Chapter 9: The Wine-Soaked Surrender
The week passed in a slow, sweet haze. The deep ache from Sgaeyl and Xaden faded into a pleasant memory etched into her muscles, a private testament that warmed her from the inside whenever she moved. She saw Xaden at the bakery each morning, his smile different now—softer at the edges, his gaze lingering like a physical touch. They didn’t speak of it outright, but the new layer to their bond was a constant, humming presence, as steady as her own heartbeat.
When Friday evening bled into a soft, violet dusk, the knock on her door was swift and certain. Wren opened it, a smile already forming, and was immediately engulfed.
Violet Sorrengail pushed in first, her hands framing Wren’s face, her kiss all hungry teeth and claiming pressure. Before Wren could even gasp, Bodhi was there, his larger body caging her from behind, his mouth on her neck, sucking a mark that would bruise. They tasted of the cool evening air and simmering impatience.
“Fuck, we missed you,” Violet breathed against her lips, her silver-and-black hair a messy cascade.
“Liam and Xaden got the last visits,” Bodhi growled, his hands sliding possessively over her hips. “We decided not to wait our turn. We’re sharing.”
Violet’s grin was sharp. “We’re going to ruin you tonight. Properly.”
They pulled her inside, Bodhi kicking the door shut. For a moment, they just held her between them, a tangle of seeking hands and hungry kisses that left her breathless. Then Violet broke away, striding toward the small kitchen nook. “First, wine. And food. I’m starving, and I want you coherent for at least an hour.”
Bodhi chuckled, releasing Wren to follow. “She’s vicious when she’s hungry.”
The next hour was a study in delightful torture. They poured a rich red wine, the three of them moving around her small kitchen with a practiced, domestic ease that felt profoundly intimate. Bodhi chopped vegetables, his shoulders broad under his simple tunic. Violet seasoned the meat, her movements efficient. Wren stirred the simmering sauce, and every time she turned, one of them was there—a hand on the small of her back, lips brushing her temple, a playful pinch to her backside.
Bodhi leaned over her shoulder to taste the sauce, his front pressed against her. “Needs more pepper,” he murmured, but his hands were on her waist, holding her there.
Violet watched, a sly smile on her face as she sipped her wine. “You’re both terrible. Focus.”
“I am focused,” Bodhi retorted, nipping Wren’s ear before going back to his chopping board.
They ate at the small table by the window, knees touching under the wood. The conversation was easy, filled with updates from Aretia, ridiculous gossip about other riders, and the warm, comfortable silence of people who know each other’s bones. But underneath it all ran a high-voltage current of anticipation. A look, a slow smile, a foot sliding against an ankle—every touch was a promise of what was to come.
When the last plate was cleared, Violet stood, her eyes dark. “Now,” she said, the single word dropping into the room like a stone.
They didn’t make it to the bed. They tumbled onto the woven rug before the cold hearth, a knot of grasping hands and discarded clothes. Bodhi’s mouth was on Wren’s breast, sucking her nipple deep while Violet kissed her, swallowing her moans. Violet’s fingers made quick work of Wren’s trousers, yanking them down her thighs.
“Look at you,” Violet whispered, pulling back to stare at the slick evidence of Wren’s arousal. “Already so wet for us. And we haven’t even started.”
Bodhi moved lower, his broad shoulders pushing Wren’s thighs apart. He didn’t tease. He buried his face between her legs, his tongue laying a broad, wet stripe from her entrance to her clit. Wren cried out, her back arching off the floor. Violet held her down, pinning her wrists above her head as Bodhi ate her out with ruthless, devouring intensity. His tongue fucked into her, then flattened against her clit, circling the swollen nub with a pressure that had her seeing stars.
“That’s it, come on his tongue,” Violet urged, her own breath coming faster. She released Wren’s wrists to shove her own trousers down, then settled over Wren’s face. “Eat me while he eats you. Come on, Wren.”
The command, the overwhelming sensation—Bodhi’s expert mouth, the musky scent of Violet’s cunt hovering over her—drove Wren to the edge instantly. She obeyed, her tongue lashing out to find Violet’s clit as Bodhi drove two thick fingers inside her, curling them up. Her orgasm exploded, a silent, seismic shock that racked her entire body, her thighs clamping around Bodhi’s head as she screamed against Violet’s flesh.
Violet rocked against her mouth, chasing her own release, while Bodhi worked her through the convulsions, his fingers and tongue relentless until she was sobbing from overstimulation.
He finally pulled back, his chin glistening. He crawled up her body, his cock—thick and heavy—slapping against her stomach. “My turn,” he growled.
He sheathed himself in one smooth, devastating thrust, filling the aching, sensitive space his mouth had just vacated. Wren gasped, the fullness a shock after the frantic attention. Violet moved off her face, kneeling beside them, her hand trailing down to rub circles on Wren’s clit as Bodhi started to move.
His pace was relentless, each drive of his hips punching the air from her lungs. He fucked her with a focused, powerful rhythm, his gaze locked on hers. Violet kissed her, sharing the taste of herself.
“Gods, you feel perfect,” Bodhi grunted, his control fraying. “So fucking tight. Always so fucking tight for us.”
“Our dragons haven’t gotten a turn yet,” Violet murmured against Wren’s cheek, her fingers still working in time with Bodhi’s thrusts. “Tairn and Aotrom are… impatient. But the bonding takes so much out of you. We have to wait until your next visit to Aretia.”
A wicked light gleamed in Violet’s eyes. She turned her head, looking at Bodhi. “So since we have to wait,” she continued, her voice dropping to a mean, playful purr, “we’ll just have to take this turn to take you apart again and again. Until you can’t take it. Or until you pass out.” She looked back at Wren, her expression both cruel and adoring. “How does that sound?”
Wren could only moan, her body ascending another peak under their dual attention. Bodhi leaned down, kissing her deeply. “Answer her,” he said against her mouth.
“Yes,” Wren choked out. “Fuck, yes. Do it.”
Bodhi’s thrusts became punishing, his balls slapping against her. Wren was hurtling toward another climax, the coil winding impossibly tight. But then Violet pulled her hand away.
“Not like that,” Violet said. She got to her feet, looking down at them with a smirk. “I want more.” Her eyes scanned the room, landing on the wooden cabinet in the corner where Wren kept her few precious things. “What’s in there?”
A desperate, wild idea took root. Wren, pinned under Bodhi’s driving hips, pointed a trembling finger. “The cabinet. Top drawer. I have a… a double-ended dildo. With a harness. Violet, you can use it. You can fuck me with it.”
A stunned, heated silence fell, broken only by the sound of skin on skin. Bodhi stilled, buried deep inside her, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. “You beautiful, filthy genius.”
Violet’s expression shifted from surprise to sheer, predatory delight. She crossed to the cabinet, yanking the drawer open. She found the harness of dark leather, and the silicone toy, substantial and veined. She held it up, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been holding out on us, Aster.”
“Was waiting for the right occasion,” Wren breathed.
Violet made quick work of stepping into the harness, tightening the straps around her hips and thighs. The toy jutted out from her pelvis, a daunting, twin-ended length. Bodhi slowly withdrew from Wren, his cock glistening. He helped Wren to her knees, then onto her hands and knees on the rug.
Violet moved behind her, one hand smoothing over the curve of Wren’s ass. “You’re sure?” Violet asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft for a moment.
“I’m sure,” Wren said, pushing her hips back in invitation. “Fuck me, Violet.”
Violet’s hand left her ass. Wren felt the blunt, slick head of the toy press against her entrance. Violet, using a bottle of oil from the drawer, had coated it thoroughly. The pressure was immense, wider than Bodhi, unyielding. Violet pushed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion that stole Wren’s breath. The stretch was breathtaking, a burn that melted into a deep, filling fullness as inch after inch disappeared inside her.
When Violet was flush against her, the harness tight against her ass, she paused. “All of it,” Wren begged, her face pressed to the rug.
With one final push, Violet seated the other end of the toy inside herself. Wren felt it, the minute vibration, the shared fullness. A guttural moan ripped from Violet’s throat.
Bodhi watched, stroking his own cock, his eyes blazing. “Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Then Violet began to move. She pulled back, dragging the toy almost out of Wren, before thrusting forward again. The motion fucked them both simultaneously. Each forward plunge filled Wren brutally, the ridged texture scraping every nerve ending. Wren cried out, the sensation too much, too perfect. Violet set a ruthless, pounding rhythm, her hands gripping Wren’s hips for leverage. The slap of the harness against Wren’s skin, Violet’s ragged breaths, the obscene, wet sounds of their joined bodies—it was a symphony of filth.
Bodhi crouched in front of Wren. “My turn,” he said, his voice rough. He guided his cock to her lips. “Suck me. Taste yourself on me.”
Wren opened her mouth, taking him in, as Violet fucked her from behind. She bobbed her head, the dual sensations overwhelming—the thick cock in her mouth, the thicker toy pistoning in her cunt. Violet’s pace increased, becoming frantic. Wren felt the tremors starting in Violet’s thighs, heard her choked cries.
“I’m gonna come,” Violet gasped, her thrusts turning erratic. “Oh, fuck, Wren!”
The convulsions that rocked Violet’s body translated through the toy, sending fresh shocks of pleasure through Wren’s own overloaded system. Violet screamed, her body seizing as she came, grinding hard against Wren.
As Violet’s movements stilled, Bodhi pulled from Wren’s mouth. “On your back,” he ordered, his voice thick.
They helped her roll over, the toy still buried inside her, connecting her to a boneless, panting Violet. Bodhi pushed Wren’s knees up to her chest, exposing her completely. He positioned himself at her other entrance, his cockhead pressing against the tight ring of muscle.
“Both,” he growled. “You’re taking both.”
He pushed inside her ass in one slow, brutal stroke, stretching her around the girth of the toy still filling her cunt. The feeling of being utterly packed, stretched to her absolute limit, was beyond anything. She was filled, stuffed, completely owned. Bodhi fucked into her ass with deep, claiming thrusts, each one jostling the toy inside her cunt against spots that made her vision whiten.
Violet, recovering, leaned forward, capturing Wren’s mouth in a sloppy, desperate kiss. The three of them were a tangled, sweaty, groaning knot of limbs and shared pleasure.
Wren shattered. An orgasm tore through her with no warning, a silent, breathless explosion that clamped her around both invading lengths. It triggered Violet again, who cried out, her body spasming. Bodhi groaned, his rhythm breaking. “Fuck, I’m there, I’m coming—”
He emptied himself deep inside her ass with a series of hot, pulsing jets, his body collapsing partly over hers as he rode out his climax.
They stayed like that for long minutes, a connected, breathing heap on the rug. Finally, with soft hisses, they disentangled. Bodhi pulled out first, then Violet slowly, carefully withdrew the toy. The loss made Wren feel hollowed out, used, and profoundly satisfied.
Bodhi fetched a damp cloth, cleaning her with a tenderness that contrasted starkly with the violence of their fucking. Violet, having removed the harness, curled into Wren’s side, her head on her shoulder.
“So,” Violet mumbled, exhaustion dripping from her voice. “Next weekend… we’re definitely doing that again.”
Bodhi lay down on Wren’s other side, his arm thrown over both of them. “Only after the dragons get their turn in Aretia,” he said, pressing a kiss to Wren’s temple. “They’ll be jealous enough as it is.”
Wren smiled into the darkness, surrounded by their heat, their scent, the solid weight of their belonging. The maps on the walls seemed to blur. Her world, once so small and quiet, was now a roaring, vivid thing, and she was at the very center of the storm.
Her world, once so small and quiet, was now a roaring, vivid thing, and she was at the very center of the storm. That storm, for now, had quieted to a warm, breathing silence. She drifted up from sleep not with a jolt, but slowly, tethered by the solid weight across her waist and the soft breath against her collarbone.
Bodhi was curled behind her, his arm a heavy, possessive band locking her to him. Violet was splayed on her other side, one leg thrown over Wren’s thighs, her face smushed into the pillow beside her. A stripe of Saturday morning sun cut across the bed, illuminating dust motes and the rumpled sheet pooling at their hips. The room smelled of sex, sleep, and the faint, sweet scent of Violet’s hair.
Wren didn’t move. She let the feeling saturate her—the profound, uncomplicated peace of not being alone. The memories of the night before, of being relentlessly filled and used by them, should have left her feeling raw. Instead, she felt… settled. Branded. Theirs.
Violet stirred first, her nose wrinkling before her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, those silvery-brown eyes focusing on Wren’s face. A slow, sleepy smile spread. “Hey,” she rasped.
“Hey.” Wren’s voice was rough.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Violet announced, not making any effort to move her limb from across Wren. “I think you broke me with that toy. That thing is a weapon.”
From behind, Bodhi gave a muffled chuckle, his mouth against Wren’s shoulder blade. “You were the one wielding it. And screaming. The cobbler downstairs probably thinks we murdered someone.”
“Good,” Violet said, stretching like a cat and finally rolling onto her back. “Let him wonder.” She turned her head. “I need water. And coffee. And maybe a healer.”
They untangled themselves, a slow, groaning process of stiff muscles and tender places. Bodhi padded naked to the washbasin, pouring water into three cups. The sight of him moving with such unselfconscious ease in her space, the muscles of his back and ass flexing, sent a fresh, warm curl of desire through Wren’s belly. It was a quieter thing now, a simmering ember rather than a blaze.
Violet sat up, the sheet falling, her small frame marked with love bites and the faint red lines from the harness straps. She accepted a cup from Bodhi, draining it. “I’m making coffee. And I’m raiding your pantry. I hope you have eggs.”
They did. The next hour was a lesson in easy domesticity. Wren pulled on one of Xaden’s old, soft tunics that smelled like him. Violet commandeered a pair of loose trousers, rolling the waistband several times. Bodhi just stayed gloriously naked, pulling the small table closer to the window as Violet scrambled eggs with impressive ferocity.
They ate in the sunlight, shoulders touching. Bodhi’s bare thigh was warm against Wren’s.
“So,” Violet said, spearing a piece of egg. “Aretia. Next weekend. You’re ready?”
Wren took a slow sip of coffee. Ready for Tairn and Aotrom? The dragons’ impatience was a new, seething layer in her bond with Violet and Bodhi, a rumbling anticipation that vibrated in her dreams. “I think so,” she said. “It can’t be more intense than the toy.”
Bodhi barked a laugh. “Oh, you sweet, optimistic woman. It’s a dragon. It’s absolutely more intense.” He leaned over, kissing her temple. “But you’ll love it. Sgaeyl already proved you can take it.”
The mention of Sgaeyl and Xaden didn’t sting. It felt integrated, a part of the whole tapestry. They finished eating, and Violet took the plates, waving off Wren’s help. Bodhi pulled Wren back onto the bed, settling against the headboard with her between his legs, her back to his chest. He nuzzled her hair.
Violet joined them, curling into Wren’s side, her head on her shoulder. They sat like that for a long time, not speaking, just watching the light move across the maps on her walls. Violet’s finger traced a path on Wren’s thigh, over the fabric of the tunic.
“I used to look at these maps and plan all the places I’d run to,” Wren said quietly, the words surprising her.
Bodhi’s arms tightened. “And now?”
Wren looked at Violet’s hand on her leg, felt the steady beat of Bodhi’s heart against her back. She thought of Xaden’s smile at the bakery, of Liam’s steady loyalty, of Sgaeyl’s ancient, approving rumble in her mind.
“Now I’m already where I’m supposed to be,” she said.
Violet tilted her head up and kissed her, soft and deep. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright. “Damn right you are.”
The peace held, lush and full, until Bodhi’s stomach growled loudly. Violet snorted. “You’re a bottomless pit.”
“I used a lot of energy last night,” he said, his hands sliding up under the tunic to splay possessively over Wren’s stomach. “So did you. I say we go down to the market. Get more food. Let people see you walking with us.”
It was a statement, not a question. A claiming of a different kind. Wren nodded. “Okay.”
Getting dressed was a lazy, interrupted affair. Bodhi would pull Wren in for a kiss as she tried to button her trousers. Violet would smack his hand away, only to then cup Wren’s breast through her shirt, thumb brushing a nipple until Wren’s breath hitched. “Later,” Violet would whisper, a wicked promise, before finishing braiding her own hair.
Finally, they stepped out into the narrow stairwell, then into the bright, bustling market street. Bodhi walked on her right, his fingers laced with hers. Violet was on her left, her hand a firm, casual weight on the small of Wren’s back. The air was cool, smelling of baked bread and damp stone.
They were a spectacle, and they knew it. Whispers followed them—the marked son of a rebel, the sorrengail daughter, and the rider who’d left and come back. Wren held her head higher. She felt the weight of their gazes, the curiosity, the judgement. It rolled off her. The only anchors that mattered were the hands holding her, the bonds humming warmly in her chest.
They bought peaches so ripe they smelled like sunshine, a wedge of sharp cheese, and a fresh loaf still warm from the oven. Violet bartered fiercely for a jar of blackberry preserves, making the vendor laugh. Bodhi stole a kiss from Wren in front of the flower seller, earning a cheer from a group of nearby riders.
It was ordinary. It was perfect.
Back in the apartment, as Violet unpacked their haul onto the table, Bodhi cornered Wren by the cold hearth. He backed her against the stone, his body caging hers, his hands braced on either side of her head. The playful light was gone from his eyes, replaced by a fierce, tender seriousness.
“Last night,” he said, his voice low. “You asked for that toy. You told us what you wanted.” He brushed a stray strand of ash-blonde hair from her forehead. “That’s what I want, every day. You telling us. You choosing this. Choosing us. Not just enduring it.”
Wren’s throat tightened. She saw her own reflection in his dark eyes—a woman who was no longer fading. “I am,” she whispered. “I do.”
He kissed her then, deep and sweet, a sealing of that promise. From the table, Violet watched, a soft, unguarded smile on her face. The morning sun painted them all in gold, a moment suspended, warm and real.
The rest of the weekend stretched before them, a quiet expanse of time. There were no immediate battles to fight, no dragons waiting to bond—just the three of them, the soft bed, and the easy certainty that this, at last, was only the beginning.