Page 105 of Connor and the Dragons

Kess squirmed. “That might be soon. I liked it very much.”

As the floaty feeling wore off, Vyranthos stirred. I knew the feeling. It was the way he woke up around gold, a low pull under my ribs that had dragged me into far too many messes.

But he was not turning toward the gold on the balcony.

He wanted us to make an egg. He wanted it under him, in the dark, warm, his. He wanted to sit on it and not move until it was hatched, and he wanted to take the head off anybody who got near it, and he wanted it so badly that my eyes stung.

“He is loud,” I said, because I had promised. “Vyranthos. Right now.”

Connor’s hand was on the back of my neck at once. “What does he want?”

“An egg.” I had to stop and start again. “He wants us to be a family. He wants the same thing I want. That’s quite new for me.”

Kessrin made a small sound and pressed his face into my shoulder.

“Well,” Connor said. “Good. Tell him he can’t have you, though, because if he wants an egg, Kess needs you to be in your reproductive form.”

Kess giggled, slurring it a little. “Reproductive form.” He was cute and quivering between us.

Once Kess settled, Connor stood and got his caretaking supplies. He cleaned us both with a warm cloth, and he took a long time about it. He rubbed something cool and slippery into my sore ass and into Kessrin’s hole while I lay there and made grateful noises into the pillow. I apologized to Kessrin for calling him silly, sincerely and at length, and he found it uncomfortable.

Then Kessrin got up on one elbow and reached for the box Connor had left on the table. The one with the cages in it.

“May I?” he asked. “I think you look so sexy in it.”

“You may, as long as Oallian is ready.”

“How could I ever object to being called sexy?” I asked, rolling over with a wince. “Or to implements of erotic torture. I am coming to understand that being tortured is my favorite pastime.”

Kessrin laughed and lifted one of the cages. His hands were narrower than Connor’s and much more careful, and I liked watching him strap me in, liked knowing that I was owned by both of them. He worked all the buckles open first, laying the straps out on the sheet in the order he wanted them. Then he fitted the waistband and drew it around me and did it up, and fastened the strap between my legs, and then he took my spent cock in his cool, clever fingers and settled it into the leather and closed the buckles one at a time, slowly, all the way down.

“It has a lock,” Connor said. “And two keys. One of them is Kess’s.”

Kessrin’s fingers stopped on the last buckle.

“Mine,” he said, cupping me beneath the leather. “And Connor’s. Ours. I like that very much.”

Connor turned the little key in the lock, and it clicked.

I lay between the two of them, with my ass on fire and my cock locked up and both of their hands on me. There were still four scones, and Connor brought them to me for a post-coital snack. It was the best day of my life.

EPILOGUE: CONNOR

“Weight back. You’re on your toes again.”

“I am not on my toes.”

“Oallian.”

He shifted back onto his heels, which put him about where he should have been four movements ago, and then he drifted forward again inside of ten seconds, because he had been alive for centuries and had never once in all that time done anything slowly.

We were in the tower courtyard, barefoot on cold flagstones, working through the form at about a quarter speed. I had him doing the short one. It was twenty-four movements long and a child could learn it in a week, and we were on day nine.

“This is very slow,” he said.

“That’s the point.”

“Could we do a fast one? I would be excellent at a fast one.”