Page 69 of Penny for Your Saints

“Get a good look while you can, Cazzy, and gimme that—will ya?” Frank reaches a dripping hand out for the spliff.

“No way dude, you’ll soak the thing with those drippy mitts—plus, we gotta get you two out of that boiling pot and back in the cabin; the temperature is falling fast and both of you are overdue for food and water,” Caz scoffs, leaning back conspicuously against the cedar shingles of the cabin wall.

Frank lets out a low growl of dissent but lets it drop quickly, his head lolling back over the side of the wooden tub as we wait for his knot to deflate enough for us to separate, my weight shifting slightly to ease the pressure on my knees.

In a matter of seconds, Seb ducks through the cabin doorway and out into the cold dregs of twilight; his eyes instantly drawn to Frank and I woven together.

“Ah, stuck in the hot tub I see,” he snickers, passing Caz an open flask without looking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Hopefully not for long.” I shiver—my shoulders, the tops of my breasts, my damp hair—all above the steaming water line, my skin turning icy in the winter air without the benefit of so much exertion.

A few minutes pass—the water slowly cooling as the fire below begins to fade; the embers barely glowing beneath a feathery layer of ash.

Eventually, Frank’s knot goes down enough for us to separate; Sébastien lifts me out of the water and wraps me in aflat sheet—carrying me in his arms through the doorway of the cabin so that I don’t have to walk barefoot through the snow to get inside.

As soon as we make our way to the nest—I can smell him; Quentin—his sweet scent hanging in the air—his long, lithe body visible through the parted bed sheet canopy curtains; his hands moving in slow-intense motions. One fist pumping around his hard cock, two fingers pumping in and out of his slick asshole.

“I need everyone,” he whines plaintively—and all of us spring into action.

Sébastien and Caz shuck off their boots and the rest of their clothes while I drop my damp sheet to the ground. Frank, who still sits outside in the cooling tub finishing a cigarette, will have to join us when he can.

I’m the first to crawl into the nest, reaching Quentin as he desperately levers his hips upward—pumping his throbbing erection with one hand, feet tucked under bent knees—legs spread shoulder width apart as he fingers himself.

I close my mouth around his cock head, and he lets out a loud whine.

“Do you need a knot, cher Tin-tin?” Sébastien rumbles as he walks on his knees toward us.

Tin-tin nods—frazzled and distracted by his frenzied need.

“No lock?” I can’t keep the disappointment from my voice or the frown from my lips—even though I know it’s hardly fair. If he doesn’t want it—he doesn’t want it. Heat or not, boundaries are boundaries and no still means no.

Quentin’s luminous chartreuse eyes widen with a wild gleam that almost looks like fear.

“Lucifer, I need your lock—” he blurts out on a breathy moan before adding, “I want you—and Frank to…” he trails off just as Frank’s head pops into the nest, all of us moving slow and syrupy under the influence of Caz’s psychotropic scenting.

“What a greedy thing you are, Quentin Beckett,” Frank growls as he makes his way toward us in the blankets and bedsheets.

Q can’t even form words, but he makes a helpless sound of ascent that stirs something in all of us.

“How do you want us?” Caz purrs warmly—lazily stroking his hard, pierced cock as he looks over the four of us.

Quentin’s eyes travel around the nest, his stroking and fingering slowing as he runs his mental arithmetic.

“Sebby, lay down,” he instructs first—pulling his index and middle fingers from his slicked hole.

Seb does as he’s told, then Quentin crawls his way to Seb—kicking one knee over Seb’s hips so that Quentin kneels over Seb’s monster—standing at attention, his knot full and dark purple-red.

All of us watch in wrapt silence as Q reaches between his legs, helping Seb’s length sink deep inside his slick asshole until Q reaches Seb’s knot.

Tenderly, Seb reaches up to support Quentin’s lower back, helping to guide him up off of his knees and onto his back—Seb’s length clutched tightly inside Q.

Quentin reaches his arms out to me—inviting me.

I crawl on all fours—clamoring on top of Sébastien and Q—using my fingers to spread some of my dripping slick down Quentin’s length before I mount him—sliding down his massive length an inch at a time until he’s entirely sheathed inside me.

I’m so sensitive, so aroused by Quentin’s needy proclamation of desire for all of us at once—almost as if we’re a pack; as if it were written in the stars—like the fabled ‘fated mates’ Frank spoke of earlier—that I almost start to lock him right then and there.

Instead, I lose myself in the color blooms behind my closed eyelids, Caz’s scent making each sensation feel like the ripplesmade by a stone dropped in a still pool—echoes of feeling amplified into larger and larger swells as each ripple breaks against the shore.

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