"Look at her," Eliam growled, his voice thick with desire as he watched Arion's hands move over her breasts. "So responsive. So perfect."
Arion's fingers pinched her nipples simultaneously, making her arch between them with a sharp gasp. The movement pressed her ass more firmly against his arousal, and he groaned against her neck.
The warmth in her chest was no longer just pulsing—it was singing, reaching out to wrap golden threads around all three of them. She could feel it trying to pull them closer, deeper, to merge them in ways that went beyond physical.
Eliam's hands slid down her sides, finding the ties of her skirt next. Once again the leather strips fell away, leaving her in nothing but the ceremonial paint and the two men's hands. She should have felt exposed, vulnerable, and she did, but she also didn’t care.
Arion's hand slid down her stomach, fingers tracing the muscles that jumped under his touch. When he reached the apex of her thighs, finding her already wet and aching, they both groaned—as if they could both feel what he was feeling.
"The connection," Eliam said roughly, his forehead pressed to hers as Arion's fingers began moving in slow, teasing circles. "I can feel what he feels when he touches you."
"Both ways," Arion confirmed, his voice strained. "When you kiss her, I taste it."
The revelation sent a new wave of heat through her. They were connected through her, the warmth binding them together in ways none of them had understood. Every sensation was shared, amplified, reflected between them.
Eliam's mouth found her breast, tongue circling her nipple as Arion's fingers pressed inside her. She cried out, her hands grasping desperately at whatever she could reach—Eliam's hair, Arion's arm, anything to anchor herself.
Around them, the celebration continued its primal rhythm. The drums seemed to sync with her heartbeat, with the pulsing of the warmth that connected them. She could hear other sounds—moans, cries of pleasure, the celebration of life in its most basic form.
When Eliam’s hand moved to join Arion's between her legs, she found her heart racing in anticipation. As he slowly eased his fingers inside of her, her hips rolled to meet his touch, her head falling back against Arion's shoulder He captured her mouth in a kiss that was all heat and demand.
His tongue swept past her lips, claiming and exploring, swallowing the sounds she was making. She could taste the fermented drink on him, sweet and strong, could feel his desperation in the way he consumed her mouth. His teeth caught her lower lip, tugging before soothing it with his tongue.
It was deep, possessive, his hand tangling in her hair to angle her head exactly how he wanted. Each stroke of his tongue matched the rhythm of their fingers below, deliberate and overwhelming. When she gasped for air, he barely let her breathe before claimingher mouth again, like he was trying to devour her very breath, to merge with her through the kiss alone. All the while his fingers continued to tease, the two of them working together instinctively, as if they could feel what the other was doing, adjusting their rhythm to drive her higher.
"I need—" she panted when Arion finally released his claim on her mouth. "I need more. Need you both."
The words had barely left her lips when Eliam lifted her effortlessly, shadows curling around her thighs to help support her weight. The position opened her completely to them both, and she felt exposed in the most delicious way, suspended between their bodies as the drums thundered around them.
"Hold onto me," Arion murmured against her ear, guiding her arms back around his neck.
She could feel them both hard against her—Arion's cock pressing insistently against her lower back while Eliam pressed himself between her spread thighs making her dizzy with want.
"Please," she whimpered, not caring that they were surrounded by other dancers, that anyone could see how wantonly she writhed between them. The Drak wine had stripped away her inhibitions, leaving only raw need.
Without a word, Eliam withdrew his fingers before positioning himself at her entrance. Arion's fingers traced down her spine, his touch leaving trails of starlight that made her shiver.
"Both of us," Eliam growled against her throat, not a question but not quite a statement.
"Yes," she breathed, the single word holding all her desperate need. The warmth in her chest flared so bright she could see it even with her eyes closed—golden threads wrapping around all three of them, pulling them together in ways that transcended the physical.
At her words, Eliam pushed inside her slowly, stretching her, filling her with a deliberate care that made her body tremble. Behind her, Arion's fingers moved lower, slick with her arousal as he prepared her carefully. The sensation was foreign but not unpleasant. When Arion pressed one finger inside her there, she tensed.
"Breathe," he murmured against her ear, his free hand stroking soothing patterns on her hip. "Let me make you feel good."
She forced herself to relax, focusing on the pleasure of Eliam moving slowly inside her, on the way their combined touch made the warmth in her chest pulse brighter. When Arion added a second finger, scissoring gently, the stretch burned but in a way that made her moan.
"That's it," Arion murmured against her ear as he replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, pressing gently but insistently. "Let us in. Let us have all of you."
"Together," Eliam said, his voice rough with restraint as he held still inside her. "Move together."
They did.
As Eliam withdrew slightly, Arion pressed forward, making her cry out. The initial burn gave way to an overwhelming fullness as Arion worked himself inside her inch by careful inch. She felt stretched beyond capacity, claimed in the most primal way possible.
Eliam groaned, his forehead pressed to hers. "I can feel—I can feel both sides. What you're feeling, what he's feeling—"
When they were both fully seated inside her, they paused. She could feel them both throbbing, could feel the way their breathing had synchronized. The warmth in her chest was no longer just pulsing—it was singing, a golden harmony that seemed to vibrate through all three of them.
