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Authors: Elizabeth Amber

BOOK: Bastian
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Eventually, the quality of his mating altered slightly and his face nuzzled in her hair. He spoke to her again. Spoke hot, wicked, wanton words meant to arouse. “My brothers. Can you feel them fucking?”
Shocked, Silvia turned her head, catching his eyes. A devilish smile played at his lips; then he dropped his head, and his mouth fell upon the turn where her throat eased into shoulder. Satyr blood linked family members, and she knew his brothers' pleasure must be heightening his own. So it was their ecstasy that was prolonging his rut!
“Dane is with Eva, his comely new wife,” he murmured in a distant voice that told her he was seeing a vision, of another room, another couple.
“Bastian . . .” she began uncertainly, but he didn't seem to hear.
“His woman is sweet . . . feisty,” he went on. “He loves her, loves fucking her. They're in my bedchamber, in my bed at Esquiline. His cock is buried inside her, moving in her. Can you see them?”
Then her lover gave her the vision he saw of his brother, the one whom she had not yet met. Then he gave her still more, causing some sort of transference to occur, so that she could suddenly feel this unknown sibling inside her, just as his wife could!
“They can feel us, too. Feel us fucking,” Bastian informed her, his voice thick with his arousal. “My brother now knows what it is to put his cock inside you. As I am. And his wife, she can feel what it is to have me inside her. Fucking her. As I'm fucking you.”
Silvia gazed sightlessly across the pool, hanging on his every word. “I knew you all experienced one another's pleasure, but I didn't know . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Oh Gods.” Her eyes went wide and she forgot to breathe, going completely still. His brother was going to—
“We're going to come,” Bastian bit out. She felt a cock heat and fatten inside her, and her feminine passage shuddered in response. It was Bastian who mated her, and yet it was as though he no longer acted alone. It was as if two men lay with her at once now, both intent on wresting their pleasure from her. Her belly went taut as all four participants in this wanton activity were suddenly caught together on a tender, terrible, shared knife's edge of anticipation.
Then male groans infused the air and there came a sudden blast of molten cum that had her entire body bowing, as two brothers fountained inside her. She cried out softly, her clit throbbing and her channel milking them hard. And then she was coming as well and sharing the ecstasy of his brother's wife just as though it were her own.
“He's spending,” Bastian whispered, his voice hot. That he felt his brother's enjoyment of the other unknown woman was apparent in the way his body moved on hers. “It's good for him. He's enjoying you.”
“I . . . know . . .” Silvia murmured, gasping. “I can feel him.”
Though the vision soon faded away, their residual passion did not for some time. But eventually Bastian sensed she was flagging and he disengaged. Lifting her, he took her into the shallow pool, where he half-lay back against a large stone, with his legs slightly cocked. And there he had her mount and ride him with her legs wrapped around his back as he raptly fondled her breasts and roved her body with his hands.
He was a tireless lover, and as the hours passed, his every orgasm inspired her own. Whenever her body began to burn from the rub and she begged for a respite, he only took her into the pool once more. The magic properties of its waters gently soothed her flesh, cleansing and repairing tissues, brushing away discomfort, and readying her to begin again.
As midnight ebbed, Bastian carried her in his arms to a narrow bank hidden behind the great waterfall that spilled from the crest of the grotto's stone arch. It was shadowy there, and secluded. He stood over her and pushed her to kneel before him in the mist that swirled and eddied just above the ground. He widened his legs, one foot on either side of her knees, and with two fingers under her chin, he tilted up her face. Gods, she was so lovely with her intelligent, sultry eyes and red-gold hair. No. Her hair was ebony. Wasn't it?
“What color is your hair?” he demanded, the beast within him angered at its confusion.
A pause. Then, “Black.”
His hand curled around her throat, pushing her back against a smooth mosaic wall that depicted the exploits of the gods. Their eyes caught. “You lie,” he accused her with soft menace, and she did not refute him. A primitive need surged in him to dominate her so that she might never be tempted to deceive him again. Sets of rings were embedded in the mosaic's design, disguised within the scalloped scales of a Nereid's tail. He drew her hands to a pair that were set one on either side of her head and bade her clasp them. And then he tangled the long fingers of one hand in silky hair that she claimed was black, holding her as his other hand offered up his cock. Then the raw, boorish, maddened beast in him growled. “Open for me. Tonight I own that lovely lying mouth, and I want to fuck it.”
His lover's cheeks flushed and she lowered her lashes, hiding her secrets from him. His fingers tightened in her hair and he watched those cherry red lips part for him. Watched her mouth stretch around his cockhead as she took him in. And as he entered her, he gave her another vision. That of his brother Sevin, who was currently kneeling on dark satin bedcovers in the bordello alcove in the main salon below, his thighs brooking the shoulders of a Shimmerskin who lay on the mattress beneath him.
Violet eyes flashed to Bastian's, questioning. “Yes, he knows. He feels your mouth on him, too.” And as Bastian braced an arm high above her on the wall, so Sevin braced his hand on a brass headboard and drove himself deeper into another feminine throat. And Bastian felt two mouths take him. Knowing that the woman who knelt before him also experienced the push and pull of his brother's cock moving in her mouth enriched Bastian's pleasure in giving himself to her this way. The beast in him wanted her to understand that she was his tonight, and that he could share her as he liked.
He contracted the muscles of thigh and hip, rocking himself out of her liquid heat and then coming back for more. Her lips bowed and pursed as he gently sawed in her wet-velvet mouth. He felt his balls draw up tight, his cock swell. Her head went back against the wall and his cock followed, relentlessly filling her. Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned. He braced both forearms above her now, watching her take him.
“I want him to feel you,” Bastian said in that softly savage tone he hardly recognized as his own. “To know that I'm fucking you like this. That my cock is in your wonderful, gifted mouth. That any minute now I'm going to come in your throat. That I own you.”
And somehow this knowing only roused Silvia's passion. For in this moment, she relished her lover's treatment of her. Wanted him to dominate and command her and bend her to his will. Tomorrow, she would look back on this time and go shy again, and would likely marvel over her willingness in this. But now she suckled at him, enjoying the push of him over her tongue and the power he had over her in this act.
When he came in her, her fingers went white-knuckled on the rings they held, and she arched her throat and swallowed his passionate spill. And somewhere in the salon, the anonymous Shimmerskin took another man's spill and both shared a tandem ecstasy.
As the night continued on, Bastian seemed to further devolve, his mating and his instructions to her becoming more animalistic and carnal, sometimes brutish. Deep in his eyes, there still remained a refined intelligence, but it was completely at odds with his terrible countenance now. He was only her fornicator, her master. And she was his plaything, his slave, his mate. And though a lifetime of such handling would not have done at all, on this night, she found it to be a thrilling employment.
Later, much later, they lay together upon that soft mossy bank, and she was given yet another vision, this one of his youngest brother, Luc. Somewhere in the distant salon, he was between the legs of another woman. And as Bastian covered Silvia's body with his own, it was Luc she felt fucking her. Luc's solemn, knowing eyes watching her face as he worked himself in her . . . even as his eldest brother did.
Lying there on her back with both arms carelessly flung overhead, Silvia's impassioned gaze was drawn upward beyond her lover, toward the night. And the moon. Until dawn came, its round, unblinking eye would watch over them and fuel their ardor. Until then, Bastian would continue at the mercy of his own ruthless, lecherous appetites. And his body would make a salacious feast of hers. Her hands lifted to stroke down his back, loving the feel of his resilient, golden flesh and the flex of his muscle as he visited himself on her.
It seemed remarkable that her own virginity would remain intact when she returned to her true form one day in the future. She almost wished this were not so—wished instead that she would be physically changed by him to mark this wondrous night. For this was a precious time she would never, ever forget no matter how many centuries she lived on. A night of pure physical ecstasy. The night she'd lain with her first male lover. The man she loved.
And on that thought, she bowed from the mossy ground, caught in the stir of another orgasm. Her dark lashes drifted to her cheeks, and she gasped for him. Creamed for him. Hard. Yet again.
S
cena
A
ntica
V
384
A.D.
Vestal House, Rome, Italy
Silvia laid her flute in her lap, its final dulcet notes drifting away on the gentle evening breeze. “It's unfair that you have to tend fire tonight,” she said as she and Michaela sat together in Vesta's temple. “Not on your eighteenth birthday.”
“I'm not tending it. You've done all the work tonight.”
“My small gift to you, because you shouldn't even be here. You should be celebrating.”
Michaela shot her an indecipherable look. After a long moment, she spoke. “I did celebrate.”
“How? I thought you spent your day in the Atrium House.” Seeing that the fire was dwindling in Vesta's Hearth, Silvia set her flute aside to go rouse it.
“Not
all
day,” said Michaela. “I went to the market, remember?”
“You call that celebrating?” Lifting her hem, Silvia took the three marble steps that led up to the tall pedestal in the center of Vesta's temple. She bent close to the shallow golden bowl that rested upon it, feeling the low fire's warmth flush her cheeks.
“You know that dark-eyed boy at the market?”
“Which one?” Silvia asked. Cupping her hands, she blew between them toward the center of the hearth. Although there were no coals or wood or oil in the bowl to feed it, the flame leaped high and strong again, simply by dint of her magic.
“The eldest son of the spice merchant, the one who always watches me,” said Michaela.
A slight smile curved Silvia's lips as she returned to her seat. “They all watch you. You're beautiful—how can they not?”
“Well, this one had me this morning. Behind his father's stall in the market. Standing upright, against a post.”
Silvia gasped, all else abruptly forgotten. “No!”
Michaela's eyes sparkled. “Yes.”
She looked her friend over, searching for outward signs that she'd been violated. But she looked no different. “How could you? The welfare of Rome depends upon our continued chastity.”
The violet of Michaela's eyes gleamed like jewels in firelight. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yes,” Silvia insisted. Then more softly, “Don't you?”
“Sometimes,” came Michaela's answer. “But, oh, Silvia, you should have seen how he wanted me. Shall I tell you what happened?”
Silvia arched a brow. “Could I stop you from speaking of it even if I wanted to?”
“No.” Grinning, Michaela lay on her back, her head finding a home in Silvia's lap. “Well, it began in the most exciting way. He held me like this, pinned against the post.” Crossing her wrists to demonstrate, she lifted them over her head. “Then he threw my skirts high and thrust his knee between both of mine. Then he put himself in me, Via.
All
the way inside.”
“Did it—”
“Yes, it hurt. There was no pleasure in it for me. But he assures me it will improve with practice. And we will try again in a few days, when next I go to the market.”
“Kayla, no. Pontifex or Vestalis will find out.”
“They won't,” said Michaela. “Because I'll be gone soon. As will you.”
“What?” Eyes wide, Silvia shook her head. “No, we made vows.”
Michaela sat up and grasped her arm, giving her a little shake. “Do you want to die husbandless? Childless? In a few years, our beauty will fade and then waste away. I'm going to run before next Moonful comes. Before it's too late. You must come, too.”
Imagining Pontifex's reaction to such an escape, Silvia shivered. She had to convince Michaela of the foolhardiness of her plan. “I'm told there are things that can be done. We'll get a sheep's bladder, or something like that.”
“That's not necessary. No one will think to examine me, not until I wed,” said Michaela. “But you're right that a bladder would likely fool a new husband, so I will remember to employ one on my wedding night. It's stupid, but men always want to be first in everything they attempt.” She rolled her eyes.
In spite of her distress, Silvia smiled with her.
“That's better. I hate it when you're angry at me.”
“I'm not angry. I'm frightened for you.”
Michaela shrugged. “Don't be. No one will be able to tell I am any different.”
Noticing the fire had dipped again, Silvia half-rose. “Vesta grows hungry.”
Michaela stayed her. “I'll go,” she said, taking the three steps for the first time that day. Standing at the hearth, she cupped her hands and blew between them as Silvia had done to feed the never-ending fire.
But this time, nothing happened. The flame only continued to sink. She tried again. Nothing. She swung around, her face panicked. “The fire! I can't—I have no effect upon it.”
Silvia rushed toward her. Pushing her aside, she cupped her own hands.
From behind them came a gasp. “You let the fire go out?”
They both whipped around to see Occia and Aemilia standing at the far side of the temple. They'd come to relieve them. Occia's eyes moved between them and lit with a pleased sort of malice.
Hurriedly, Silvia coaxed the fire high again.
Michaela rushed to speak. “It was my f—”
“The fault was mine,” Silvia interrupted. “I should have acted sooner. Still, as you see, all is well.” She pointed toward the roaring flame.
But Occia had already gone to spread the news. Aemilia just stood there, her brow knit. “Are you in trouble?”
“Try to stop her,” Silvia told the girl, who immediately leaped to do her bidding.
“I will,” she promised, running after Occia. Like the others, Aemilia had been chosen for the temple due to her physical perfection and the warmth of her palms. Still, although she had a kind heart, she was the despair of their tutors and could not seem to learn to read or write with any proficiency. Her mind wandered and she could not be trusted to tend fire on her own. She would never become a teacher of future initiates, and Silvia sometimes worried that Pontifex might find some excuse to ban her from their Vestal Order.
Michaela cupped her hands again and tried to stoke the fire even higher, but to no avail. Desperately, she pressed her palms to Silvia's arm, a question in her eyes.
“Your hands still hold the heat,” Silvia assured her. “Nothing has changed.”
And so Michaela tried a third time to stir the fire. Real fear shone in her eyes when she could not. “You're wrong. Once I could raise this fire, but now—it must be because I'm no longer pure. The sooner I go from here, the better. But I won't let the blame fall on you. I'll stay long enough to take the punishment.”
As she gazed at her dearest friend, the ominous words of the philosopher Plutarch danced in Silvia's head, feeding her rising fear regarding the nature of punishments deemed fit for offences against Vesta:
For smaller offences, these virgins were punished with stripes; and sometimes Pontifex Maximus gave them the discipline naked, in some dark place and under cover of a veil; but she that broke her vow of chastity was buried alive by the Colline Gate.
“No,” Silvia insisted. “If it is discovered that you've been unchaste, you could wind up buried by the gate. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not, but—”
Silvia made a slicing gesture with one hand, cutting her off. “We can't allow suspicion to turn in your direction. I will accept any scourging. That is how it must be.”

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