Page 36 of Minas (Dying Gods #4)

Sira

I lay awake long after Lykos and Britomartis have fallen asleep, my head full and my mind racing.

“Sleep, little bird,” Lykos had said, wrapping his arms around me and tugging me close, his lips pressed against the top of my head. “You need to rest.”

But sleep had not come.

Britomartis turns at my other side, rolling to face me with features softened by sleep. She had placed her sleeping pallet alongside ours, after Lykos’ insistence, but now is sprawled almost entirely on the hard decking between our two pallets, the bed-roll at her back, the cloak she’d been using as a blanket kicked aside.

I frown. She must be cold. Cold and uncomfortable. This is only my second night at sea, and I hate it. I cannot imagine how she spent nearly two moon cycles on board one of these things.

For you , a little voice whispers. She did that for you .

My chest aches at the thought.

“Here,” I murmur, pulling at my own blanket. Or rather, it was one of Britomartis’ blankets, before Lykos and I took her bed. It comes free, drawing a sleepy grumble from Lykos, and I reach out, placing the edge of it over her shoulders so that at least she will have some warmth.

Britomartis lets out a sleepy hum, then moves closer, drawn like a moth to the light of a lamp in the darkness, instinctively seeking out more heat. Another low murmur, and then she’s right beside me, her own face a hand breadth away from my own, her knees pressed against my thighs, her icy feet seeking out mine beneath the covers.

I bite back a laugh, heat rising to my cheeks in the darkness, and reach around her to pull the blanket more closely over her. She lets out a contented sigh, her breath warm against my face. Pomegranate and honey fill my senses, wrapping around me like an embrace, sending warmth and longing rushing through my blood.

“Sira.” The word ghosts from her parted lips like a sigh, like a moan, sending an ache through my core, like a string pulled in a loom. “Sweet, Sira.”

“Yes,” I agree softly. “I am here. Sleep.”

She needs to sleep. Lykos told me Britomartis kept watch all last night while I was ill. Or rather, while I was embarrassing myself with a mixture of illness and desire. Gods only know how many other sleepless nights she has had in her effort to get to me.

“Hmm.”

Britomartis’ eyelids flutter, long lashes brushing agains her cheeks. A smile curves her lips, soft and rare and just for me. The ache within grows, blooming like a crocus flower in my chest.

She moves again, as if she means to nestle closer, but then one arm reaches out, stretching beneath the blankets, wrapping around my waist. I gasp, a breathless sounding thing, and her hold on me tightens, her brow dipping in her sleep.

“Sira,” she says again, her fingers lazily stroking the base of my spine, then trailing lower. “Hmm. Sira.”

A sound punches out of me, something between a plea and a whimper. Lykos stirs behind me, stubble rasping against the back of my neck, leg hair rough against the backs of my bare thighs.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, as if to chide me, but then his hand is pressing against my stomach, pulling me flush against him, until my backside is pressed against the unmistakable length of him.

The move must cause Britomartis to lose her hold on me, because she frowns in her sleep, then inches closer, her arm wrapping over his as she reaches back around me, attempting to pull me to her again.

But Lykos only tightens his hold, his face pressing into my shoulder with a grumbled protest, his hips rocking against my own as his fingers splay over my stomach.

I do whimper then, a pitiful, needy sound. It can’t be helped. Not when I spent all last night writhing with desire, erontas and poppy coursing through my veins. Not when Lykos and Britomartis are both flush against me, pinning me between them.

“Shh,” Lykos murmurs, but his hips are starting to find a steady rhythm as he thrusts against me, his cock hard against my backside.

“Sira,” Britomartis moans, her body arching beneath the covers, as if she would mold herself to me. Her fingertips tangle in my sleeping tunic, causing it to ride up, pulling it until it sits above my hips.

I press my thighs together beneath the blankets, as if that would ease the ache growing there. If I could just get my arms free, I could reach between my legs and satisfy myself. I should not wake them, not when they are both so tired. Not when they can barely stand each other.

Britomartis crashes her lips against mine and I gasp.

It’s a sleepy kiss, ungraceful and more a brush or a press of her lips than anything else, but my heart doesn’t know that and my body certainly doesn’t care. For a moment, I let myself imagine that this is real. That she really does desire me. That she and Lykos are my lovers, as eager to please me as I am them.

And then her eyes fly open.

“Sira.”

This time, my name has none of the rumbling warmth.

“Yes,” I agree, daring to whisper the words against her lips. I hold her gaze with my own, hoping she reads the hunger burning there.

“I… I’m sorry,” she stammers, blinking sleep-stained eyes. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I’m not,” I tell her truthfully. And I mean it. Not just now, but all those times before. That first time even, when I desperately flung myself at her.

I regret none of it.

“But I… I hurt you,” she whispers. “You don’t want me.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That is for me to decide.”

Her throat bobs, her gaze dropping back to my lips. This time, I don’t wait for her to kiss me. I pull my arm free from Lykos’ hold on me, and pull her face to meet my own, arching back against him as I stretch to slant my lips against hers.

She tastes like sadness and hope and mine .

“Sira,” Lykos grumbles in warning, but I ignore it, reveling in the feel of Britomartis’ tongue against my own, the sound of her little breaths and moans, hungry and desperate.

Good. She should be hungry and desperate. I have been.

“Sira?” Lykos’ hand presses against my stomach, then slips lower, until the pads of his large fingers are resting against the top of my slit.

I gasp at the feel, my thighs parting to accommodate him.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he chides.

I moan into Britomartis’ mouth, feeling only a little bit guilty for waking them both up.

His hand slips lower, until his fingers are pressing against the damp ache between my thighs. I rock against him, pulling Britomartis to me as I seek out Lykos’ fingers, wanting friction, wanting him to move.

No, I want more than that. I want him in me, those thick fingers, that thicker cock. Barb , he had called it, in his foreign tongue, and Britomartis had laughed at him. I don’t care though. Don’t care what it is called, because I can feel the length of it pressing hard and hot against my backside, thicker than the fingers pressing against my sex.

I want that.

“Show me what to do,” Lykos murmurs sleepily against my ear. “Like I showed you. Tell me how to make you feel good, how to make you come.”

“Hmm,” I agree, though his request has my heart pounding with equal parts excitement and nerves.

I’ve never thought much about what I like when I’ve been alone with myself, with my fingers and only myself to please. When I was with Britomartis, I hadn’t had to think at all.

Britomartis pulls free of our kiss, her eyes bright and pupils blown in the dim light. There is no mistaking the heat in her gaze, or the amused curve of her lips.

“I can show you what to do, Achean. If you will take instructions from a Daughter of Thera.”

I melt at her words, my eyelids fluttering shut, a low gasp escaping my throat at the thought of Britomartis taking control, telling Lykos how to touch me. Of both of them touching me.

“Please,” I murmur, when Lykos doesn’t respond. “Oh yes, please.”

Lykos huffs against my shoulder, but directs his reply at Britomartis. “If that is what my lady wants,” he offers, his tone aloof. But his hand trembles where it presses against my swollen cleft, and his cock bucks in silent agreement to her proposition. I smile.

“Put her on her back,” Britomartis orders, slipping her arm free and lifting up until she is seated.

I frown at the loss of her touch, at the distance between us.

“That’s it.” Britomartis nods in approval as Lykos pulls away from me, rising to sit on my other side, gently pushing me to lay on my back.

I feel suddenly vulnerable, small, between the pair of them, with me laying down and both of them looming over me. It shouldn’t be pleasant to feel so weak, but heat pools heavy in my stomach and I find my knees falling wide despite myself.

“Look at that,” Britomartis purrs, slipping the hem of my sleeping tunic up, exposing my bare sex. “See how perfect she is. See how swollen those lips are.”

She reaches between my thighs, spreading me wider until I can feel the cold air against my clit, until I must be open as the mouth of Diktynna’s cave, hungry and wet and desperate.

“Beautiful,” Lykos rasps in agreement, bending closer to my sex as if to get a better look. “Such a pretty kysthos.”

I bite my lip at that foreign word, my stomach fluttering wildly with nerves and anticipation. Kysthos . Is that what they call it, those Acheans? It sounds just as rough and lewd as barb.

I find I like it.

Britomartis scoffs. “We prefer to call it a flower. The sacred entrance. The blessed path. Though, I suppose kysthos will do for a barbarian such as you.”

“Please,” I whisper, my knees trembling. “You can call it whatever you like. But please, please just touch me.”

Britomartis chuckles darkly, trailing two fingers up the length of my slit. Teasingly, lightly, the callused pads barely brushing my inner lips, ghosting like a whisper over my clit. “Patience, sweet Sira,” she murmurs. “It would not be fair to rush Lykos’ lesson in this. Not when he is so eager to learn.”

I whimper in dismay, squeezing my eyes shut and throwing my head back in frustration.

“I… I don’t want to tease her,” Lykos protests, his hands trembling as they grip my inner thighs, his thumbs brushing my damp sex. “Just show me where to touch her, how to touch her. Or, I could taste her?” he asks hopefully, cocking his head to one side. “She did that for me before…”

“Did she?”

There’s an edge to Britomartis’ voice that almost sounds like displeasure. Or is it jealousy?

“Did you enjoy swallowing down this barbarian’s cock, sweet Sira? Did you swallow down his seed? And he didn’t make you come, did he,” she guesses.

Though, considering Lykos is displaying his ignorance for all to see, that is a reasonable assumption to make.

“Did he leave you hungry and wanting for more?”

Cool fingers spread my lips apart as she says this, making me shiver with need.

“I came,” I gasp, the admission bursting out of me, making my cheeks burn. “I made myself come. I… I thought of you.”

And it’s the truth. I’d imagined her there, touching me, guiding me onto him. Teaching him.

Britomartis makes a noise in the back of her throat, her fingertips trembling where they’re pressed against me. “Did you?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“Please, Britomartis,” Lykos pleads. “Show me what to do.”

Britomartis’ lips curve with dark satisfaction.

“He does beg very prettily, your Achean,” she tells me, almost conversationally. “Though I would rather hear you beg, my sweet Sira.” She glares challengingly at Lykos, though whether she is daring him to deny her use of ‘my’ or whether she is daring him to make me beg, I don’t know. Nor do I care.

“Yes, please.” I’m not at all ashamed of begging, if it gets me what I want. “Show him.”

Britomartis’ expression turns serious, her gaze dropping to my exposed kysthos, as Lykos called it, and Lykos’ eager face. “Have you ever touched a woman?” She asks. “Ever seen the open flower of a woman spread before you?”

Lykos shakes his head, his cheeks blazing with embarrassment but his pupils blown. “Never,” he rasps. “But I am a quick learner, I promise.”

Britomartis nods, satisfied. “A woman’s flower is delicate, yet strong,” she begins. “Here, give me your hand.” She takes Lykos’ hand in her own. “First, there are the outer petals…” I gasp as their joint fingers trace my outer lips, my thighs quivering. “Keep your knees wide, Sira,” Britomartis orders, almost sharply. “Yes, that’s it. Now, here are the inner petals…” I whimper at the feel of their fingers opening me further, and the cool air against my exposed core.

“Incredible,” Lykos whispers, as if he is watching some miracle occur before him.

“When you spread them like this,” Britomartis explains, “you can see the sacred bud. Just here.” She presses one finger against my clit, rolling it lightly under the pad of her finger, briefly, too briefly, before lifting her hand away. “Can you see it?” She asks. “The light is dim… we could light the lamp.”

“I can see it,” Lykos tells her hurriedly. Like me, I suspect he is too eager to stop and light a lamp

“Feel it,” she orders, then—as if expecting him to disobey—guides his fingertips to that swollen bud. “Feel how swollen it is, the way it moves when you press it. It will get more swollen still if you treat it well. This,” she moves Lykos’ fingers in a steady rhythm over my clit, rolling it back and forth with a speed that has my pulse skyrocketing. “This is the source of a woman’s pleasure. And, unlike with you men, the goddess has so blessed us that we can come again and again and again.”

“Truthfully?” Lykos nearly moans the word.

“Oh yes,” Britomartis agrees, and I can hear the smug smile in her words. “And I will show you. But this is not the only source of a woman’s pleasure. No,” she chides, when she releases his hand and his own stills its movement. “Keep touching her. Just like that. Not too hard, not too fast. We don’t want her to come yet…”

I groan in protest at that, and she chuckles.

“The other source of a woman’s pleasure is deep inside,” she explains, and I start when one of her fingers presses at my open entrance. “I will do this first,” she tells him sharply, perhaps in response to some look he gives her that I don’t see. “I don’t trust you not to be too rough, and my fingers are slenderer than your own. Though…” a satisfied smile curves her lips, “I can promise you she can take a good stretch, once she is sufficiently warmed up.”

My cheeks burn at her words, and the reminder of that time together, when her fingers were buried deep in me, all the way to the knuckles, filling me.

Even then, I had wanted more.

One finger slips inside me, and I cry out, surprised at the stretch of that one digit.

“If you ever plan to barb her, as you so ineloquently called it…” her finger pulls out, and a second presses in alongside it, “…you will need to ready her.” Britomartis nods in the direction of Lykos’ lap, where his cock is tenting his sleeping tunic. “Stretch her with your fingers, perhaps even make her come first. She must be wet to dripping before you put that… that thing in her.”

“It is not so very large,” Lykos argues, but Britomartis scoffs.

“It is not exactly small, barbarian. There are few Theran women who would seek out one like you at Astarte’s temple. Especially not when they are a novice like Sira is.”

“I… I am no novice,” I argue, though the words come out so breathy and needy, I’m not sure either of them hear me.

In answer, Britomartis curves her fingers within me, making me cry out. “There,” she explains, thrusting and pressing against that spot with a rhythm that matches the way Lykos is rubbing my clit. “See how I curve my fingers, Achean?” Another thrust, this one deeper. “See how wet she is getting, how she opens up even more, like a flower blooming before the sun?”

Her fingers slip out, and a third joins them, making me whimper at the stretch.

“That is where the second source of pleasure is,” Britomartis explains, the pads of her fingers dragging against that spot, making heat and desire flash white behind my eyes. “The goddess’ way, I suppose, of making some women hunger for a man’s seed when we could otherwise find satisfaction without it.”

“Can I try?” Lykos pleads, his fingers working my clit with the steady, torturous rhythm Britomartis has set. “I would love to feel her wrapped around me like that. Zeus’ cock,” he murmurs, “the way she stretches.”

In answer, Britomartis slips her fingers free from my wet heat. “Here.” She holds her fingers out to Lykos, with all the patient condescension of someone feeding a favorite pet. “Taste her.”

Lykos’ fingers still against me, and he draws in a sharp breath. “Truly?”

“Are you afraid, Achean?” Britomartis teases. “Sira was brave enough to taste your seed, and yet you hesitate to taste her?”

“No… I… it’s just…” he stammers.

And then he’s surging forward, taking Britomartis’ fingers into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing, his eyes going wide. Sucking them, as I had sucked his cock only days before.

I imagine it then; what it would be like to watch him with another man. To see him on his knees, his amber eyes wide, his lashes damp with tears. Taking a cock in his mouth like I took his.

He would be beautiful like that.

“That’s a good barbarian,” Britomartis nearly laughs. “You like it, don’t you? You’ll like it even better from the source, trust me. Now, keep rubbing her.”

Lykos obeys, resuming a tentative rhythm against my swollen nub. This time, it is slower, and—as if he has gotten the confidence to experiment, he tries circling it and then tugging it between his thumb and forefinger.

I gasp, arching against him as pleasure races through me, desperate for more. As if in answer, Lykos teases my entrance with his other hand, dipping the pads of two fingers inside, then stopping, as if uncertain.

“Try one finger first,” Britomartis suggests. “Your fingers are thicker than mine, remember. And I may not always be there to prepare her for you, you know.”

Lykos slides one finger in—slowly, too slowly. I arch against him, my brow dipping in irritation at the careful intrusion. Thick as his fingers may be, one is not enough.

“I am not some delicate flower,” I protest breathlessly, narrowing my eyes and glaring at Britomartis. “His cock would do much better for this, don’t you think?”

Britomartis gives me an indulgent smile, then reaches out to stroke the side of my cheek. “Ahh, but then he would learn nothing, sweet Sira, except for how to rut like an animal and chase his own pleasure. Which, I am certain, he already knows how to do.”

I turn towards her touch in reply, pressing my face into her palm, my lips trailing over her wrist. “Please, Britomartis,” I whimper. “Please. I have waited so long…”

I trail off, not quite certain of what I was going to say, of what I really mean. Of what it is that I have been waiting for. For her to come back to me, when I never knew to expect it? For Lykos to touch me, when I only knew I desired his touch days ago? For the three of us to come together, when it isn’t something I ever expected to happen, save for in my most secret dreams.

And yet it feels like my whole life has been hurtling to this moment and, now that I am here, I can’t wait any longer.

It’s Lykos, not Britomartis, who answers me, not in words, but by giving me two thick fingers, curving them within me as his thumb and forefinger work furiously at my clit. I cry out, a panting, mewling sound, words of please and more and yes coming together in an unintelligible rush.

“That’s it,” Britomartis murmurs approvingly, though I don’t know whether she is speaking to me or to Lykos. “Just like that.”

Deft hands tug at my sleeping tunic, letting the hem ride up until my stomach and then my breasts are exposed to the cool night air. My nipples pebble, my breaths coming in rapid pants as I arch in anticipation.

Britomartis cups my breasts, reaching over me until the loose ends of her hair are trailing across my shoulders, curtaining our faces as she stares down at me.

“Sira loves her breasts being played with too,” Britomartis says, speaking to Lykos but staring hungrily down at me. “You can pull the nipples—not too hard, of course—or suck on them. Not like a calf on a heifer, but teasingly. You can hold them like this…”

Britomartis presses the aching mounds together, her thumbs brushing over the nipples, making twin arches of pleasure rush through me, like lightning to my very core.

“Gods,” Lykos nearly whimpers, his thick fingers stilling inside me. “Zeus help me, she got so wet when you did that. I can feel it coating my fingers.”

I rock against him demandingly, arching towards Britomartis as she dips her head, a teasing smile curving her lips as she draws one nipple into her mouth, then another, her eyes never leaving my own. “Divine,” she murmurs, her breath ghosting across my heated skin. Another lick, a teasing nip. “Absolutely divine.”

She sits back, throwing a questioning look over her shoulder to where Lykos is diligently working, his fingers inside me, rubbing at my clit. “Would you like to try, Achean?”

Lykos nods, lips parted and cheeks flushed. “I… could I? Yes.” His brow dips, and he drops his gaze to my spread core, to where his fingers are still speared inside me. “But how can I do that and this at the same time, when I only have two hands?” He sounds almost exasperated, a little panicked. “It is not so complicated with men…”

Britomartis laughs, a full, musical sound that dances with the wind and waves outside the shelter. “That is why we have mouths. Or, perhaps, that is why so many women take more than one lover. Come here.”

She releases her hold on me, then shuffles back, pulling Lykos’ hands away from me and ushering him to take her place as she takes his between my spread thighs. My breath hitches at the sight of her there, at her hands gripping my inner thighs and her head dipping until I can feel her breath on my swollen kysthos, as Lykos had called it.

Yes, it certainly feels like a kysthos now, aching and hungry and desperate to be filled. Barbed, like the Acheans say.

Britomartis shoots Lykos a look that is full of challenge, as if she is making ready to spar with him with sword and shield. “Play with her breasts, Achean. See what sounds you can get her to make. I’m going to taste her and, once she’s come on my fingers and tongue, we shall see how apt a student you really are.”