Episode Thirty-Three Scream His Name

A lliana

I've been having sex with the brothers—and loving it—since the day I got here, but something seems different. More momentous. I want our joining to be perfect, but right now, I just dive into our kiss.

Mirron, my Mirron, is strong and healthy. During the three days he slept, his skin warmed, his color returned to normal, and his wound healed so well I can hardly see the scar.

His plump lips feel divine as I brush against them. His wide, minotaur nostrils flare as he drinks in my scent, then his tongue slips between his lips to taste me.

As my fingers curl around his wide, strong shoulders, I give myself over fully to the kiss as our tongues explore each other, mingling, delving, dancing. I moan in delight as we come together like this. It feels as if I've been yearning for this forever.

Circling my thumbs and forefingers together at the base of his horns, I stroke up and down, just as I did in the forest three days ago. He growls into my ear. His tone is deep, gravelly, and full of desire.

Something about the pleasure and need imbued into that noise feels as if he plucked my clit, even though his hands are grazing along the channel of my back, clutching me so tightly it's a statement he'll never let me go.

With me still in his arms, he rises from where he's sitting on the wooden stump and carries me into our cave. If nothing else, this should prove we won't need to worry about his health tonight.

When we were on our hunting trip, I'd hoped to come back to an empty cave and explore each other without the brothers' prying eyes. I'd wanted privacy to get to know Mirron, just as my first time with Luka and Dek had been alone.

As I'm telling myself whatever happens will be the way it's supposed to be and I'll love it, Dek says, "Luka and I are going to take a swim. We'll join you soon."

Luka's surprised, "What?" isn't lost on me, nor is the unmistakable sound of Dek's hand swatting the back of Luka's head. Nor is the soft chuckle that rumbles from Mirron's chest.

"Come, Little Prize. I've waited too long to taste you," he says as he pulls me to the pile of furs that smell like all of us—our pack.

I shuck my leggings and tunic faster than I ever have and lie down, eagerly awaiting him, legs already spread. He's right. We've both waited too long.

Just as I've imagined it a dozen times, he dives between my legs and attacks me with his tongue. I've been wet for him since before the kiss we just shared, so that thick tongue slides easily into my channel.

I slide my legs between his horns and his thick shoulders and rest my heels on his warm, furred back, cradling his face with my thighs while he grips my ass with his big hands as he lifts me to his mouth.

"Oh!"

Dear gods, I've never felt anything like this. It's long and thick and eager as it pumps into me—delving, tasting, exploring. He finds a spot inside me that feels better than all the rest. Perhaps it's my squeak of pleasure that tips him off, because he circles back to it and presses harder and faster until I'm close to the edge.

When I snake my hand to my mound, ready to circle my clit to finish myself off, he uses his nose to push my hand out of the way. Then he nuzzles against my clit until the pleasure builds hotter and hotter, higher and higher and I spiral into a burst of pleasure so powerful it pulls a moan from deep in my throat.

"You keep your hands busy on my horns, Little Prize. I want to make you feel good like that again," he says with a flash of a smile, then bends to his task again.

This time, that powerful tongue focuses on my little bud, already sensitized by my release. As wide and thick as his tongue is, he manages to point the tip and flick against me until I forget I'm supposed to be stroking his horns from base to tip. Instead, I grip them near his skull and hang on for dear life as I'm swept away in the physical bliss his tongue is bestowing.

My pelvis fills with that swirly fullness that signals my impending release, but he's either clueless about what he's doing to me, or he's taking some unholy pleasure in keeping me hanging on the edge.

"Please," I whine.

Perhaps he's deaf, because he doesn't change a thing. He's like a machine, using the same movement, the same pressure, the same rhythm.

"I'm so close." I didn't mean for it to come out that way, but my tone was scolding.

"Mmm," he says, the vibration kicking my arousal up a notch but not pushing me over the precipice.

"Please." I thrust my mound against his face, hoping the hint will make him grant me more pressure. Just the smallest bit more will get me there.

This gets me another, "Mmm," and another notch higher, yet still no release.

"Fuck me, please." Gone is my scolding tone. This was an out-and-out plea.

He flicks harder, moans deeper and longer against my tender bud, then slides one thick minotaur finger into my desperate channel. It sets off a cataclysmic orgasm that causes my muscles to seize around him. My head tips back into the soft furs, my hands tighten around his smooth horns, and my pelvis bucks against him as I scream his name.