Page 40 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
"She's been lonely without you," Taveth said, his pale eyes never leaving Tarshi's face. "The bond between us is strong, but it couldn't fill the void where you and Sirrax should have been."
I shivered at his words, at the raw honesty in his voice. It was true—no matter how complete my connection with Taveth felt in the moment, there had always been an aching emptiness where my other mates should have been.
I looked between them, these two men who wore the same face but couldn't have been more different in personality and power.
"I need both of you," I admitted, my voice trembling with the weight of the confession. The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implications that made my pulse quicken. I had meant as mates, but the words went deeper than that as I looked up at Tarshi.
Tarshi's eyes darkened at my admission, and I felt his arousal spike through our bond. "Both of us," he repeated, his voice rough with desire. His hand moved to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled me closer for a kiss. His lips were soft against mine, familiar, filled with months of longing and relief at being reunited. I melted into him, my body remembering the shape of him, the way he tasted.
When we broke apart, I turned to Taveth, seeing the hunger burning in his white eyes. He leaned forward, his shadows reaching for me like living things, and captured my mouth in a kiss that was entirely different from Tarshi's. Where Tarshi had been gentle, Taveth was possessive, demanding, filled with the darkness that always lurked beneath his surface. Both bonds hummed with life inside me—Tarshi's warm and golden, Taveth's dark and electric.
I felt dizzy as I pulled back from him, caught between these two men who were so alike yet so different. The air in the room felt charged, electric with the tension building between all three of us.
"I've missed you so much," I whispered to Tarshi, my fingers tracing the familiar line of his jaw. "Every day, every night. I felt so empty without you, without Sirrax, without the others."
"I know," he murmured against my temple. "I felt it too. The bond was like a wound that wouldn't heal."
Taveth's hand found my free one, his cool fingers intertwining with mine. "I tried to fill that emptiness," he said quietly. "But I understand now that I never could. Not completely." He looked up at Tarshi.
"Show me," he said suddenly. "Show me how you touch her. I want to see."
My heart stuttered at his words, heat flooding my cheeks as I realized what he was asking, but Tarshi was already shifting me in his lap, arranging me so I was facing outward toward Taveth while still cradled against his chest.
"I've been dreaming of this," Tarshi murmured against my ear, his hands beginning to roam over my body with familiar expertise. "Of having you back in my arms, of showing you how much I've missed you."
His touch was gentle at first, reverent, as if he couldn't quite believe I was real. His hands skimmed over my arms, my sides, reacquainting themselves with the shape of me. I melted back against him, my body remembering how perfectly we fit together.
I watched Taveth's face as Tarshi's hands moved over me, seeing the way his white eyes tracked every caress with hungry fascination. The shadows around him writhed restlessly, responding to his arousal, but he made no move to interrupt or interfere.
Tarshi's fingers found the lacings of my tunic, working them loose with practiced ease. "I dreamed of this," he whispered against my neck, his breath warm against my skin. "Of undressing you slowly, of seeing every inch of you again."
The tunic fell away, leaving me bare from the waist up, and I felt Taveth's sharp intake of breath. His gaze burned over my exposed skin, taking in the marks that decorated my throat and collarbone—his own claiming scar, but also the older ones that belonged to Tarshi and Sirrax.
"Beautiful," Taveth breathed, his voice rough with desire. "You're so beautiful, Aeveth."
Tarshi's hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peaked under his touch. I arched into his caress, a soft moan escaping my lips as pleasure shot through me. Through our bond, I could feel his satisfaction at my response, his joy at being able to touch me again after so long.
"Touch her," Taveth said, his voice thick with arousal. "I want to see how you make her feel."
Hooking his feet behind my ankles, Tarshi pulled my legs apart, his hands sliding down to my belt. Taveth moved forward, taking the waistband of my woollen breeches in his hands and tearing them apart. I gasped as the cool air drifted between my legs as I was bared to him.
“Better,” he said. “Too many clothes.”
“I agree,” muttered Tarshi. “And I like your style, brother.” He reached down, and I moaned as his hand slipped between my legs, my body responding instantly to his familiar touch. The sensation of his hand between my legs while Taveth watched sent heat spiralling through my core, and I couldn't suppress the moan that escaped my lips.
"She's so wet," Tarshi murmured, his voice filled with wonder and desire. His fingers moved against me with the expertise born of months of intimacy, finding exactly the spots that made me arch against him. "I've missed this. Missed you."
Through our bond, I could feel his arousal building, matching my own as his fingers worked their magic. But I was also acutely aware of Taveth's presence, the way his white eyes tracked everymovement, every reaction. The shadows around him writhed with barely contained hunger, and I could sense his desperate need through our connection.
I whimpered as Tarshi's fingers circled my most sensitive spot, my hips moving instinctively against his hand. The pleasure was almost overwhelming after weeks of feeling disconnected from this bond, from this perfect understanding between us. Taveth's white eyes were fixed where Tarshi's hand moved between my legs, his shadows writhing with barely contained hunger.
"Show me how she likes to be touched," he said, his voice hoarse with desire.
Tarshi's fingers slipped lower, teasing at my entrance before sliding inside me with a slowness that made me gasp. My back arched against his chest as he began to move, his thumb continuing to work my clit in slow circles.
"Like this," he said, his voice thick with arousal. "She likes it slow at first, building the tension until she's desperate for more."
I was already becoming desperate, my body trembling with need as he worked me with the skill of someone who had mapped every sensitive spot. The mate bond between us pulsed with shared pleasure, amplifying every sensation until I felt like I might shatter from the intensity of it.
