His command hangs in the air, a thick, tangible thing. I want to watch you make her come. The words sink into my skin, branding me with their intent. My entire world has narrowed to this small clearing, to the scent of us, to the electric space where our bodies connect. Elara’s eyes, dark pools of liquid heat, meet mine. There is no hesitation in her, only a thrilling, feral certainty. Her hand slides from my hip, her fingers tracing a burning path down the front of my hiking shorts, over the damp fabric that covers my aching center. A shuddering gasp escapes me. My head falls back against the tree, the rough bark a stark contrast to the softness of her touch.
“You heard him,” she murmurs, her voice a low, intimate whisper meant only for me. Her fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts and the leggings beneath. “Let’s give him what he wants.”
My hips lift of their own volition, a silent, desperate plea. She peels the layers down my legs in one smooth motion, leaving me bare from the waist down, exposed to the cool forest air and their hungry eyes. I am completely vulnerable, completely theirs. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, raking over my nakedness, and the sheer audacity of it makes my core clench tight around nothing.
Elara doesn’t make me wait. She guides me down, her hands firm on my shoulders, until my back meets the soft, forgiving bed of pine needles. The world tilts, the canopy of green and blue sky spinning above me. Then she is over me, a beautiful, dark-haired goddess blotting out the sun. Her scent, musky and sweet, envelops me. She lowers herself, not to kiss my mouth, but to trail her lips down my body. Each press of her mouth is a brand. My neck. The frantic pulse at the base of my throat. The valley between my breasts. She takes one nipple into her mouth, sucking deeply, and a broken cry is torn from my lips. Her hand finds my other breast, pinching and rolling the sensitive peak until I’m writhing beneath her, my fingers digging into the soft earth. All the while, I can see him. He has sunk to his knees a few feet away, his hand still working his impressive length in a slow, steady rhythm. His eyes are fixed on us, on every movement Elara makes, on every twitch of my body. He is a conductor, and we are his orchestra, and this symphony is one of pure, unadulterated lust.
Elara’s mouth continues its devastating journey south. Over the quivering plane of my stomach. Across the delicate bones of my hips. She nips at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and I jump, a fresh wave of slick heat drenching me. God, she’s going to…The thought shatters as her breath ghosts over my core. I am laid open for her, for him. My every secret, every pulse of desire, is on display.
“Look at her,” he says, his voice gravelly with need. “So perfect. So ready for you.”
Elara makes a sound of agreement, a low hum that vibrates through my very soul. And then her tongue finds me. It’s not a tentative exploration. It’s a claiming. A flat, firm stroke from my entrance all the way up to my throbbing clit that makes my entire body bow off the ground. A scream lodges in my throat, coming out as a strangled, guttural moan. Oh god. Her tongue is relentless. She laps at me, drinking me in, her nose buried in my curls. She circles my clit with a precision that feels clairvoyant, then flicks it with the very tip of her tongue, a series of rapid, devastating flicks that have me clutching at her hair, my hips bucking uncontrollably against her mouth. “Yes… just like that…” he urges, his own stroking becoming faster, more frantic. “Make her lose control.”
Elara moans against me, the vibration shooting through my clit like a lightning strike. She delves lower, her tongue pushing inside me, fucking me with it in a shallow, maddening rhythm. I am babbling, nonsense words and pleas, my vision starting to speckle at the edges. The pleasure is a tight coil, winding, winding, winding deep in my belly. She returns to my clit, sucking it into her mouth, and the coil snaps. My orgasm erupts without warning, a silent, seismic convulsion that seizes every muscle in my body. It whites out my vision, a tidal wave of pure sensation that crashes over me, dragging me under. I am aware of my own raw, screaming cry echoing through the trees, of my back arching so severely it feels like it might break, of my fingers tangled violently in Elara’s hair, holding her face hard against me as she rides out the storm with me, her tongue never stopping its relentless, exquisite torture. The world filters back in shards. The sound of my own ragged, sobbing breaths. The feel of the pine needles under my back. The weight of Elara’s head resting on my thigh, her breathing just as labored as mine. And him.
I turn my heavy head to look at him. He is still watching, his hand a blur on his cock, his jaw clenched tight. His pale blue eyes are glazed, locked on the slick, glistening evidence of my pleasure covering Elara’s chin and lips. Elara lifts her head, a supremely satisfied, predatory smile on her face. She looks from my wrecked expression to him. She knows what he needs.
She crawls away from me, toward him, moving with a primal grace. She doesn’t say a word. She simply kneels before him, takes his hand in hers to steady his frantic motion, and guides the swollen head of his cock to her painted lips. My breath catches. I am still trembling, oversensitive and raw, but I cannot look away. She opens her mouth, and just before she takes him in, her eyes find mine.
“Watch,” she whispers, the command echoing his from before.
And then she swallows him whole.
