Chapter 4: Inn
The inn’s polished oak beams swam in Mira’s vision, distorted by the haze of spiced wine and the sharper, more intoxicating scent of sweat and sex. A tapestry on the wall across from the bed depicted a knight plunging his sword into a dragon, but the woven forms seemed to blur and move, the knight’s thrusts mirroring the rhythm shaking the massive four-poster she was tied to.
She didn’t remember the ropes being knotted. One moment she was drinking honeyed wine by the fire, listening to Lucy laugh about some lord’s ridiculous hat at the summit, the next she was on the bed, her wrists secured to the carved wooden posts with silken cords Lucy had produced from her trunk. It had happened with a dizzying, inevitable speed, a current she had stopped trying to fight days ago.
Now, Adam was behind her, his body a furnace against her back. He wasn’t in her cunt. He was at her back door, his cock—slicked with oil and her own earlier wetness—pressing relentlessly against that tight, forbidden ring. The memory of her own finger there, in the carriage, was a ghostly premonition.
“Easy,” Lucy murmured, but she wasn’t talking to Mira. She was naked, kneeling between Mira’s splayed thighs, her green eyes fixed on the point where Adam was forcing entry. “She’s tight as a vault, brother. Don’t tear her.”
“Fuck,” Adam grunted, his breath hot on Mira’s neck. He pushed. The burn was incredible, a white-hot stretch that felt like being split in two. Mira cried out, a sharp, broken sound.
“Shhh,” Lucy soothed, but her hands were on Mira’s hips, holding her steady for Adam’s invasion. “It’s the best pain. It turns into the best feeling. Remember how it felt for me? You watched. You wanted it.”
Mira had. God help her, she had. The shame was a distant, muted thing, drowned by the visceral reality of Adam’s thick cock breaching her, inch by impossible inch. She was being opened, conquered, and a filthy, traitorous part of her soul sang at the violation. He bottomed out, his hips flush against her ass, and they both groaned—his one of satisfaction, hers of overwhelmed, burning fullness.
“There,” Lucy breathed, her eyes alight with a predatory gleam. “All the way. Now you know what it’s like.”
Adam began to move, slow, deep pulls that dragged against Mira’s ravaged nerve endings. Each withdrawal was a fresh shock, each thrust back in a brutal claiming. The pain began to smolder, transforming into a strange, deep pressure that radiated through her whole lower body. She was panting, drooling a little onto the embroidered pillow.
“Now me,” Lucy said, her voice dropping to a husky command. She didn’t wait. She lowered her head between Mira’s thighs, her auburn hair brushing Mira’s sensitive skin.
Lucy’s tongue was not gentle. It was a skilled, ruthless instrument. She licked a broad, flat stripe through Mira’s dripping folds, then focused on her clit, sucking the swollen bud into her mouth with a greedy hunger. The dual sensation was blinding—the deep, stretching fuck in her ass, the electric, precise pleasure on her clit. Mira’s back arched, a choked scream caught in her throat. The silken cords bit into her wrists.
“That’s it,” Lucy mumbled against her, the vibrations making Mira jolt. “Take it. Take both of us.”
Adam’s pace increased, his hips slamming into her with more force. The bedframe protested with a rhythmic thud-thud-thud against the stone wall. Mira was a vessel, filled in two impossible ways, her mind fragmenting under the sensory assault. Lucy’s tongue circled and flicked, her fingers now joining, pushing two inside Mira’s cunt, stretching her front as Adam devastated her rear.
“You’re fucking dripping,” Lucy laughed, a dark, joyful sound. “Dripping all over my face while my brother wrecks your ass. You filthy, perfect girl.”
Mira could only sob, a stream of incoherent pleas and curses. The coiled tension in her gut was a living thing, a spring wound to its breaking point. She was going to shatter.
“Adam,” Lucy called, lifting her head, her chin glistening. “Now. Do it now.”
Adam’s rhythm became erratic, frantic. He pistoned into Mira’s ass with short, brutal strokes, his breathing a ragged roar in her ear. “Where?” he ground out, the word strained.
“In her,” Lucy demanded, her own hand moving between her legs, fingers working her own wet cunt. “Fill her ass. I want the next one.”
With a final, guttural shout, Adam buried himself to the hilt and came. Mira felt it, a volcanic, pulsing heat flooding her deepest channel, an intimate violation that triggered her own climax. It ripped through her with silent, violent force, her body seizing around the cock in her ass and the fingers in her cunt, a helpless, racking convulsion of pleasure.
Adam slumped over her, his weight pinning her, his spend still leaking into her. Before the tremors had even subsided, Lucy was moving. She scrambled up, pushed Adam’s spent form aside roughly, and positioned herself over Mira’s face, her soaked pussy hovering inches above Mira’s mouth.
“Clean him off,” Lucy ordered, her voice breathless. “Then me. I’m next.”
Dazed, mindless, Mira obeyed. She turned her head, her tongue extending to lick Adam’s softening cock where it slid from her own ravaged hole. She tasted herself, the salt of sweat, and the bitter, distinct flavor of his seed. She swallowed it.
Lucy lowered herself onto Mira’s mouth with a satisfied sigh. “Good girl. Now make me come. Then he’s going to fill my cunt. You’re going to watch that, too.”
Mira’s world narrowed to the musky scent and taste of Lucy, to the fading ache in her ass, to the sticky warmth on her thighs. The knight on the tapestry wasn’t killing a dragon. He was fucking it. And the inn’s doors, thick and oak, didn’t whisper secrets. They screamed them.
They screamed them.
Five days later, the screams were different.
They were the sharp, metal-on-metal cries of ambush from the forest lining the Redwood Pass. An arrow thudded into the carriage door beside Mira’s head, the sudden impact jolting her from a half-doze. Chaos erupted outside—the outriders shouting, horses screaming, the clear, brutal sound of Adam’s sword being drawn from its scabbard with a ringing whisper.
“Get down!” Adam’s voice roared, not from his horse, but from right beside the carriage. A body thumped against the outside wall and slid wetly to the ground.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of their travel and their earlier, lazy fondling. Lucy didn’t flinch at the arrow. She simply looked at the embedded shaft, her green eyes calculating, then back at Mira. Her expression was serene, almost amused, as a man’s dying gurgle cut through the din.
“He’ll be a moment,” Lucy said, her voice conversational. She was already lifting her skirts, the fine linen pooling at her waist. She turned, presenting herself to Mira on the velvet seat. The position was familiar now, a ritual carved into Mira’s bones over days of travel. “You know what to do. Don’t stop until I tell you.”
Another crash outside, a man yelling in pain. The carriage swayed as something heavy hit the side. Mira heard Adam curse, a fluid, creative string of obscenities followed by a wet chopping sound and a different, final scream.
Her heart was a frantic bird. Her fingers trembled.
Lucy glanced over her shoulder, her face partially hidden by her fall of auburn hair. “Now, Mira. Or I’ll have him toss you out to them when he’s done.”
The threat was cool, casual. It worked. Mira’s fear condensed, redirected by a deeper, more ingrained compulsion. She moved forward on her knees on the carriage floor, the battles outside fading to a bloody symphony. Her world narrowed to the pale curve of Lucy’s ass, to the darker, intimate cleft still glistening from Adam’s early morning attention.
She leaned in. The musky, familiar scent enveloped her. She pressed her mouth first to the tight, wrinkled rose of Lucy’s asshole, tracing the knot with her tongue. Lucy let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing slightly. Mira laved at it, soothing and probing, before moving lower.
She found Lucy’s pussy, swollen and slick. Mira buried her face in it. She ate with a desperate, focused hunger, her tongue delving deep into the cunt that had become her second altar. She could taste Adam there, a lingering salt, and Lucy’s own sharper flavor. She suckled Lucy’s clit, her fingers moving to spread Lucy wider, to push inside the wet heat.
“Yes,” Lucy hissed, her hand braced against the wall. Her hips began to rock back against Mira’s mouth. “Just like that. Don’t you dare slow down.”
A thunderous blow shook the entire carriage. One of the bandits had leapt onto the driver’s perch. Mira heard a scuffle, a choked-off yell, and then the solid, meaty thump of a body falling under the wheels. The carriage lurched violently. Mira held onto Lucy’s hips, her mouth never leaving its task, her tongue fucking Lucy in quick, firm strokes.
Lucy’s breathing grew ragged, a counterpoint to the violence beyond the thin lacquered wood. “Oh fuck, right there. I’m close. Make me squirt all over your pretty face, you greedy little bitch.”
Mira redoubled her efforts. She fucked Lucy with her tongue, curled it, then sealed her lips around Lucy’s clit and sucked hard. She felt the change, the tightening, the gathering tremble in Lucy’s thighs.
Outside, the clash of steel ceased. There was a heavy, panting silence, broken only by the nervous whicker of a horse.
Inside, Lucy came. It wasn’t a quiet peak. Her body bowed, a raw, gasping cry tearing from her throat. A hot, sudden gush of fluid flooded Mira’s mouth, soaking her chin, dripping onto the carriage floor. Lucy ground herself against Mira’s face, milking the sensation, her release a warm, continuous stream.
The carriage door wrenched open. Adam stood there, silhouetted against the grey forest light. He was splattered with dark, fresh blood, his sword gripped in a red-smeared hand. His chest heaved. He took in the scene: Lucy, skirts around her waist, shuddering through the last pulses of her orgasm; Mira, kneeling, face drenched, utterly used.
He leaned his bloody sword against the carriage frame. A slow, dark smile touched his lips, his eyes gleaming with a heat that had nothing to do with the fight.
“Gods damn it,” he said, his voice a rough, spent thing. “Missed the best part.”
Lucy slowly turned, lowering her skirts, a smug, sated expression on her flushed face. She didn’t bother to wipe Mira’s juices from her thighs. “Your timing is atrocious, captain. Five more seconds and you could have watched her drink it all.”
Adam climbed into the carriage, his bulk making it dip. The coppery stench of blood mixed with the ripe scent of sex. He reached out, cupped the back of Mira’s head with a hand still tacky with gore, and pulled her in for a deep, possessive kiss. She tasted herself, Lucy, and the faint, metallic hint of a dead man’s life.
He broke the kiss, looking at Lucy. “How was it?”
“Adequate,” Lucy sighed, stretching like a cat. “She’s getting better. Less tentative. You’ll have to be faster next time if you want a taste of the finale.”
Adam’s grin was all teeth. He ran his thumb along the drying streak on Mira’s cheek. “Next time bandits attack, I’ll just wound them. Let them linger. Give myself a proper window.”
“See that you do,” Lucy said, her gaze dropping pointedly to the prominent bulge in his bloodstained breeches. “Now you’re all worked up from killing. And we’re still an hour from the next post. What a dreadful dilemma.”
Adam laughed, a short, hard sound. He pulled Mira onto the seat beside him, his hand already rough on the laces of her dress. “Guess we’ll have to find a way to pass the time.”