Weaving Fate - Nora Ash Page 0,73

himself between my lips; all I’d wanted was that moment’s unity I’d felt while they were both inside of me to continue. To rest, safe in the knowledge that in this tiny space within the tent walls, for just a little while, everything was okay. Safe.

Modi slid his fingers down my stomach, locating my still-swollen clit. I moaned at the contact and jerked my hips back, but like with his mouth on my nipples, he was undeterred. He followed my movement, rubbing persistent but gentle circles around my tender pearl and feathering a fingertip directly over it now and again.

“Modi.” I exhaled his name this time and bit my lip when the first tendrils of something other than overstimulation flickered in my nerve endings. “Damn you both.”

“Shh, little mate,” Bjarni whispered huskily against my neck. Behind me his cock made a valiant effort at rising against my hamstrings, despite having just released every drop of his essence deep within me moments ago. “Relax. Enjoy. We only wish to serve you, hmm?”

That was a load of bullshit, and if I’d been more with it, I’d have called him out. Not all that long ago, he’d claimed he understood how exhausted I was. That exhaustion meant I was barely able to cling to consciousness—but my traitor of a body was starting to respond to my alphas’ demands for more.

“Fine.” My consent managed to convey an irritation that was rapidly drowning in Modi’s caresses.

“That’s the spirit,” Bjarni chuckled, his teasing followed by the slide of his warm hand down my body. When he reached my thigh, he hiked it over his arm, lifting it off Modi’s hip and back, opening me wider. “Show her how much you want her.”

“I need no pointers from you, Lokisson,” Modi growled against my breast. His hands went to my waist, and I instantly ached at the loss of his touch on my clit. But pointers or not, his intent became clear the next moment when he released my nipple with a final lap of his tongue and began kissing his way down my body, nipping at my skin and making anticipation bloom the closer he got.

When he placed a final kiss just above my pubis, I no longer had the patience to wait. With a whine, I wrapped my fingers in his long, red hair and pulled him down the final bit, gasping as his tongue flicked out to tease my throbbing clit.

“Yes," I moaned.

“See? There’s no need to resist—you were made for sex, sweetie. Pleasure,” Bjarni murmured in my ear.

It was impossible to argue when my body was tight with want despite my aching muscles and bone-deep exhaustion. I sucked in air in harsh pants, pressing my head back against his chest for some semblance of solidity amidst the onslaught of sensation.

Modi had skilled lips and a clever tongue, and I had the vague notion that while he may not have fucked a woman before me, he’d definitely practiced other sex acts. I wasn’t prepared for the rush of jealousy that thought brought on, but I was too wrapped up in sensation to analyze why.

“Fuck me!” I spat, yanking hard on Modi’s hair to move him farther up my body. “I want you inside me. Fill me, take me—prove you’re mine!”

A growl vibrated through his chest and into my core. He rose up over me like a mountain; like the primeval god he embodied, face dark with hunger as he stared down at me. He wiped the glistening slick he’d pulled from me from his mouth with one hand and sank down on his left side in front of me, lining his much larger body up with mine.

“Modi,” I whispered, the throb of arousal in our bond washing away the pain and allowing me to finally see him as the only thing that mattered: my mate.

My beautiful, powerful, tortured mate.

He grabbed me by the back of my neck and pressed my face into his chest.

“Anna.”

My name on his lips was a raspy whisper overtaken by a moan when he pushed his hips forward, his cock pressing up inside of me, forcing me wide all the way to my cervix.

I whimpered at the sensation of being so full, but it didn’t hurt. My body was still slick and limber from Bjarni, adapted to stretching for my alphas after my last claimings. It was only heat, pressure—pleasure.

He clutched my torso to his, Bjarni’s grip on my thigh keeping my lower body pressed against my blond mate. Split between