Page 16 of Blessed

“Are you certain you’re not too sore?” he asked while Mil took his hand from Mattin’s cock in order to pet the inside of Mattin’s thighs. He found what had already leaked from Mattin and made a small noise above Mattin’s head.

Mattin hurried to cover himself only to freeze and gaze at Arden with his hand not entirely hiding his stiffening cock from Arden’s admiring view.

“Why do you keep insisting I must be sore?” Mattin wondered with less ire than he expected, perhaps because Arden reached down to tug his cock for him, turning as he did so that he could kiss the side of Mattin’s neck. Mattin’s voice rose on a cry. “Ah, there. I mean…please, there.”

“Oh, I know you like kisses here.” Arden’s tone was mean but he kissed Mattin again as Mattin had requested. “You were very clear with your needs, and it was an honor to fulfill them.” He raised his head to bring Mil in for a quick kiss, then gave Mattin’s neck more attention, kissing a spot that seemed to have been well-loved already, nuzzled often by someone unshaven and a little rough, because Mattin was sensitive there.

His cry grew louder.

“An honor,” Arden was a torment, pausing only to run a palm over Mattin’s wet thigh before continuing to tease Mattin’s cock, “and a joy.”

“Please.” Mattin had no idea what he was asking for, except, “More.”

“More of what?” Mil slipped his hands over Mattin’s backside, spreading Mattin wide before sliding his hands between Mattin’s thighs again and forcing them apart when Mattin started to wriggle. “Still hot with some fever. Still rubbed raw all over that soft skin from fucking. But you want more.” He didn’t seem surprised, but he also did not push his fingers where Mattin might have liked them. “Not feverish enough to demand now, Sass? Or is it that you’re too sor…?”

“I wear glass. I am not made of it!” Mattin snarled, seizing Arden by the hair and holding him to his neck, only to gasp when Arden—the king himself but every inch a Canamorra—laughed and bit him.

Mil would not let him rub his thighs together. Mil’s thumbs swept back and forth over sensitive places, close enough to make more wetness well up and spill. Mattin felt as if he was bright red with heat. “Did you do this to me before?”

“Tease you on purpose?” Mil huffed, moving a thumb to nearly press inside of Mattin. Nearly, but stopping when Mattin whined. “No. A fever’s solely about what the Blessed wants. You without a fever… maybe I want to rile you up a bit. See what I can drive you to.”

Arden laughed again with warm affection. “Tell him what to do and he will do it,” he confided to Mattin in a whisper that Mil could undoubtedly still hear. “Or do nothing and let us show you what you do to us.” He used his teeth again and a spasm went through Mattin so strong that Mil had to hold him up.

“Brute,” Mattin said anyway, leaving Arden to do as he wanted… and apparently how Mattin wanted. It was not fair how Arden knew what Mattin liked when Mattin did not and couldn’t remember.

“Yes,” Arden and Mil said together, as they did so many things together, and Mattin abruptlydidknow what they had done, at least some of it. What he haddemandedthey do. What he wanted again now, with his mind clear enough to remember it.

He trembled and flooded an embarrassing amount of slick onto Mil’s hands, the spill of it as hot as Mattin was inside. Mil swore. Mattin closed his eyes and fell back against him.

“Gentle brutes,” he corrected himself for them, while they bit and groped him and petted over soft, wet skin and kissed him. “Mine.” It was a whisper, but they both went still. “My Gifted?”

“Yes,” at once and immediate, the two of them speaking as if they knew each other’s minds and hearts on the subject and Mattin was the one slow to know the truth.

He was. He blushed for that too, but slid a hand back into Arden’s hair and thought of them and understood why he felt marked and carved out inside.

“Then I will have both of you,” he continued to whisper, not an order but also not a question, “again. Because we did that, didn’t we? In our nest?”

He remained embarrassed but it was difficult to care when they each kissed him; Arden at his neck again, Mil on the top of his head. Mil answered, “‘Course we did.” But Mattin wasn’t sure he understood.

“At the same time,” he further explained, as if they were discussing research he had done for them over breakfast and tea. He knew Arden, if not also Mil, were going to worry, and he reveled in that and frowned about it, and added, “It’s why I’m so wet now, you see. I’ve been thinking of it. What I can remember of it. What I can still feel. I was so hungry and then you took care of me. Will you…?”

He had an arm around his waist and was lifted from his seat before he could blink, and raised his voice in startled protest before he could stop himself. Mil froze at the curtains to the bedroom, making all kinds of outraged noises when Arden began to laugh again.

Mattin was held firmly to Mil’s chest, his feet dangling without touching the floor. It was not dignified. But something stirred in his chest, and then lower, to know how easily Mil held his weight.

“Do not say sorry,” Mattin told Mil. “But you might have chosen a different method to get me there.”

“Impatient,” Mil answered gruffly, as though he hadn’t already had Mattin over the course of at least one day, probably two, possibly three.

Arden appeared next to them to part the curtains and then Mil swooped Mattin into his arms properly to take him into the bedroom.

The bed was bare of many of the blankets, which were puddled on the floor. But Mattin dropped his face to it the moment Mil set him down, rubbing his cheek over the strong scent of his Gifted and the shockingly abundant scent of his slick.

“There he goes again,” Mil remarked, hand to the back of Mattin’s head as Mattin nuzzled their nest and then turned to roll in it.

Mattin recalled himself a moment too late, already too warm to feel it but aware he must be blushing furiously. The two watching him only seemed pleased. Smug, even, in Arden’s case.

“A good nest then.” Arden’s tone was beyond satisfied. “It will hold that scent for you all of my days, Mattin Arlylian, if you choose us. And you will never be left hungry.”

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