Chapter Four

Four days later, early evening, Isidor went out the front door, letting it fall behind him, clattering down the steps. He had to do something for himself. They had been told Siblin arousal for their anthata was strong, but this was a torment.

He found a tree, leaning against it. Winter knew what he was doing because Winter had already done the same. Isidor spit on his hand, pulling his cock out. He was achingly hard. Visions went through his head immediately, some of them violent, all of them pleasurable.

Having Soule over his lap, her round butt under his hand, his fingers in her cunt. He grunted, feeling his pleasure rise. Even his fantasies about his anthata were more pleasurable than any sex he had ever had, now that he knew her.

Biting her red nipples, smacking her little pussy, the images flashing one after the other, spreading her legs wide and pushing his cock into her. Isidor came, grunting. The pleasure was still muffled, the relief of it stronger, but he could feel how ready his body was. His cock softened a little. Not much.

His feeling for Soule were confused, predatory and tender, impatient and so fucking regretful he’d hurt her, and over it all this desire to touch her that bordered on a need.

Isidor closed his eyes, breathing.

They needed to bed her, and soon. But Soule was so innocent that he didn’t think she even knew what the tension was about. Any woman who had ever been around men would have known, but she had just gotten even more quiet, watching them with those honey eyes. He couldn’t imagine what she thought. She had to sense how badly they wanted her.

#

Soule was puzzled.

Isidor was tense. He looked unhappy. He’d hardly smiled for days. Winter’s dark hair fell across his eyes, sitting on Maren’s bed, sorting things. He never smiled, but he didn’t usually look so tense and angry either.

Isidor was sitting at the table sharpening his knife, his eyes on the task, large hands. Father used to do the same thing in the same place. Both of them had gotten so strange, like they had fought. But they spoke easily to one another.

The silence was full of unspoken things. They didn’t look at her anymore. She didn’t know if she’d done something wrong. They said things to her sometimes. They didn’t seem angry with her. But something was different.

Winter and Isidor fascinated her. Since that first terrible day, and especially since they’d agreed to take her to live with them on their ship, they’d been friendly with her. Kind. They included her. She tried not to let it show how much it meant to her. How much she thought about them. How aware she was of them. They had always interested her since she was a child. But the reality of them was so much more.

They did make her nervous. Her skin tingled when they touched her, and when Winter stood so close sometimes a whole flush went through her body. Isidor teased her, and he put his hands on her casually. He would lean past her to get something and his hand would go to her waist, touch her arm or her cheek to get her attention and wherever he did her skin felt alive, too sensitive.

She was drawn to them. She felt excited, on edge all the time. She was too aware of her own body, restless.

And there was that morning Isidor had touched her ear. She’d been sitting at the fire chopping and her hair kept coming forward in her face so she had reached and put it behind her ear. Isidor had put his hand out and touched the tip, running his fingers all around it, looking curious. She hadn’t drawn away, but she knew she’d flushed, the sensations so strong.

Yesterday, when Isidor had left suddenly, Winter had followed her down to the river to check her traps. One of them had bent. She had watched Winter’s fingers as he examined it, his face intent, then his arms when he set the trap on his lap, using his strength to bend it back into place. Both he and Isidor were strong, their hands beautiful and sure.

She had looked up and realized Winter was watching her watch his hands, his eyes on her face, his glance knowing. She had looked down. When she had looked up again, Winter was a great deal closer to her, on his feet, in front of her, his eyes intense again, not smiling. She had been surprised, startling, stepping back, but he followed, sending another wave of tension through her belly. Then he had gone around her back to the cabin.

Now Isidor was sharpening his knife and Winter was sitting across the room.

Soule went to her bed, there being nowhere else left to sit. She took up her dress, which she had washed in the river and put on the line to dry. She only had two others. She threaded the needle, glancing at the open door, the light fading quickly. She’d braided her hair so it didn’t get in her way. The front of the dress was split straight down the center, the sleeves cut.

None of the material was missing from the dress, but she was trying to figure out how to repair it so it didn’t bunch. She could put material behind it, but she didn’t have any left. She decided to just secure it for now so it wouldn’t be damaged further, flattening the material and pushed the needle through, weaving it in and out and drawing. On the second pass, it popped through and into her finger.

Soule flinched and put her finger in her mouth, pulling her finger out and looking at it. It welled with blood.

“Let me see,” she heard.

Winter was standing right beside her bed. She looked up, and then up more, the man so big, looming over her. He squatted, taking her hand. His hand was large and rough and warm. Her heart began to pound. He rubbed the tip.

“This is the dress we ruined?” he asked, glancing at it.

“Father didn’t have time to get clothing in Dorsa so he got me a bolt of material,” she told him. “I made it.”

He released her hand and picked it up carefully, folding it and setting it aside.

“Isidor and I will get you more clothes, little siren,” he said.

It gave her a warm feeling when he called her that. But when she looked up at him, his eyes weren’t kind like they’d been before. They had the same intensity. Her eyes shifted. Isidor was looking at her as well and in the same way. It was like they wanted something from her but couldn’t tell her what it was. She looked between them again.

“What?” she said.

Winter took her hand again, raising her to her feet, drawing her to the center of the room. He looked at Isidor, who flipped the knife in a fast, practiced move, putting it in its sheath at his waist as he rose. Isidor approached them, behind her. Now she was between them. She looked over her shoulder at Isidor, who had the same look on his face. Neither of them was smiling. She turned back to Winter. She hesitated.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked him.

Winter shook his head, but his face didn’t change. She began to breathe faster. Isidor touched her hair. She turned her head and looked at him again. He wasn’t smiling either.

“We’re not angry with you, Soule,” Isidor said behind her, his voice husky.

Isidor took her braid up, untying it, beginning to loosen the strands. Winter stepped closer to her. She looked up at him, not able to retreat, Isidor behind her. They were so close. She didn’t know what they were going to do.

Winter bent and slowly touched his lips to hers. She drew back, surprised. She raised her hand and touched her lips, tingling there, Isidor running his hands through her hair behind her. That was kissing. Winter had kissed her.

She was turned around, Isidor in front of her now. She felt Winter’s hands running through her hair behind her. It felt good. Isidor cupped her face, his hands large and warm, and kissed her but more, his mouth staying on hers, moving over hers. The feelings in her belly were back, the sensations strong.

His tongue touched hers, a confusion of feelings, her heart going faster for different reasons, Winter’s hands behind her going to her waist over the dress. She raised her hand and rested it on Isidor’s chest, going on her tiptoes, returning the kiss tentatively. He made a deep noise from his chest, the kiss becoming more urgent. She could feel his heart pounding under her hand.

Isidor withdrew and she was turned again. She was facing Winter.

She suddenly realized what they wanted, the knowledge coming to her. She just hadn’t understood. She felt herself flushing, unable to raise her eyes above Winter’s chest, her belly tense. Winter tipped her chin and she dragged her eyes up.

“Are we scaring you?” he asked her.

“No,” she answered. “A little.”

He leaned down and stopped, his lips near hers, waiting. He had such dark eyes. He smelled like the sea, like sunlight. She put her hand on his chest now and met him, putting her lips on his, going up on her tiptoes again, his mouth gentle, the kiss slow, a wave going through her belly that was almost painful.

She heard herself make a small sound. Winter’s arm came around her waist, pulling her closer. Her arms went up around his neck, her heart pounding, his body warm and hard against hers, so aware where they touched.

He withdrew slowly. His breathing was heavy, his arm falling from her waist as Isidor came up behind her close. Isidor drew her hair aside and his mouth came down and kissed her throat, her head falling to the side to allow it. She shivered at the sensation, goosebumps on her arms, feeling a twinge in her nipples, aching, her eyes half closing, a wave going through her, wanting feelings.

She had always had these feelings, since she was grown. She had touched herself on her sex in her bed at night before they came, wondering what it would be like to have someone else touch her there, curious, imagining it, vague and restless feelings, very strong. Hungry feelings.

She had mostly wondered how it would feel if Winter and Isidor touched her, did sex with her. Her father had told her about Siblin. She thought they might want to do that with her, and then not because she was a siren, but she had thought about it, thought about them this way a great deal, especially at night, flushed and breathing, her heart pounding in her bed.

She felt strange, suddenly afraid they knew, that they could somehow tell. She jumped when she felt Isidor’s large hands at her waist behind her. He was bunching her dress at the bottom, lifting it, the material coming over her knees. Winter’s eyes went down to the steadily rising edge, over her thighs now.

They wanted to do sex with her, she understood that. Father said Siblin men would always stop if she said no, but to be careful because other men might not. But Isidor and Winter were Siblin like her father. Sex was a good thing, a pleasurable thing. She had imagined doing this with them even before they came here. And ever since they had taken their shirts off at the cave, she had thought about it all the time. And at the pool. She wanted to. She was nervous.

Winter stepped closer to her, his right shoulder falling, his hand running under the edge of the dress, then his other hand, going up her legs and over her hips to her waist on her bare skin, moving up her ribs, well under the dress now. Everywhere he touched tingled and was sensitive. He met her eyes. He touched the bottom of her breasts, caressing there. It felt good.

His large hands moved to cup her breasts and she held her breath, sure he could feel her heart pounding. His thumb brushed her nipple. Pleasure shot through her. Her breath caught, her head falling back onto Isidor’s chest behind her as Winter did it again, both her nipples now. She didn’t want it to stop. She squirmed, feeling Isidor’s hands go to her hips, bare, the dress raised above them, the feelings in her nipples going straight between her legs.

She knew it would feel good, but she hadn’t known it would feel like this.

“Do you like that, my beauty?” Isidor said in her ear, his breathing rough.

“Yes,” she answered.

Isidor was right behind her. She was unable to stop her hips from squirming against him as Winter began to squeeze her nipples. She arched, wanting more, her hand going to his arm, holding on. Isidor’s hand moved from her hip to the hair between her legs, running his fingers through it. A deep twinge came there, her hips squirming more. His hand moved lower, his fingers pushing between her thighs to cup her sex.

She wanted him to touch between her legs, aching, Winter’s fingers on her nipples. She opened her legs a little, making a small noise, Isidor’s fingers moving to touch her. She could feel how slippery she was, feel his finger move down to her opening and press into her slowly, filling her. It felt so good, all of it so good. He began to move his finger, slipping it in and out of her. She squirmed around his hand.

“She’s slick, brother, and so fucking tight,” Isidor breathed behind her, his mouth going to her throat again as she felt her sex pulse around his finger, unable to stop.

#

Winter hadn’t planned it. He just couldn’t stop it. His head was hazy with lust, his cock aching, her skin warm and so soft, finding her curves, touching Soule’s breasts, pinching her hard, jutting nipples, smelling her heat. Soule was beautiful, yes. But the way she was responding to them was making them crazy. Isidor was barely in control and he was no better. They’d be too rough if they didn’t do it soon. But they couldn’t take her until she understood, until they got her answer. Isidor knew it as well as he did.

Winter clenched his teeth, breathing, letting his hands drop, stepping away from her, the dress falling. Isidor did the same, pulling his hand away gently from between her legs. He and Isidor were quiet, tense and aroused, Isidor coming around to stand beside him facing her.

Soule was looking at them, her eyes wide, surprised. She looked down. Winter touched her cheek, wondering what she was thinking. She looked up at him. She was flushed. He realized she was embarrassed.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked them.

Winter almost groaned. He wanted to touch her badly, but if they started they wouldn’t be able to stop.

“No, Soule,” Isidor answered. “We need to talk to you.”

Her eyes shifted between them, nervous.

“All right.”

“You know that we are Siblin, Soule, like Maren was,” Winter said.

She looked at him. She seemed puzzled, like it was an obvious question. He supposed it was.

“Yes.”

Winter just lost it all for a moment, looking at her beauty. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose from the sun. Isidor’s shoulder hit Winter’s, who turned to frown at his brother.

“You know that we are brothers, Winter and I,” Isidor put in.

“Yes,” she said again the same way after a moment, waiting.

Winter took a deep breath.

“When Siblin brothers find a woman we can be with for our lives, together, both of us,” Winter explained, “we call that woman an anthata. We’ve been looking for our anthata since we were grown.”

Soule was staring at him. She looked at Isidor. She seemed entirely dismayed, unsure.

“You want to go look for her now?” she asked them carefully.

“No,” Isidor said, frowning, Winter shaking his head.

“When we find her, we know it’s right because we feel it,” Isidor continued, Soule watching his face. “Both of us.”

She was still looking at them like she didn’t understand.

“Yes,” she said.

“You’re our anthata, Soule,” Winter said.

“No,” she said.

Winter’s gut clenched. Soule didn’t feel what they did, didn’t know they were right together, the three of them. No anthata ever did. She might not agree to it. It was possible she wouldn’t, especially after what they’d done. He could feel Isidor’s tension beside him, both of them turning over the implications. And he still couldn’t tell if she was refusing them or not.

“You don’t want that?” Winter asked her. “Or you don’t think that’s true?”

Her eyes shifted between them, Isidor just as on edge beside him.

“I can’t be,” she said, again like it were obvious. “I’m a siren.”

Relief went through him. She wasn’t refusing, she just didn’t believe them. Winter opened his mouth to answer but Isidor interrupted him, grinning, his eyes sweeping her.

“We noticed,” he said lazily.

She glanced at him, frowning a little. Isidor was flirting with her. Winter shot him a look.

“It doesn’t matter to us—,” Winter began.

“We like this about you,” Isidor interrupted again, gesturing at her.

“What are you doing,” Winter said to Isidor, turning his head.

“You’re scaring her. We know she likes us,” Isidor replied.

“She has to know what it means to be our anthata,” Winter argued, annoyed, aroused.

Isidor was never serious at important times, always making jokes. It made him crazy.

“It means she has to live with my irritable, morose brother,” Isidor shot back.

“I know what an anthata is,” she interrupted them, her voice a little faint.

They both turned and stared at her.

“How do you know that, Soule?” Isidor asked her.

“Father told me,” she said, again as if it were obvious.

Winter felt a surge of relief. Of course. Maren had raised her Siblin.

“You know about sex?” Winter asked her. “You know about the ritual?”

“Yes. I’m your anthata?” Soule said, sounding shocked.

“Yes,” they said at the same time.

“Are you sure?” she said doubtfully.

“Yes, Soule, we’re sure,” Isidor said impatiently. “It’s not something you mistake.”

“You want me,” she said, confirming.

“If you want us,” Winter clarified.

They waited. Winter was holding his breath, watching her face. She still seemed surprised. She looked between them once and looked down. Her cheeks went very pink. She was so beautiful. She looked up shyly, looking down again. He was going to explode.

“Yes,” she said softly.

Yes, she said yes, the relief going through him, Isidor’s shoulders relaxing. Isidor immediately stepped to her, sweeping the dress off over her head, pulling her hair through and lifting Soule up into his arms, walking her to the bed, Winter going and getting the other pallet, dragging it to hers even as Isidor set her down on it sitting.

They both looked at her face at the same time, freezing. She looked surprised again, her arms crossing over her breasts, her eyes shifting between them.

Slower, they had to go slower. It was so difficult. Anticipation curled in Winter’s gut, a deep surge of excitement.

They both sat and pulled off their boots. Soule’s cheeks were still flushed, that fucking hair around her. She centered herself on the bed, sitting with her legs together in front of her, her knees bent. She slowly lowered her arms, obviously trying not to be nervous, looking so vulnerable his cock throbbed, Isidor with his eyes on her as well.

Winter pulled his shirt off over his head, his hands going to his pants, his eyes dropped to her body, her tits, her rounded hips. He’d been imagining her, trying to remember if she were really that beautiful. She was even more beautiful.

When they were naked, Winter came and knelt on one side of her, Isidor the other. They were both tense with arousal, both very hard. Slowly, Winter reminded himself, giving a glance to Isidor, who nodded slightly.

Soule was staring between Isidor’s legs. At her gaze, Isidor grunted softly. Winter realized she was curious. He didn’t think she would have ever seen a man naked, the idea arousing him more, if that were possible. She sat up, pulling her legs to the side under her, still looking at Isidor’s cock. Isidor reached out and took her hand, bringing it to him. That wasn’t so slow, but when Winter looked at Soule’s face, she was interested.

“Fuck,” Isidor muttered, his breath releasing.

Winter watched as she touched up and down his length, her fingers exploring. Isidor’s breathing became ragged, his hips moving lightly. She touched the head of his cock and put her hand around it, squeezing. Isidor jerked a little, exhaling his breath.

She turned to Winter, looking at him with the same curiosity. He hissed when she touched him. All his life he had felt his pleasure muffled, all sexual touch as if it was through a barrier, the frustration of unsatisfied need. Not now. He could feel every one of her fingers, feel all the variations in pressure, pure pleasure.

She looked at his face and then touched him again. His cock jumped under her hand, sensations he’d never felt before, not like this. She ran her hand up his length, squeezing. He captured her hand, breathing heavily.

She slowly turned her legs and lay back on her hair, looking up at them. Trusting. They were very lucky she could ever trust them after what they’d done. He had tormented himself with that for days. Isidor felt worse. But she did trust them. It was in the way she’d returned their kisses, her response testing all his control, in how she didn’t tense when Isidor reached, turning her, putting her gently on her belly. It was a good idea.

Winter moved her hair, putting it above her, running his hands through it, silky stuff. He touched the sweet arch of her delicate back, running his hands down to her round butt, Isidor starting at her calves. Winter had wanted to see those dimples again, to touch them, Isidor passing him. She was unbelievably soft, silky and warm, their hands roaming all over her, trying so hard to give her time, the need to touch her overwhelming.

They turned her over onto her back, that hair coming with her, continuing to touch her, avoiding her breasts, just getting her used to them. They could tell she was enjoying it, wriggling slowly, meeting their hands, meeting their eyes. She was innocent, yes, but Soule was sensual, aware. She gave it off of her like no woman he’d met before. She was becoming pliant, her skin warming, her body more relaxed, not startling anymore.

Winter went to the bottom of the bed, his heart pounding. He gently drew her knees up. Isidor moved opposite him. Winter took her hands, pulling her up steadily as Isidor slipped in behind her, leaning her against him. Isidor was stroking her arms, Winter moving his hands from her ribs down to her waist, over her hips. She was looking at him now. Winter moved back to her knees and put his hands on them.

He met her eyes and slowly spread her legs. She let him, looking back steadily, although her cheeks were pink again. Winter looked down.

He didn’t move, couldn’t breathe for a moment. Between her legs was perfect and neat, already slick. Flushed pink, yes, the color delicate, like the inside of a shell. He imagined Isidor had wondered that as well. Pink and swollen against that skin. His cock pulsed, aching. Winter reached and cupped her, angling his hand and stroking her outer lips gently. He pushed in a little, exploring her, her flesh silky, Isidor touching her nipples, brushing them with his thumbs, both of them watching for her response.

Soule arched, offering her breasts, spreading her legs more. Her little pussy pulsed against Winter’s hand when Isidor touched her nipples. Sága, she was so sensitive. Winter was beyond aroused. He ran his finger all around the hard slick nub of her clit and then stroked her lightly. She cried out, her voice husky, squirming on his hand. They both pulled their hands off her, his eyes meeting Isidor’s, seeing his own excitement reflected there.

They didn’t want to scare her, but Winter knew their Siblin desires. More than that, they both knew the nature of their anthata. They wanted her awakened to it right away, for it to be natural to her. It was what had drawn them to her so strongly to begin with, even before they knew she was theirs. She’d never know anything else.

Winter pushed on Soule’s knees, putting them back toward her and spreading her wide, trapping them with his arms and spreading her pussy lips with his thumbs, fully exposing her clit, peeling her hood back, so aroused he could barely think.

He smelled between her legs, his cock pulsing, that clean scent and under it sweet musk. He leaned down and tasted her channel. Her taste was just like her smell, his head going hazy with need. He began all around her entrance, entering her with his tongue, exploring her complex folds above it. Winter touched her clit with his tongue, swirling around the hard little nub as Isidor squeezed her nipples.

Soule went rigid. Her pussy was so sweet, her little clit hard, and her taste, her taste sent Winter’s cock jumping and throbbing. She drew a breath and cried out sharply, pulsing again and again on his tongue as Isidor tugged her nipples. She was trying to struggle but she couldn’t move. Winter tormented her clit, lust curled hot in him. She settled for tight squirming, her hips pumping, making desperate noises, her voice high as he settled his mouth over her clitoris and began to suck gently.

Winter watched her face, Isidor did. She stopped struggling. Winter couldn’t think for a long moment, just gone as Soule’s head slowly fell back onto Isidor’s shoulder, that hair on his skin, her mouth parting, her eyes half-closing, her eyes not seeing anything. Isidor looked down at her face, his jaw jumping. Gone to pleasure, surrendering to it. Giving herself over completely to them, not fighting anything anymore. Yes, this was their anthata. The things they were going to do to her, with her.

She strained against Winter’s tongue, little husky noises from her throat. Her thighs began trembling, her hips rocking as much as she could. She was approaching her pleasure fast. She went still, her breathing very quick. Winter pulled back, Soule making a small sharp sound of protest, Isidor still tugging hard on her nipples, but she kept offering them. Winter couldn’t believe how perfect she was.

Winter touched her clit with his tongue again. Soule panted, pulsing. He began to lick her, long slow licks on the flat of his tongue. Not enough to bring her to climax, but to keep her there. Winter drew back and looked at her pussy, dark pink now, her clit fully exposed, slick coming from her, so pretty, licking her again. Her thighs began to tremble and he stopped. She whined with frustration, sending his cock jumping. He returned to her.

She finally gave a dry sob.

“Please—,” she got out.

That’s what they wanted. Winter drew back, releasing her gently. He straightened, bringing her legs down, still spread. He reached and rubbed her clit with the tip of his finger gently. He was breathing hard, his heart pounding. Her hips jerked with the touch, pressing on his fingers, so close. Winter met his brother’s eyes.

Isidor eased her onto her back, moving out from under her. They both looked at her as they moved. She was a slowly squirming, sensual siren framed in long red silky hair, her legs spread and her pussy flushed that pink, so ready, her red nipples jutting, on the edge of her pleasure, small sounds from her throat, her light honey eyes watching them. Isidor came and knelt beside her, looking at her body, stroking himself slowly.

Winter rose up on his knees, his cock jutting, looking at her little cunt. They told you what it was like with your anthata, but he still hadn’t known, couldn’t have imagined it. The soft pink silkiness between her legs pulsed with her need, slick and swollen. Winter would open her, being the elder.

Bringing himself between her legs, Winter guided his cock, tense with anticipation, with control. At the first feel of her softness, lining himself up, he had to clamp down on the urge to thrust. He met Soule’s eyes and pressed.

Slowly, very slowly, the tip of his cock slipped into her. Her eyes went wide and she made an uncertain noise. She was slick but so tight. He’d never felt a cunt this tight. Winter stopped, breathing hard, trying to ignore the pleasure, waiting, letting her adjust. She pulsed around him, feeling different from any woman he’d ever fucked before. His hips jerked. He stopped, drawing in his breath, his jaw clenching.

“It will hurt the first time, my beauty,” Isidor said. “Winter will be as gentle as he can, I will.”

“I know,” she said in one breath.

Winter spread her legs more. He reached down, finding her little clit with his thumb, rubbing gently. She immediately whimpered with pleasure. Isidor reached with his left hand and touched her nipple with his fingers, touching lightly, moving to the other. They would be very sensitive. She pulsed on the tip of Winter’s cock, making his breath catch.

“Do that more,” Winter breathed to his brother, his thumb still on her clit, rubbing. “She likes it.”

Her thighs began to shake, her hips moving, taking him a little more on her own. Winter moved in her, exquisite. She hitched with pleasure, wincing. He could see Isidor’s other hand on his own cock, stroking himself, watching between her legs as Winter pushed in deeper, her clit hard and slick under his thumb.

Winter’s breath released, waiting, feeling her clench around him, controlling himself. Fuck it was difficult. She felt incredible. The idea of making his anthata come for the first time on his cock while he took her innocence aroused him like nothing else could. He’d never felt anything like this, the pleasure in his cock keen and sharp. She was trembling now, her hips rocking. She was very close.

He rubbed her roughly, his excitement almost unbearable as she began to come. Winter immediately pressed steadily against her straining, pushing through it. He closed his eyes, concentrating. The pleasure was intense. He felt her barrier. He pulled back, beginning to rock in her, feeling so good, and then thrust deep, opening her, thrusting until he had seated himself in her completely, his breath releasing with the sensation of it.

Soule cried out in pleasure and pain, arching under him, all of her alive around his cock. Winter stayed there, still rubbing her, shuddering as she clamped around him, her voice husky. Tight. She rippled down his length, her walls spasming with her climax. Her pussy, fuck. Winter breathed through another long ripple, drawing him into herself as she came. Winter pulled back and thrust into her slowly, just once, the pleasure so intense he couldn’t breathe.

When her pulsing had stopped, Winter very slowly drew out of her, panting a little. He moved across from Isidor, who moved down between her legs, positioning himself, still stroking his cock. Isidor would bring himself as close as he could to release before he entered her. Isidor leaned over her, putting his cock at her entrance. Winter watched, feeling another long surge of lust and excitement.

Soule whimpered, tensing. Isidor pushed into her steadily, his brown hair falling across his cheek. She cried out, turning her face to the side. Winter leaned down, kissing her, distracting her. She returned it, whimpering into his mouth as Isidor began to thrust faster. She drew away from his kiss, looking at Isidor, who looked at her face, his jaw clenched with need. His breath choked out, looking down where he was fucking her.

Winter’s hand went to his own cock, still slick with her, touching himself, so sensitive. His brother grunted, urgent, and then again.

“Sága—,” Isidor barely got out.

Isidor cried out. He’d never heard his brother do that. Winter’s cock surged in his hand, all sense of muffling gone, all the pleasure there and waiting, every sensation keen and raw and new. He watched as Isidor pulled back and thrust, straining. Isidor cried out again, pulling back and thrusting again, burying himself in her.

His brother grunted savagely, closing his eyes, holding there, and then thrust again, going rigid, his breath choking out, Winter riding it out with him in waves. Isidor held there for a long moment, panting, and finally relaxed, taking a long shuddering breath, opening his eyes.

Isidor didn’t wait, pulling out of her gently, still panting, going to her other side. Winter moved, going on his knees between her legs. They’d done it as gently as they could. Winter stroked his length, thick and rigid. His cock was aching with need, very close. It wouldn’t take him long to complete the ritual. And he couldn’t wait anymore.

Winter brought himself down on his arms, finding her, thrusting into her, first feeling the relief of it, then the sensations, unbelievable, feeling every bit of her pussy, tight and slick. He couldn’t even slow himself, driving his cock into the pleasure, feeling himself losing all control.

Isidor was distracting her now, kissing her, her arms around his neck. Winter saw her pull back, looking at Isidor, saw him kiss her again. Winter couldn’t stop, didn’t want to, getting leverage. He felt his pleasure rising sharply, rising more, like nothing he’d ever felt before. The release behind it was huge. He didn’t hear himself, all his concentration on his cock as he swelled, the sensations still building.

It was suddenly on him, the most exquisite pleasure rolling through him, pleasure he’d never felt before, never could have imagined. Sága, it felt so good, his cock pulsing in her deep, spilling himself into her, holding there, rigid, a forgotten time of it. He pulled back and thrust hard, his cock flexing, filling her, his thighs shaking, crying out, trying to find the bottom of the pleasure. He pulled back and thrust again. He was lost, so much of it.

It finally eased as his cock gave one last delicious, deep pulse. Winter held there, breathing hard, not moving, feeling a satisfaction, a warm sense of satiety he never had felt before, giving a last small thrust. Then he relaxed, panting, coming down from the haze of it, looking down at her.

Soule’s eyes were shut tight, crying a little, pain on her face, Isidor soothing her. She opened them and looked at him, then at Winter. Winter leaned down and kissed her gently, her arms slowly coming around his neck, relaxing into him, her lips full and soft. Winter stayed between her legs, enjoying how sweet she was.

Their anthata, claimed. Winter felt a fierce surge. Soule was theirs now, all of her and for their lives. Nothing could stop it. He drew back. Isidor touched her cheek, her head turning, his brother kissing her as Winter pulled out slowly. Soule winced, little catches in her breathing.

Winter collapsed beside her, feeling his limbs more relaxed than they’d ever been. Isidor rose and got the basin and poured water into it, getting a clean cloth. Soule looked at Winter, her light honey eyes already heavy, a little confused, the ritual taking her. They would be safe here, as safe as anywhere. Winter leaned down and kissed her again.

“I’m sorry to hurt you, little siren. We’re going to sleep for a time,” he said, brushing her hair from her face.

Isidor came back, wetting the cloth and spreading her legs, cleaning her. Winter got up on his elbow and leaned, feeling sleepy himself, looking at her pussy as Isidor cleaned her carefully. So pretty. She didn’t resist, very sleepy now. There was some blood. Isidor pressed the cool cloth to her.

Isidor cleaned himself, his motions slower, dragging, rinsing the cloth and giving it to Winter. When he was done, Winter got up and drowsily walked to dump the water outside, returning and setting the basin on the chest, all he could do. He got back in bed. Isidor faced her as Winter pulled her back into him, her hands on Isidor’s chest.

They found their places, Isidor’s knee between her legs, Winter’s feet tangled with theirs, Isidor’s arm hanging over his shoulder. Winter reached and pulled the covers over all of them.

Soule fell asleep first. He met Isidor’s eyes. Isidor slowly smiled at him, his eyes heavy. Winter wondered briefly if he looked as pleased as his brother and then sleep took him.

#

Maren’s three children slept that night. None of them woke. They didn’t wake in the morning. Soule would turn over between them and they would all adjust, finding new places, none of them aware of it. She pushed off the covers in the heat of the day. The cabin was quiet, the camp. A small forager outside skirted the strong smell of ash from the fire pit, finding a corner of biscuit, sitting on its haunches. When the food was gone, the animal sniffed around, finding nothing, and wandered on.

The day passed, quiet in the house, birds loud in the trees. The house and porch were still quiet, the stairs, the river, the pool. A fish swimming downriver slipped into one of Soule’s traps and couldn’t find a way out. The light died, the stars showing. They slept.