by Lynn Lorenz
All four, caught in this blended act of love, moved as one. Four hearts, four deep gazes locked with their partners as their bodies joined, as their desire rose ever higher, until they lost themselves in a furor of hands and hips, of thrusts and strokes, in the age-old dance of lovers.
Caelin cried out, the first to spill, his cream shooting across his belly in a fine arc, as he gasped and writhed beneath Peter. His tunnel clenched around Peter’s cock, and before Peter could take a breath or think to stop it, he fell over the edge of the cliff, diving from such a great height he thought his heart would fail him.
He emptied into Caelin, pumping in great spasms of pleasure that left him exhausted and shaking.
Arvel arched his back, clawing at the quilts, gathering them up in his fists, as he gave up his release, painting his chest with ropes of white. Gareth paused long enough to run his finger through the still-warm cream, then bring it to his mouth for a taste.
God, he was so beautiful, and Peter wanted to taste him. He reached over, grabbed Gareth by the back of the neck, and pulled him into a hard kiss.
Gareth moaned, opened his mouth to Peter, and let him plunder with his tongue, tasting, searching, demanding. Gareth closed his eyes and, still locked in the kiss with Peter, delivered a few quick thrusts. Then he let go and spun away in the great unknown as he gave himself to Arvel once again.
Their harsh breathing echoed in the lodge. Peter pulled out of Caelin and fell to the side. Gareth did the same, flopping on his back behind Arvel, stroking his lover’s hip.
Arvel and Caelin rolled together and embraced. Arvel kissed Caelin’s scarred cheek, and Caelin kissed Arvel’s ears and lips, as tender as any lover could be.
“Come, my love, give us a kiss.” Gareth laughed and tugged at Arvel’s arm. Arvel grinned and turned to him, surging into the kiss. Gareth gathered him in his arms, and Arvel buried his head in his lover’s shoulder.
With that, Peter whispered, “Here, love,” and opened his arms to Caelin.
The younger man came to him and snuggled in close.
“I love you, Peter,” he whispered.
Peter blew a breath against Caelin’s hair as he rested his chin on his lover’s head. He pulled the quilt over him and Caelin and closed his eyes.
Next to them in bed, Gareth did the same.
The fire died as the evening lengthened, and the lodge fell silent.
About the Author
Lynn Lorenz lives in Texas, where she’s a fan of all things Texan, like Longhorns, big hair, and cowboys in tight jeans. She’s never met a comma she didn’t like, and enjoys editing and brainstorming with other writers. Lynn spends most of her time writing about hot sex with even hotter heroes, plot twists, werewolves, and medieval swashbucklers. She’s currently at work on her latest book, making herself giggle and blush, and avoiding all the housework.
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