35. Mina

"Isn't our wife beautiful?" Quoth said, sliding his hands up my thighs, pushing the fabric of my black dress to the side.

Our wife.

I would never get tired of those words falling from his lips.

I didn't know how late it was. We danced and ate and drank and laughed and sang along with every terrible rock cover the band threw at us until the mayor came along and said that we had to shut everything down or he'd be forced to issue us with a police warning, and Hayes didn't look in any state to do it. I'd started to help Mum tear down the decorations, but Heathcliff hoisted me into his arms and marched me back to Nevermore Bookshop, the other two jogging after him.

Quoth had unlocked the door and Morrie moved ahead of us, turning on lights and lamps so Heathcliff wouldn't trip, narrating in his rich, fictive voice all the things he wanted to do to me, now that I was his wife. Quoth followed behind, leading Oscar and putting him to bed with some kibble.

Heathcliff carried me up both flights of stairs like I was a feather, and laid me upon our bed. I don't remember the moment we went from not touching to touching. All I knew was that magic hung thick in the air as the three of them converged on me, the star in the center of their universe, their scents mingling together, their touch fire and water and life and death.

It was everything and it was nothing, leaving behind my old self, shedding the skin of a Mina who didn't fit anymore, and becoming anew in their arms. It was stepping through the doorway of home and finding myself beside a warm fire. Their fire.

Morrie laid kisses on my lips like prayers, soft and reverent. Heathcliff unlaced my corset with an urgency that trembled in the air. When my breasts were free, he palmed them, his rough fingers stroking the nipples until I cried out.

Quoth undid the fastenings on my skirt and tugged it and my knickers over my thighs. Before I had a chance to breathe, he dived between my legs, his tongue finding the exact spot that drove me wild.

My three husbands held me, kissed me, worshiped me, their tongues and hands finding new ways to write their love for me.

My legs were already shaking under Quoth's expert tongue, my orgasm building as I pushed up my hips to meet his awaiting mouth.

My first orgasm came hard and fast, a release of pressure after a night of grinding against them on the dance floor, of stolen touches and increasingly intense kisses for our friends' cameras.

Morrie caught my strangled moans as Quoth dipped his tongue between my thighs, lapping up every part of my orgasm until I collapsed against them.

I reached out to Heathcliff, who stroked my nipples with his tongue. My fingers brushed the collar of his shirt, and the seam where Quoth had glued on his faux waistcoat after James Pond ate his way through the silk.

"Get these ridiculous shirts off, all of you," I whispered. "If I'm to be naked, it's only fair that my husbands should be, too."

My husbands.

I'll never get sick of saying that.

And I would never get sick of nights like this, the four of us together, conjuring magic and chasing away our demons.

Never have three men got undressed so fast. Morrie didn't even pause to fold his clothes. His belt buckle made a distinctive CLANG as it hit the wall, followed shortly after by his trousers and socks. The bed groaned as the three of them climbed on, crawling to me like men embarking upon katabasis.

Wrapping one arm around Morrie's neck and the other around Heathcliff, I leaned back into the headboard, my shoulders relaxing as I took in all of the pleasure and love surrounding me.

"We did it," Morrie said, his voice filled with wonder. "It took a long time, an eternity, but we made you ours."

"I think that I was always yours," I said. "I think that my whole life, I've been waiting for this moment."

"Then we'd better make it worth the wait," Heathcliff growled. His body vibrated with a restless energy, fighting the battle between his need to control and that feral, dangerous side of him, the side that wasn't all that dissimilar to a certain wild antihero born of the moors.

I was nearly torn apart by the need to know which one of him was mine tonight. I parted my legs, and his hand snaked between them, playing with me, teasing me, making me moan against Quoth's lips.

Morrie's long fingers sank into my hips as he lifted me and plopped me down on his shaft, cowgirl-style. I was so ready for him that he slid right in, filling me completely.

"Ride me, wife," Morrie commanded, his fingers digging in.

I obeyed, because no one can refuse James Moriarty when he speaks with the tongue of a devil. I tossed my hair back and rode him, grinding my hips against his, forcing all kinds of animalistic sounds from his throat.

Hands explored my body as I drove down on Morrie, rolling my nipples, drawing circles on my back, kneading my arse. And then, a heavy, muscled chest pressed against my back just as a soft, warm head of a cock rubbed against my lips.

"Wife," Quoth whispered, his whole body shuddering as I opened my lips to take him in.

He tasted so sweet, my bird, my husband, sweet as a lifetime supply of cheesecake. I moaned as I took him deep, circling my tongue against his head before curling my lips around the length of his shaft.

Quoth's fingers tangled in my hair, and the sounds falling from his lips were anything but sweet and innocent.

Behind me, Heathcliff growled against my skin, his teeth scraping across my shoulder as he rubbed lube onto his fingers. Beneath me, Morrie squirmed with delight.

"I can't wait to feel you come when all three of us are inside you, wife," he said, leaning back on the pillows and putting his hands behind his head, as if he was just enjoying the show.

I panted, unsure how to answer. Could I take more than this?

"If I die of pleasure on my wedding night, you and Heathcliff and Quoth are going to be on the hook for my murder."

Morrie chucked. "I say it was worth it."

I tried to focus on drawing Quoth's length inside my mouth as Heathcliff slid his finger inside me, working slowly, relaxing me, preparing me. Morrie slowed his thrusts. He loved this part.

"Are you ready for me?" Heathcliff asked, his breath kissing my neck.

"I'm ready, husband."

"When you say that word, I just about come apart," he grunted as he thrust forward.

Even though we'd done this several times now, I was never fully prepared for the sensation of all three of them inside me, how spread and warm and held and amazing I felt. Heathcliff's length seated itself inside me, pressing against Morrie through the thin layer that separated them. My lips wrapped around Quoth, dragging him deeper, so deep that I gagged, wanting as much of him as I had of the others. I was greedy for all three of them.

Heathcliff and Morrie started to move. They'd developed a rhythm between them that was as much about them fucking each other as it was about me, a way for the two of them to connect through me. My nails dug into Morrie's shoulders. I couldn't move, couldn't think, all I could do was hold on while they drove into me.

My whole body lit up like a sparkler. That was the only way to describe the way the pleasure fizzled inside me and burst out through my skin.

I didn't know where my body ended and theirs began anymore; we were all connected, all

one.

The first orgasm came more slowly this time. It danced green and orange lights in front of my eyes. But once I was there, the three of them held me in that liminal place, caring for me, whispering my name, worshiping me.

I lost track of the number of times I came. It felt more like one long, slow, continuous orgasm, a pleasure that crested like waves against a shore, relentless and rhythmic and eternal. It was only when Heathcliff let out a final thrust, his guttural moan shaking the bed, that I realized it was over, that Morrie had gone soft inside me, that I could taste Quoth's pleasure on my tongue.

The men moved around me, each one placing light kisses on my forehead. Heathcliff wrapped his strong arms around me and pulled me down onto the bed, tucking me against his chest. Quoth brought a warm washcloth, and softly, lovingly cleaned between my legs and along my thighs. Morrie dug his long fingers into the soles of my feet, making short work of the pain of dancing all night.

"I don't know what souls are made of," Heathcliff murmured. "But yours and ours are the same."

"Aw, now that's not fair." I snuggled down into his embrace. "You read that in a book."