Page 8 of Halloween With the Siren
“Orgasm control?”
Marisol shakes her head. “Hard no during my heat. No spankings and no denials. Just keep the orgasms coming.”
Forcing myself to continue down the list, my question comes out hoarse merely picturing it. “Breeding?”
“Very good,” Marisol affirms after swallowing a bite of her cinnamon roll and wiping at some cream cheese at the corner of her mouth. “I have no desire to have children and have had my tubes tied. But I do enjoy being a…”
“Cum dump?” Bash offers from behind his hand, the words muffled as he speaks around an entire maple pumpkin cookie stuffed into his mouth.
Marisol bites her lip as she grins at Bash. “I was going to say canvas, but cum dump is even better.”
Killian leans forward and grips the table, the veins on the back of his large hands popping with the effort of holding back. “Oh, sweet siren. We’ll be more than happy to fill you up. Over and over again.”
Marisol’s scent intensifies and her heart pounds loudly. All three of us take an inconspicuous sniff and my panther sensestwitch at the new added note of sweetness to her light ocean breeze scent. Her heat might be closer than we thought.
“Oh, and we will,” Bash promises slyly, stuffing a bite of pumpkin fudge brownie into his mouth. “Don’t let their age fool you. They’ve still got lots of stamina,” he adds with a wiggle of his brows. Bash might not know from firsthand experience, but with his advanced fox hearing, there aren’t any secrets in our home.
Killian scoffs. “My knot is just as good now as it was at thirty-two, or even twenty-two.”
“I can attest to that,” I say, the corner of my mouth quirking up as I stare appreciatively at my partner of the last ten years. At forty-two and thirty-eight, the two of us are more than a decade older than Bash’s twenty-six, but when it comes to taking care of Marisol, there will be no difference in the degree of our devotion to her needs.
Bash forges ahead. “Yeah, between the three of us, you’ve got two knots and one kitty-cat barbed peen to keep you very, very satisfied.”
I hold my hand up, shaking my head in case Marisol misunderstands or hasn’t been with a cat shifter before. “Soft barbs. Kind of flexible. They act as extra stimulants as they graze against your pussy walls. Not painful clawing barbs.”
Marisol draws in a shaky breath. She sets her plate on the table with a soft clink and tugs at the collar of her beige sweater, pulling it away from her neck. “Well, all of that sounds like great fun. And I’m sure Killian can vouch for your lovely barbs too,” she says a little breathlessly, her cheeks now a charming red.
Killian smirks at me while he answers her, “I can. They’re very enjoyable.”
Marisol pushes her sleeves up and snatches her glass of water, downing it in one go. I monitor each move, cataloging the stacking evidence of her impending heat.
In the far corner of the room, Lauren keeps a cautious eye on us, and I meet their gaze, giving them a small nod that hopefully reassures them that I’m aware of what’s happening.
Marisol squirms in her seat, repositioning herself a few times before settling with her legs underneath her and hugging a pillow to her stomach. “Keep going. I’m sure you have more questions for me,” she says in an almost even tone.
“I do,” I say hesitantly, quickly sharing a look with my packmates. They seem just as concerned as I am, Killian’s brows pulled low and jaw bunched while Bash sits on the edge of his seat, leg bouncing and looking like he’s going to leap to Marisol’s rescue at any second. Turning back to Marisol, I suggest, “We can take a break if you’d like? Can I get you a different pillow or swap out your blanket?”
Marisol waves me off as she pulls her lush hair over one shoulder to fan her neck. “No, no. I’m good. Just getting comfortable.”
Following her lead, I check the next item on the list and swallow. Hard. “It seems that you’re interested in primal chases. Naturally, it’s something we’ve also marked in our file, being predators and all,” I manage to choke out, trying not to picture how amazing it would be following her scent through the dark as we hunt her. Definitely pushing the image away of taking her in the shallow waters while she’s in her siren form.
I must be exuding some strong pheromones because Killian presses his shoulder against mine just as Bash clears his throat.
Attempting nonchalance, Marisol reaches for a caramel apple cheesecake bar. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to try it, but I think it’s best if we table that one. During a heat I’m very lethargic and I probably won’t even have the energy to be on top. I hope you guys don’t mind doing most of the work.”
“For you, goddess, we’ll do anything and everything,” Bash says with fierce resoluteness, his snacks and jokes now put tothe side as he studies every hint of a signal from Marisol. “Let us take care of you. Lean on us. Trust us.”
“I agree,” Killian says with a nod toward Bash. “Please don’t enter this heat with any concerns. You’re not doing it alone this time. We’re here for you, Marisol, for whatever you need, whatever you want. You’re not alone.” The fact that neither of them put a time limit on their statements is not lost on me. We’re clearly all on the same page.
However, if things keep progressing the way they are now, we might be heading upstairs to a nest very soon and I need to get Marisol’s full consent before we all devolve into feral fuck machines.
Switching back to the topic on hand, I say, “We’ll shelve primal for now and revisit it at a later date.” Not waiting to see if Marisol wants me to clarify what I mean by “later date,” I start on the next question. “Dom/sub dynamics?”
Marisol pushes her pillow away and places a hand on her stomach. Her words are tinged with a whimper as she squirms in her seat. “Sometimes, I like surrendering completely to someone and simply taking directions. But there are moments that I like to be in charge too.”
Our pack lets out a collective grunt of approval, Killian and I happy with her desire to surrender, and Bash likely excited at the prospect of being bossed around from time to time.
Unable to verbalize exactly how much we like everything we’re hearing, I dive right into the next item. “Exhibitionism and voyeurism. Where are your hard lines there?” I ask, needing to move through the list as fast as possible before we all come in our pants from the sweet scent emanating from across the table.
