Cerulean Sins

13

Jean-Claude released the ardeur with less than an hour to go, before they would die. I did not want to be trapped underneath anyone when that happened. But the ardeur had been denied longer than I'd ever denied it, and it was like a force of nature, a storm that broke over us, washed away Jean-Claude's clothes and what was left of mine.

I took Asher into my mouth and explored the perfection of him, found the one thin scar that trailed down his scrotum. I sucked the ridge of scar tissue into my mouth and made him cry out above me.

It was chance more than planning that put Jean-Claude underneath me, inside me, with Asher at my back, his weight beating into both of us, but without an opening to claim. Or without an opening I was willing to share. I could feel the length of Asher pressed along my back. Every time Jean-Claude pushed himself up inside me, Asher pushed himself against my back, wedged between the cheeks of my buttocks. They echoed each other perfectly. When one moved, the other moved. Until somewhere in the middle of it all, I begged, Asher to enter me, take me.

Jean-Claude's voice came as if from a great distance, "Non, mon chardonneret, we have done no preparation. She has never had it done before."

Dimly I realized what I'd asked and was happy someone could think well enough to stop me from letting others hurt me. But part of me was angry, the ardeur wanted Asher inside, wanted to drink him in.

I rode Jean-Claude's body, while Asher's body rode mine. Jean-Claude's hands were on my waist, holding me in place, steadying me, directing me, the way you lead a dance partner. One of Asher's hands propped him up on the bed but the other had spilled up to cup my breast, his hand kneading, pulling, just this side of pain.

I felt the building pressure inside me, that feeling that preceded the explosion, and I didn't want it yet, not yet. I wanted Asher, the way I wanted Jean-Claude. I wanted, needed him to pierce my body. "Please, Asher, please, be inside me, please!"

He drew my hair to one side and bared my neck. The ardeur flared through me. "Yes, Asher, yes."

That warm deep well was filling up, up inside me, there were only seconds to have him join us. I wanted his release with ours. I wanted him with us.

There seemed like there was something else I should have been remembering but it was lost in the pounding of Jean-Claude's body, the rhythm of my hips, the feel of his hands on my waist, Asher's hand on my breast, tight enough for pain now, the feel of him so solid, so wet from his own body, so that he moved in a channel of his own moisture, yet I knew he had not come.

He raised the hand from the bed and cupped my head to one side, holding it, straining my neck in a long, clean line.

It was as if they knew, they both knew what my body was about to do, as if they could smell it, or hear it, or taste it. At the moment that that warmth spilled over the edge, as the first drop of it spilled over my skin, tightened my body; Asher struck. There was one moment of sharp pain, and the pain fed into the pleasure, and I remembered what I had forgotten. Asher's bite was pleasure.

I rode that pleasure over and over and over until I screamed out, wordless, soundless, skinless, boneless, I was nothing, but the warm spilling pleasure. There was nothing else.

Jean-Claude came screaming, his nails digging into my skin, and that brought me back, reminded me I had a body, that skin contained me, that bones and muscles rode the body underneath me. Asher came in a scalding wave against my back, as his mouth stayed locked on my throat. We fed on one another.

My ardeur drank Jean-Claude up through the warm moistness of my body, through the skin wherever it touched his. His ardeur drank me down, pulling down the long shaft of him like a hand inside my body taking things away. My ardeur drank Asher down, absorbed him where he lay on my skin, sucked him in as he pulled at me. The feel of his mouth locked on my neck was like a trap, the ardeur sucking him down through his mouth, and he, sucking my blood, feeding, swallowing, drinking me down. As long as he fed, he brought orgasm in one crashing wave after another, wave after wave of pleasure, and it wasn't until Jean-Claude cried out underneath me that I realized, through his own marks, he was able to feel what I was feeling.

Asher rode us both, rode us and brought us, rode us and brought us, until when he drew back there was blood pouring from his mouth and I knew he'd taken more than he needed merely to feed. It wouldn't kill me, but in that one shining moment I wasn't sure it mattered. It was the kind of pleasure you'd beg for, kill for, maybe, maybe even let yourself die for.

I collapsed on top of Jean-Claude, twitching, unable to control my body, unable to do more than shiver. Jean-Claude lay trembling underneath me. Asher collapsed on top of us. I felt him tremble against my back. We lay shaking, trembling, waiting for one of us to be able to move enough to walk, or scream, or anything. Then dawn came, and I felt their souls slip away, felt their bodies go slack and empty. I was pressed between the frantic pulse and warmth of their bodies, the fluids not even cooled on our skin, and suddenly, Asher was heavy, and Jean-Claude was totally limp under all the weight.

I struggled to get out from between them, but my arms and legs weren't working yet. I did not want to lie here while their bodies cooled. I couldn't get up. I couldn't get Asher off of me. I couldn't make my body work. How much blood had I lost? Too much? How much?

I was dizzy, light-headed, and I couldn't tell if it was from the sex, or if Asher had truly taken too much blood. I tried to push him off of me, I should have been able to do that, and I couldn't. The first edge of nausea hit me, and I knew it was blood loss. I touched my neck and found that blood was still seeping from the puncture wounds. That shouldn't have been happening. Should it? I never donated blood voluntarily. I didn't know how long the wounds should bleed.

I tried to lift with my arms, like doing a push-up, and the world swam in streams of colors, dizziness threatened to engulf the world. I did the only thing I could think of—I screamed.