouth grazing Caz’s lips before she lays an open palm against Sébastien’s chest.

She says something else to them in a low, rumbling voice—but I’m still so caught up on her last words that I don’t really hear.

Our Little Lucifer, our morning star—she wants me for one of her own; to be joined by the bond of a bite. She said it as clear as day.

Part of me wants to burst from the bedsheet nest and beg her to bite me in right now, to connect Louise, Cazimer, Seb and I together in the unbroken ring ofpack.

What about Frank? A small voice asks somewhere in the back of my mind, and I stop short.

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