36
Hildi
His lips taste like grapes, and I know that under that suit he has a body that looks and feels like sin. Glancing at the other men, I know that tonight will be different.
It starts with a humming under my skin, my whole body tuned in to the connection between us. I keep expecting tempers to flare—jealousy to rear its petty head—but it doesn’t happen. Even Luke has slid effortlessly into the group. Not even Agis questions him being here.
Armin shifts next to me, plucking a ripe, red strawberry off a silver platter on the table, and holds it to my mouth. My tongue darts out, licking the tip of the fruit before ta
king a bite. Red juice drips down my chin. Before I can wipe it away, Armin licks it off.
Did it just get hot in here?
Marshal loosens his tie and around the table I see the others shift in their seats. No, not just me then.
It’s become clear that this isn’t about eating—although nourishment doesn’t feel far off. What we have ahead…we need to be as strong as possible and nothing fuels the six of us more than being with one another. I look over at Agis and see the hunger in his eyes. He’s starved and I feel his desire deep in my belly. I link my arms around Armin’s neck, and he grips me under the butt, pushing my short skirt even higher. With one hand he holds onto me, with the other he knocks the place settings off the table. He sets me down, holds my eye and says, “Are you ready for this?”
I’ve been asked that a million times before. As a Valkyrie for Odin. As a fighter in the Shaman’s ring. By the Guardians before I came to the Academy and then before countless fights. My heart pounds, banging so hard against my chest that I’m certain it will break free. This question is different. This takes us to a new level. One that my body aches for. One that my soul craves.
“Yes,” I tell him, and that’s enough for the others. Collectively, they react, clearing the center of the table. Armin nudges me to lie flat and a heartbeat later, my back is against the hard wood and the Immortals stand over me like animals over prey. I look into each and every eye, reaching out to touch them somewhere on their body; Rupert’s hand, Marshal’s hip, Agis' forearm, Luke’s fingertips. I arch my back and exhale, “I’ve never been more ready in my entire life.”
I search for a word, one that can describe the feelings I’m experiencing, but nothing comes out but a moan of pleasure. There has to be a word, I think, for five sets of hands touching me all at once. For five pairs of lips, sucking and kissing every inch of exposed skin. There must be an expression for the heat in my belly, the damp warmth between my legs, the toying with the sensitive parts of my body; my nipples, my tongue, my clitoris.
I don’t know who does what. I don’t know who removed my dress and then my panties. I do feel the brush of Rupert’s long hair as it tickles my skin. I feel the strength in Armin’s hands as he kneads my muscles. I blush against the smile, the laugh of Marshal's mouth as he whispers dirty things in my ears, arousing my mind as fast as my loins. I sense edginess from Luke, new to this—to us—taking it all in, while making sure I’m comfortable. I already know the feel of his kisses, the softness of his touch. He’s younger, less experienced, but very, very eager.
The four of them tease and taunt, pinch and pull. Fingers dip between my legs, sliding between the folds. I cry out when I’m entered, a mouth circles my breast, a tongue pushes into my mouth, a thumb rubs tiny circles, over and over and over until the ripple of pleasure, the current of electricity crackles down my skin, across my nerves and through my body until I quiver and writhe on the table, chasing for more.
Transcendent.
That’s the word I’m searching for.
Gods, this is transcendent. Otherworldly, and as another moan floats from my mouth, exhaling all the euphoric tension in my body.
Even having my needs met, something is missing.
Agis.
I sense the God of Death more than anything else. Hovering around the peripheral. Pacing like an animal, growing more and more hungry by the minute.
“I need you,” I whisper, lifting on my elbows. “Please.”
There’s no doubt who I’m asking for—who I want. The others…we’ve sealed our bond. But Agis, I need him inside of me. I open my eyes and see him at the end of the table, pants loosened, cock pushing against the fine fabric of his pants. The ministrations of the others haven’t stopped, no, they just grow more heated, making me wetter, hungrier, hornier.
For once, he doesn’t make me wait.
He tears off his shirt, then pushes down his pants, his cock springs free and it’s the first time I’ve seen him, all of him, without the cloak of a glamour. He isn’t hiding himself anymore. Not from me, not from the others, not from himself.
He grabs my hips and drags me down the table, sending glasses shattering to the floor. His mouth crashes to mine, hands cradling my face. His tongue licks, his teeth nip. I run my hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscle, and push my core against him.
I think he’ll take me there, that he’ll claim me on the edge of the table, but he pulls me all the way off and spins me around. I gasp as I’m bent forward, hands splayed on the table. I hear a growl rumble in his chest, as his cock glides between my legs. My eyes are open, the four others watching closely. Their clothes are rumpled, cheeks flushed, foreheads coated in sweat. Agis wants them to watch as he takes me, and gods, I want them to, too.
He teases me for a moment longer, my legs weak from the prior orgasm. A dark, expansive shadow eclipses the light in the room. I glance back and see the wide arc of his black wings, consuming the space. My winged lover is here, and I am desperate for him to possess me. He runs a heavy hand down my back and lifts my hips, then enters me swiftly.
The motion causes me to swallow my breath, but once I adjust to him, I exhale and relax, falling further forward. I make eye contact with the others; their jaws tight, their cocks pressing at the front of their pants, their eyes glazed. Marshal is the one who falls to his seat first, lazily reaching for himself. Agis' fingers tighten at my hips, pulling me flush against his body. My eyes flick to Rupert, who has also dipped his hand below his waist band. Armin leans back in his seat watching me closely, gaze falling to my exposed breasts. His jaw tenses and when I lick my bottom lip, he caves, running his hand down his length.
The only one that doesn’t reach for himself is Luke, who’s standing on the opposite side of the table. As Agis builds a rhythm, entering and retreating, slow and then faster, the Nephilim’s hands lay flat on the table and his wings expand from his back. They’re pristine, white against the dark of the room, bathing all of us in pure light. I don’t know what it means, but it’s warm and powerful and it feels good, just like Agis feels good burying himself in me, just like how knowing the sight of me with Agis makes the Immortals want me more. We’re one. We’re unified. We’re—
“Oh G-g-g-gods,” I stutter, the word lodged in my throat. I want to scream, cry, and shout, but nothing intelligible comes out. My orgasm rips through me, shuddering and complete, followed closely by the feral roar of Agis behind me. I don’t dare close my eyes, I want to see the others as they come, their tense jaws and scrunched noses. Their teeth buried in their bottom lips and their pants that come to a sudden halt. It doesn’t happen in unison—more like dominoes. My fall starts the wave, and in the end we’re nothing more than a group of sweaty immortals made stronger by the intimacy of the moment.