Page 86 of Penny for Your Saints

“Certainly, there were times in the past where I had glimpses of the Saints becoming something more—becoming family, but something had always felt as if it was missing.” He looks pointedly at me, those golden-green eyes brightly lit in the morning sun, twinkling beneath a toss of his copper brown hair.

“I've never experienced a more perfect harmony than our bodies in that snowy cabin by the lake. I've never felt more desire.”

I can almost feel the heat rolling off of Quentin in waves as his words increase in emotional intensity. I find myself reaching for him as his voice falls quiet, my body obeying his law of gravity.

The two of us are leaning across the table, our faces nearly touching, when I sense Frank in the doorway behind us—watching, breathing heavily.

“And what about you, Frank?” I ask, my hand suspended midair—my fingertips just grazing the point of Quentin's perfect marble chin—my lips a breath away from his.

He says nothing, only watches with those cold steel-blue eyes.

As the golden sun warms us, I am wrapped in our scents—and my sense of reason begins to slip through my fingers.

My eyes drift closed and I feel my lips press against Quentin’s—Caz's fingers caressing the outside of my arm, Seb’s hands finding their way to the tumble of hair at my shoulder.

From Quentin, my lips find Seb—allowing him to slowly guide me to my feet, passing me off to Caz, who begins to ferry me toward the bedroom.

In a haze of lips and limbs, our clothes seem to melt away—the mid-afternoon light illuminating everything, putting all out in the open.

The Saints lay me down on the expansive bed. Seb crawls up toward the padded headboard, built curving away from the wall beneath the sheer curtained windows—the light diffusing beautifully over our bare bodies. Seb and Quentin bracket me—their fingers in my hair, their lips at my neck, my breasts.

Caz strokes his hard cock—silver and gold against the livid rose of his flesh.

As Caz lowers himself onto all fours to stalk toward me, I can see Frank standing just at the edge of the bed, circling as he watches us; his cock hard and thick in his grip—his knot swollenbeneath his fist. I watch him eyeing us, like a big cat stalking a gazelle at a watering hole, waiting for his moment to pounce.

Just like that first day in the bath, he crawls between my knees—using his own thighs to part my legs wide; giving him access to my slick pussy.

“Are you ready?” I ask Caz sweetly as he lowers his face to mine—our lips just barely touching.

“Always ready for you,” he purrs back, sliding his cock against my slickness—each gentle stroke of his Jacob’s ladder strumming my buzzing clit as he runs himself up and down my wet slit.

I give an approving whine, and then he’s inside me.

Q and Seb pull back their hands—cradling my head, caressing Caz’s shoulders as he sinks an inch or two deeper.

Caz kisses his way along my jaw to my neck, and once again Frank fills my vision—he’s drawn closer, almost side by side—at the edge of the mattress, his knees bent ever so slightly as he leans against the bed fucking his fist.

I let out a low moan as Caz sinks into me up to the hilt—that golden ring kissing my cervix in the most delicious of ways.

Seeing my reaction, Seb encourages Caz to make another deep set of strokes, his hand gripping Caz’s muscular ass—practically pushing him to new depths.

All of this is proving to be too much for Caz—who’s growing increasingly short of breath—little desperate whines escaping him as he brings his face back to mine; the two of us joining in a deep kiss, our tongues twining.

Caz’s hands cup my face as he increases his speed—bottoming out each time at a record pace.

His face pulls back from mine as my legs begin to shake—his thumbs just barely touched together on my bottom lip.

Looking into Caz’s ice-blue eyes, I see his plea.

I dip my chin—taking his right thumb between my lips—I suck gently, allowing my teeth to sit ever so gently against the tender flesh below the first joint of his thumb.

Cazimer gives me the slightest of nods before he shudders forward—breaking over me like a wave.

I bite down, my teeth piercing the delicate skin—his blood spreading sharp and coppery in my mouth—the scent of poppies at the back of my palate.

Tenderly, I lick the wound as he pulls his thumb from my mouth.

The effects of the bonding are immediate. Every sensation is suddenly echoed—the lingering pleasure of our coupling resonating along the bond.

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