“What?” She started to sit up.
Tynan wrapped his fingers around her wrists, holding her hands against his chest. “No, don’t move, Meggie.” His gaze was intent on her face.
She looked back at Donal, then him.
His slow smile eased her worry. “It seems this might be something else you didn’t know. When males share a female, that area is sometimes used as well.”
Donal circled his finger around the rim, creating an intoxicating kaleidoscope of sensation.
As sizzles zinged through her, she shivered. “There?”
“There,” Donal answered, his voice gentle. “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop, sweetheart.”
Tynan nodded. “But try it once first, aye?”
“O-okay.” Another shiver ran through her as Donal’s finger pressed in slightly. The slick intrusive sensation felt totally wrong as he opened that part of her, yet the nerves felt electrified, and everything inside her clenched.
Tynan groaned. “By the Gods, that feels good.”
Happiness swept through her that she’d pleased him.
But then Donal moved his finger in and out of her, sending all sorts of strange sensations through her. He added another finger, stretching her almost uncomfortably, yet the disconcerting pleasure overwhelmed everything else.
“Ready for you, brawd.” Donal’s hand tightened on one buttock with his fingers deep inside her.
She shivered at the consuming sensations—Tynan’s cock so thick in her pussy, Donal’s fingers…elsewhere.
“Time to move, little wolf.” Tynan said.
Move? Was he crazy?
Gripping her hips, he didn’t wait, but lifted her up and almost off his cock—and then he drew her down, hard enough to make her gasp—and the two fingers in her ass went along. When Tynan’s cock was completely inside her, Donal moved his fingers in and out, sending a seething tension through her.
The need started to grow.
Tynan lifted her up…
Up and down, in and out, and everything increased the delirious hunger until each cell in her body burned with urgency. Vibrated with the need to come.
More.
Hands moved over her, Tynan’s cock penetrated her, Donal’s fingers possessed her. Both males were focused on her, only on her, and the knowledge of their careful nurturing and concern filled her heart to overflowing.
And sent her over.
Her head went back as her entire core exploded with pleasure, as waves of heat rippled through her, outward along her nerves and blood vessels and muscles until her whole body shimmered with ecstasy. Until the whole room turned blurry.
Through the haze, she heard Tynan laugh, rock her up and down twice more and then anchor her against him as he came with hard spasms.
She sagged down on top of him, hearing Donal’s chuckle, and as he pulled his fingers out, she jolted at the flash of pleasure.
Every muscle in her body went limp.
When Donal returned, Tynan tucked her down between them. Hard bodies on each side, deep voices.
Their callused hands stroked her gently as she fell asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - waning gibbous moon
Not even a pouring rain could diminish her spirits the next morning. Margery let herself back into her house, closing the front door quietly in case her littermate had come home.
“No need to pussyfoot around.” At the dining room table, Oliver scowled. “Or act like you’ve been out killing pixies.”
She laughed. “No pixies have been slaughtered today. I didn’t want to wake you if you were asleep.”
“Where in the Hunter’s green forest have you been?” His voice came out a growl. “I was worried.”
“Oh, cat-scat. I’m sorry. I should have left you a note.” She hung up her wet coat. “I was next door.”
“Oh.” He looked happier. “I didn’t realize the healer started work so early.”
She exhaled. Letting him assume she was only working with Donal would be a form of lying. The Scythe had taught her to hate lies. “Donal doesn’t open his clinic this early. I spent the night over there.”
Oliver’s brown brows drew together as he sniffed the air.
She flushed, all too conscious of the scent of sex clinging to her, of her beard-reddened cheeks, chin, and neck. Of her swollen lips. Of the bite-mark on her neck. Of her tousled hair.
Worry crossed his face, before he scowled. “Isn’t it considered poor form to fuck your boss?”
What? She jerked back, then her eyes narrowed. “That was rude. And uncalled for.”
His expression blanked. “I just… Yeah, sorry.”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over. Hair tousled, a day’s beard scruff, eyes bloodshot. His T-shirt showed a bear watching a human on a bicycle with the text beneath: Meals on wheels.
Same T-shirt he’d worn yesterday. And he smelled like alcohol.
“Is this the fairy calling the bird, flighty?” She put her hands on her hips. “Were you even home to notice I was gone?”
He turned a dull red. His hands had a fine tremor. His skin looked sallow.
“Bro, you said you didn’t like crowded taverns,” she said softly. “Were you having drinks with Patrin and Fell or something?”
“Nah.” He looked away. “I was drinking—got a bottle of whisky at the store—but it was in the woods.”
A niggle of anxiety came to life. Drinking alone. That wasn’t healthy, and it appeared Oliver had imbibed the entire bottle. “That doesn’t seem… Is everything…?”
Mother’s breasts, why was it easier to discuss health issues with patients than with her own brother?
“I’m fine.” He shoved his chair back and rose. “And I’m not a cub, sis. What I do, what I drink is my business. Not yours.”
As he disappeared into his bedroom, she stared after him. Honestly, he gave her that line after asking her where she’d spent the night?
Huffing out a breath, she headed into her own bedroom to take a shower—and managed not to slam her door.
She’d forgotten how Oliver could act like a dwarf whose gold had been stolen when he got in a mood.
Well, really, couldn’t they all?
Guilt reared up. Perhaps she should have come home last night. He was having a rough time.
But alcohol was never the right answer. She stripped off her clothing and stepped into the shower. What if he—
She shook her head. No, she was being a worrywart. He was back in civilization from the tiny Elder Village with no stores. Over-indulging in drink just once wasn’t the sign of a problem.
He was fine.
She’d make sure he was fine. Because she was all he had left now.
Orson was gone. If the mere thought of their brother sent an echo of sorrow through her, how much worse must it be for Oliver? Male littermates were closer to each other, probably because they stayed together through life. If Orson had been alive, he and Oliver would have their own place or—like many other young males—would have been wandering through the territories before settling down. She’d have been looking for her own place. For her own males to love.
To love.
The thought sent tremors of hope and anxiety through her.