“Been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “How these would look with something new.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black velvet pouch. He hands it to me, and I tug on the gold string, unraveling the bow. I pour out the contents, and two tiny silver rings settle in my palm. They catch the firelight–delicate sterling hoops, each set with a small, deep garnet that looks almost black until the light hits it just right, flaring blood-red.
My nipples tighten under the fabric just from the sight of them. “They’re beautiful.”
“They’ll look even better on.” His fingers are warm when they slip under the edge of my bodice, tugging the fabric down just enough to bare both breasts. He takes his time, thumb circling the silver bar already there, teasing until I shift on the chaise, thighs pressing together.
“Easy,” he whispers.
He works carefully–gentle but sure–unclasping the old bar. He leans in and laves the spot, getting it slippery with the swipe of his tongue. He eases the old piercing out and I gasp, fingers curling into the velvet cushion.
The new ring slides through easily. He fastens it and gives thegarnet a gentle tug. “How’s that?” he asks, as pleasure-pain sparks straight to my core.
I swallow. “Good.”
He repeats the process on the other side–same slow circle of his thumb, same lick and careful removal. When the second garnet is in place, he sits back and looks at me. The firelight turns the new rings to tiny flames against my skin. My breasts rise and fall faster now, nipples flushed, dark and aching. Damon reaches out and cups one breast in his palm, thumb brushing the new hoop once more.
“Perfect,” he says, voice rough. Then, softer, just for me, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”
Hunter and Timothy watch us–quiet, hungry, approving. The room feels smaller, warmer, the air thick with the scent of pine and arousal and woodsmoke.
Damon leans in, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of my breast, right above the new piercing. His tongue flicks once against the garnet, sending a fresh spark straight between my legs. When he rises up onto his knees again, he cups my face in both hands, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.
“You ready to show them?” he asks, voice low and rough, eyes dark with promise.
My breath catches. I glance past him–Timothy still seated in his armchair, legs spread, one hand resting on his thigh like he’s holding himself in check; Hunter already standing, arms loose at his sides, gaze locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at.
It’s then that I realize what’s happening: I’m his gift to them.
35
Hunter
WatchingDK lean over Arianette’s body and suck a kiss onto her tit…fuck me. Her breath hitches every time he tugs one of those garnet hoops–small sounds that go straight to my cock. She’s flushed from her neck to her chest, her burgundy dress pushed down around her waist, breasts bare and glistening where DK’s mouth has been. The garnets catch the flames like drops of blood, and Christ, they look good on her.
I stay still, body growing warmer with every passing minute, wondering how far the King is prepared to let this go now that he and Arianette have been fucking. It wasn’t a surprise–they’re married–but the shift in their relationship was sudden, including revealing his face.
He seems content to let DK have this first piece of her tonight. I already know he likes watching, likes controlling the scene. Maybe even more than I do, but this is the first time we’re all in the roomtogether. The tension tonight isn’t built on anger, but something more seductive.
DK finally rises, cups her face, and asks, “You ready to show them?”
My cock strains against my zipper.
She’s seated on the chaise lounge, skirt teasing her thighs, crown sparkling on top of her head. Her tits are exposed, pushed up from the bodice of that sexy as hell dress like an offering. Damon stays behind her, hands on her hips, presenting her like a gift.
The King clears his throat, but stays seated. “Tonight is the longest night of the year. The time when we hunker down with one another and do our best to survive until morning. It’s not a hunt, or even a ritual, but it’s a moment we can share together in harmony as living, breathing things. We’ll pass the time in pleasure, celebrating the flesh and one another.” He tilts his head toward me. “Go, celebrate your Sister.”
The approval is barely out before I’m off the couch. I cross the room in three strides, stopping close enough to smell the jasmine on her skin. Standing before her, I’m struck by how wrong I was about her before. How I thought she was weak, mentally and physically, but I’ve seen her take my knife, watched her skin prodded and pierced, absorb punishment, and survive torment.
She’s fucking gorgeous, not just because of those soul-filled eyes and full lips, or the silky hair brushing her shoulders, but because she carries her scars with power, and Jesus, I want some of it for myself.
I drop to my knees next to her and reach for her throat, my fingers trailing down over the collar and lower, ghosting over the swell of her perfect tits. I’m terrified that if I touch her, I won’t be able to control myself, but the garnet hoops gleam, and her nipples are dark and swollen from DK’s mouth.
“Fuck, Nettie,” I breathe. The shortened name surprises us both, but it feels right. The same way the tiara looks right, perched regally on her head. Leaning forward, I close my mouth over her left nipple–hot, tight, sucking hard around the new ring. She arches, fingersflying to my hair, pulling just enough to sting. Encouraged, I tug the hoop between my teeth, feel her shudder, taste the faint salt of her skin and the metallic bite of silver. My tongue flicks the garnet, circles the areola, then I switch to the other side–sucking deeper, rolling the ring with my tongue until she’s whimpering, hips rocking forward.
I pull back just enough to look at her–cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with that perfect mix of need and trust. The burgundy dress is still bunched around her waist, corset laces loose, but not undone, the skirt hiked high on her thighs. She looks like sin and sanctuary at the same time. I stroke down the front of my pants, trying not to blow my load before this gets started.
DK’s thumbs stroke the sides of her breasts until her back arches. “That feel good?” he murmurs against her ear.
