Far From Home Two: The Monster's Heir-- a M/M/M fantasy romance

8-- What Do Your Fingers Do

LLYRIC—

I slept soundly, sandwiched between Sage and Ember, warmer than I had ever been. I could tell, despite the ropes of fate binding us, that the two men were only tolerating each other for my sake. The near-constant silent conversations they held that they didn't think I felt weighed me down.

Because I knew how good they were going to be together. Side by side.

But for now, it was an argument about who would lay where, Ember trying to convince Sage to leave me with him and go back to his own tent. Sage scoffing and refusing. Me holding onto both of them to try to keep them both as near as I could. It took me almost breaking down in tears before the men relented and lay down with me between them.

The woman who cut the bindings from my mouth had been kind, gentle, and full of healing magic she poured into me with each touch. But still the pain of her actions had made my entire face feel as if it throbbed with the heat of the sun.

So that was how I woke, between the men who had rescued me, who had been nothing but kind and gentle. The light was barely gray outside, so I spent the time I had before they woke studying Ember's stern, harsh face, slack and peaceful in sleep. Tracing the lines around his eyes, the grooves of his muscled stomach.

"You're gonna wake him," Sage whispered with laughter in his voice from behind me, his hard body pressed up tight against my back. The furs were meant to bed only one or two men, I knew, so the three of us were pressed so tightly together I was all but on top of both men.

And I had no complaints.

I whimpered at the thought that Ember might wake and be angry that I was touching him, discovering, learning what was meant to be mine, but I didn't stop my roving hands.

"You're a tactile little thing, aren't you?" Sage whispered, his own hand tracing hot circles on my hip.

You would be too, I wanted to say, if you were never allowed to touch. To be touched.

But instead I made an affirmative noise, pressing back against Sage's warmth.

He grunted, his hands coming up to hold my hips in place.

"Keep still, sweetheart. It's morning, and my prick is ready to greet the sun."

I froze, confused by his words.

"Men grow hard when they first wake. Do you not?"

I shook my head sorrowfully.

Just one more thing that makes me a freak.

"Probably due to malnourishment. You're going to be alright, sweetheart," Sage whispered, digging his face into the back of my head and taking a deep breath in.

I was grateful for his optimism, but I wasn't so sure. The two men I knew were my fate hated each other. It wasn't exactly conducive to a happy future.

Despite his words of restraint, I continued to press back into Sage's body, his warmth like a balm against my heavily scarred emotions and equally scarred body.

Sage sighed against my neck, his lips pressing against the soft skin on the bridge between my neck and shoulder. I shuddered, my fingers digging into Ember's chest as Sage nuzzled against me.

"Fuck," Sage mumbled against my skin, his breath burning the sensitive skin around my ear, his hot, calloused fingers digging into my hips. I could feel his body tense behind me, his hands holding me away from him. But despite the space between us, I could feel his hips rocking the furs behind me. "Why do I feel... Fuck," he repeated.