Straining high and eager from the coarse, tangled nest at his groin, it was easily as thick as her wrist and as almost as long as her forearm.
She swallowed audibly and looked toward the window as panic rose to a boil within her. The moon had not yet shown itself. But soon.
With its appearance would come another more profound change. One that would gift this untamed male animal with a second rod that was twin to this one. Then he would open her with them and slide those shafts as deep inside her as it was possible for a man to go.
And then he would give her his seed.
It seemed impossible that he would fit. Yet already, high in the waiting aperture between her legs, her tissues were moistening, beginning to ready for him, yearn for him. A long, low growl emanated from his throat as if he knew.
His handling of her changed subtly, becoming more purposeful. His hands were more possessive now and sensuous as his body realigned itself with hers, pressing her right shoulder into the cushioned bone of his pectoral muscle. The plush globes of her buttocks gave against the rock of his thigh.
And all the while, his breath came in steady, deep draughts. Those beautiful lips nuzzled her shoulder, her nape, and her throat. He was locking on her scent. Marking her with his.
Soon, very soon, he would lose his grip on the power of higher reasoning. The primal need percolating in his veins would begin to dictate his every action. Once completely in the throes of the Calling, he would kill in order to mate with her. Not Carlo—not even the Satyr lords themselves—would be able to stop him then. Not without killing him.
Carlo’s tongue found her again, more voluptuous in its duties now, as if Dominic’s altered physical state had excited him. She glanced toward her husband where he still worked between her thighs. Unlike his friend, he didn’t grimace and groan. His cheekbones weren’t flushed with desire.
It was true then. There could be no question. Carlo remained unaffected by the moon’s pull. He wasn’t going to experience the Change.
If she didn’t accept this other man—this stranger—into her body tonight, her son or daughter wouldn’t emerge at sunrise. It would die inside her, unborn.
Carlo’s need to prove himself in Else World’s war had exacted far too terrible a price. She felt angry at his sacrifice. And a trifle guilty. For she’d long suspected that the only reason he’d retreated to that other world had been to escape her. To escape the burden of her need for a love he didn’t feel for her.
Was this one night too much of a sacrifice for her to make in return so their child could live? So he could become a father and she a mother?
This reasoning calmed her as nothing had before, and she gave in to the inevitable necessity of what must happen in the hours ahead. A naked male stranger was embracing her. Planning to copulate with her. Her husband condoned this. And she would allow it. For tonight. For her child.
Once her struggles ebbed, it became impossible to ignore the potent stimulation her two lovers were providing.
Under Carlo’s attention, her feminine flesh had plumped and swollen with the heated rush of lustful blood. Her splayed thighs trembled now, and her hips swayed languidly back and forth, aiding his tongue in its stroke. Her channel had become a slick void, ready to welcome him inside, if only he could oblige.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a masculine hand reach out. Dominic’s. Transfixed, she watched him scoop a dollop of cream from the jar on the table.
The muscles of his left arm shifted along her back. She jerked when blunt fingers came between her rear cheeks, daubing her pruney ring with cool cream. Gently he began oiling it.
For a while, his heavy cock set the pace of their ménage, rocking at her hip in time to the languorous stroke it required. Her slit and Carlo’s mouth could only haplessly dance to his tune, which determined how often and how deeply the lips of a wife and a husband would marry.
She tried to disassociate her mind from what was happening. To shut out the slick smacking sounds of fingers and tongues and mouths as the two men attended to her.
Dominic’s right hand covered her breast, surprising her into overlaying his with her own.
Her free hand fell to the top of Carlo’s head, and for a moment, her palms connected her to both men. Absently she smoothed a lock of her husband’s fine hair and watched it flop back into place. She no longer loved him, and it was impossible for her to fully understand his physical loss, but she felt regret for the grief it caused him.
The fingers at her breast drew outward to pluck and twist at her sensitive nipple, sending a prurient thrill over her. Dominic’s touch on her there almost seemed to hum, alive with some strange, stimulating force. Sparks arrowed directly from this distended peak to throb at the nubbed stem of flesh Carlo now worshipped. An erotic pulse, stronger than any she’d ever felt before, reverberated outward from it along her slit.
It squeezed. Once. Hard.
No! Surely, she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in that way. Surely she wouldn’t attain fulfillment standing here in the middle of the room, where her features would be revealed to anyone who cared to look when it happened.
Embarrassed, she pushed Carlo away. And immediately she wished him back. Wished for a finish to the wildfire passion he and Dominic had lit in her. She stroked his hair again, trying to induce him closer without the use of words.
But her husband only pressed his cheek to the sloping underside of her rounded midriff, kissing her there with masculine lips still rouged by her own feminine juices.
Dominic’s mischievous palm at her breast began to rove. Like a dark cloud, it stroked stealthily down the landscape of her body, along her breastbone, between ribs, and over her gently rounded belly. There, his strong fingers spread wide, shaping the mound of her child as though he was staking a claim.
Carlo’s head yanked back, startled. Off balance, he tottered back on his heels and gaped at the possessive hand that had forced his lips away.
Emma saw how it crushed him to see another man usurp his rights to her, his wife. How, then, was he going to bear watching his friend mate with her throughout the long hours that stretched ahead?
Her husband’s eyes rose to hers, and he saw the pity there. He looked beyond her to search Dominic’s face, and whatever he read there distorted his features with agony.
Without warning, Dominic’s creamy finger prodded the prudish, tight ring of muscle along her rear cleft. It invaded, going deep.
A cry that was a confusion of shock and raw need welled from the depths of her soul. Hurt tinged the pain in Carlo’s face, an emotion that quickly flamed into jealous anger.
“What did you expect?” she whispered. Had he intended her to endure his friend’s touch, yet somehow inure herself to the pleasure of it?
A second finger joined the first, stretching her. The fans of her lashes drooped to half veil her eyes as her chin lifted on a moan.
With jerky, uncoordinated movements, Carlo stood and began backing away.
“Wait,” Emma croaked. She reached her hand toward him, but he ignored it and continued making his way toward the door, his eyes glued to Dominic.
Oblivious
