“Netta, such apretty cunt.” He whispers as he lines up his cock with my slick entrance. Chiron’s advance is gentle to start, and the pressure is incredible. I arch my hips toward him, seeking the fullness I know will come. I can feel Wren move his hand to his own cock now, stroking it deftly, the head gliding across my backside with each pass of his fist. The idea of him behind me, slaking his own thirst, is absolutely carnal—I wish I could see him.
Chiron breeches my body now in earnest. His eyes are closed to us now, and his conscious mind is gone to himself. Because now Chiron ruts. Each thrust slams my body back into Wren. His hand squeezes the flesh of my hips, enjoying the feel of the plump skin under his grasp.
Our breathing is a cacophony of whimpers, moans, and grunts. Wren’s fingers find my clit again, and this time they press and tap there in a circular motion. The intensity of being so full and the pressure of Wren’s skilled hands break any composure I was still trying to maintain because my legs begin to tremble and my eyes roll to the back of my head before I close them. My whimpers crest to moans as I writhe. My channel contracts around Chiron’s length, and the groans that escape him are burnished into my memory forevermore.
Wren whispers incoherently at my neck, his hand moving faster behind me now. I feel the warmth of his climax at my back, washing over my skin. When Chiron follows, I can feel it from inside of me. His cock swells, and he pumps in short, harsh ministrations.
“Take it, take it” is whispered into my skin, a chant they both make, an echo. When he is spent, he frees himself of my body with care.
The emptiness I feel at his departure is erotic of its own accord, my senses alight in ways untested until now. I am languid. But he pulls his body closer to mine, chest against chest, his lips leaving soft kisses on my brow.
His hand is on Wren, holding us together.
Chiron is always holding us together.
When the sweat cools on our skin, I do not move from here, none of us do. Hours pass. Chiron and Wren whisper soft words of praise to me,
“You are everything. You are incredible.”
Nothing has ever been this right.
I am full of all the feelings between us. I drift to my oblivion.
…
Wren
The coals are burned now,glowing ash. I feel like ash: one breeze could blow me away, into nothingness.
She is so beautiful, a mass of jet hair and deep curves and dips. He is beautiful in a different way, with hard lines and sun-touched skin.
I am awake. Sleep will not find me this night.
There is only one thing between us, and it is neither tangible nor purely thought. It is a gaping crevice between them and me.
If the land could leave the Trinity…could sky leave, as well?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vonetta
Iwake draped in soft bedding. I am held tightly across my waist by a sleeping Chiron, and a knock on our chamber door. I’m surprised to see a fully dressed Wren get up to answer it, nodding and speaking in low tones to the messenger. He closes it behind him and returns to the chair in the corner of the room. His eyes meet my own when he sits. I smile at him, but he does not return it. Wren’s eyes are tired and unfocused, and his posture is rigid. Wren returns to his writing and doesn't look back again.
I lie back and catalogue the events of the night, our first time truly together. Wren joined our bed of his own volition? His kisses and his touches were freely given. Perhaps he just feels abashed by our joining. Wren is so often at the edge of things between us all, hesitant to step forward. The boldness of his desire in the darkness was brave. It makes sense for him that he would step back from that in the light of day.
I close my eyes to the morning sun streaking through our shuttered windows. Wren remains writing, even when Chiron wakes and pulls me ever closer to him, and I turn into his arms. He plants a gentle, lingering kiss on my forehead and then rests his chin in my hair. I breathe in the scent of him, warm and musky. All of these nights together, and this is the first time we are skin to skin, so I drink up the feel of him under my fingertips.
“Good morning…” He says into my hair. His voice is sleepy, like his eyes haven’t yet opened to the day. He stiffens a little. “Where’s Wren?” He whispers. The protectiveness in his tone is evident.
“He’s writing. He took a messenger a bit ago, but he didn’t say what about.” I reply, keeping my voice low. Chiron kisses my hair again, and I feel so much tenderness at the small gesture. “I’m going to dress,” I tell him, rolling to my other side to see my dressing gown laid out across the bed. I guide my arms through and cinch it at my waist.
Chiron seems reluctant to leave the bed, and for that, I do not blame him after the events of yesterday…and last night.
I make myself ready quickly. Jessah has left the charcoal gown for me, and I braid my hair loosely today, no pins. When I emerge from the washroom, Wren and Chiron are speaking closely. Both of their faces are tense; the exchange is not at all like their usual soft conversation. Concern grows in me the longer this continues. Chiron notices me in the doorway and stands to his full height. He smiles easily at me.
“Netta, care to break your fast with me?” He asks, turning from Wren and holding out his hand to me. I take it, looking over his shoulder at Wren, who’s back to writing again. His pen-strokes are tense, jagged etchings. I return my eyes to Chiron’s face, concern written all over my own.
“Wren, will you join us?” I say to him.
