Chapter Ninety-Five

Havermouth, Five Years Before

Aislen found the Triquetra’s clothing on the balcony, but no sign of any of the three. They had shifted and gone off together, she thought, or possibly Rhett had shifted, and first Heath, and then Cameron, had gone after him.

She went to the fire and rescued what she could of the meat and vegetables, placing it into a cool box that was set in the shade, in case the Triquetra were hungry when they came back.

As they hadn’t returned by that point, she ate alone watching the flames leap in the fire pit, and then tidied up the bedroom, putting all her things together. She showered and put on the black dress that she brought to attend the vigil.

As she left the bathroom, Cameron walked down the hall holding his clothes. His eyes were red, and his skin blotchy. He nodded in greeting as he passed her on his way into the bathroom, and she heard the shower start.

She walked out onto the balcony and could see Rhett and Heath swimming in the river. They did not splash or play as they normally did, but rather Rhett floated on his back whilst Heath swam with efficient strokes from one side to the other, before wading out, water streaming off his naked body.

Aislen watched as Heath walked up the bank, envying his comfort in his nakedness, his predatory grace, and his perfect beauty. He scraped his hands back over his hair, wringing water from the short strands, and casting it off behind him before looking over towards her, knowing that she was there watching. He was breathless from the cold water and the exertion of swimming, his ribs sucking in and out, his stomach muscles held tight, clear against his skin.

Their eyes met, and she felt her heart pick up pace. She did not know what to call the feeling that swelled within her, but it was powerful.

He picked up a towel and rubbed it over his skin, his eyes still on her, and his cock hardening.

She swallowed hard, feeling as if her blood were on fire, her heart beating heavy and hard against her rib cage.

He walked up to the balcony and stroked her hair back from her face. “You look very pretty,” he said quietly. “I like the dress and the heels.”

She reached out and put her palm against his chest, damp still from the water, beads clinging to his hair. His pupils dilated, the grey of them intensifying as he leaned forward. She lifted her mouth to meet his lips. They were soft against hers. He let her lead the kiss, his eyes on hers, openly curious to see where she went and what she would do, the expectancy hovering tightly between them.

She set her other palm onto his skin and slid both hands up, over his torso, the skin only just beginning to warm again. She continued up over his shoulders as she stepped into him, trapping his cock between them, pressing her breasts to his chest as she deepened the kiss, exploring his tongue with hers.

He moaned, his eyes finally closing as he surrendered to lust, and his hands settling on her waist, pulling her tighter to him. His hips rocked - a motion that she thought was more instinct than deliberation - as if his body were practicing thrusting, knowing where the kiss would lead.

He stroked down her thighs, and then back up, gathering fabric onto his wrists, until his fingers hooked into the elastic of her panties and tugged them down, causing them to slide down to her ankles, and then off as he lifted her, setting her onto the balcony handrail and making room between her thighs.

His cock grazed her entrance, found purchase, and then sank into her, until their bodies were pressed as tightly together as they could go. “Hold onto me,” he whispered against her lips, and she gripped around his neck firmly, aware of the precariousness of her perch, but also secure that he would not let her fall. He placed one hand firmly around her, whilst the other gripped the handrail for traction as he began to thrust, rising onto his toes to fulfil the motion.

She knew, without looking, that Rhett watched from the river, feeling his gaze against her back.

Heath broke the kiss, his cheek against hers, as his attention focused on their fused bodies, his breath sighing out over her shoulder as he ground into her.

She felt the rise of heat building within her and pressed her mouth to his shoulder, smothering her moan.

“Fuck,” he gasped out. “Aislen…”

She came apart, crying out and throwing her head back recklessly, almost overbalancing had it not been for his hold upon her, and she felt the jerk of him within her as he followed. She folded over him, her cheek on his shoulder and her lips against his neck, their heartbeats racing together.

After a long moment, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “You should go see Rhett,” he said. “He is upset about what happened.” He eased from her, lowering Aislen until her shoes touched ground, and then stooped to pick up the towel he had dropped, as well as her underwear. He handed the latter to her. “Go see him.”

“Okay,” she was bewildered by what had passed between them, the intensity of it.

He cupped her cheek. “I’d better go shower.”

She held her underwear in her hands, feeling the seep of Heath’s cum down her inner thighs as she picked her way carefully towards the river. Rhett walked towards her through the shallow water, and she collected the towel that hung over a tree branch, meeting him at the water’s edge.

His hair was slicked back from his face for once, showing the bones of his cheeks, the straight carved lines of his jaw. Rhett was the artists’ choice, she thought, as she began to dab him dry with the towel. Not the classic, movie star good looks of Heath, or the earthy, wholesome charm of Cameron. Rhett’s had an unusual, dramatic beauty of sharp edges and shadow.

He pulled her against him, and the towel dropped to the floor. He lowered his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, breathing in as his fingers cupped her skull. She angled her face, brushing her lips over his cheek, over the edge of his jaw, before pressing them to his shoulder, tasting her way down his chest until she kneeled on the towel and dragged her tongue over his cock, tasting the minerals of river water that clung to him.

He groaned, his eyes still closed, his hand resting in her hair, his chin slowly sinking to his chest.

As she took him into her mouth, he threw his head back, his mouth open and slack in pleasure, his Adam’s apple prominent in the vulnerable column of his throat, and his face reverent in its bliss. She pressed her tongue up against his cock, taking him as deep as she could, fighting against her gag reflex. She felt his fingers clench, and sucked so his hips jerked involuntarily, until he caught her abruptly, going to his knees, and lowering her onto her back, his mouth meeting hers as he thrusted into her.

Their love making was a passionately frantic entanglement of limbs and tongues, their bodies pressing against each other as if seeking to meld into one being, their fingers tangled in each other’s hair. She didn’t care that she was lying in the dirt in her good dress, that the heels of her shoes scraped against his arse as she gripped him tightly with her legs, that she would have thorns and twigs in her hair when they were done.

The world existed between them, and nowhere else. Like Cameron in the shower, and Heath on the balcony, there was a strange focus and intensity behind their fucking, as if it meant so much more than them just getting each other off…

She came, her cry startling the birds in the trees into flapping their wings, and he sighed her name out against her jaw as he followed, falling heavily over her, his breath wet against her neck.

“Aislen,” he whispered. “Don’t fear us.”

She turned her face into him, breathing in the scent of his hair, a mixture of Rhett and river. “I'm not afraid of you,” she said in reply, and felt the sob shudder through him. “I am afraid of me.”