Crown of Thorn and Light

Maren

I arch into Alaric's mouth when his tongue circles my nipple, then catches the hard point between his lips and pulls just enough to make pleasure tighten low in my stomach. His left hand covers my other breast, warm and firm, while his thumb and forefinger roll that nipple until I can't decide whether I want to push closer or get away from the sharp edge of it. I do both, squirming beneath him and reaching for something solid even though the garden floor under my back feels real enough to bruise me.

This isn't the first dream where both men touch me, but it's the first one where every sensation stays clear while it's happening. I know the scrape of stone against my shoulder. I know Alaric's white hair is brushing my chest. I know Aldric's breath is warm against the inside of my thigh before his mouth closes over my clit. Part of me understands I'm asleep, but that part has apparently decided responsible decision-making can wait until after the two gorgeous strangers finish ruining my standards for everybody else.

"Oh, God," I cry when Aldric pushes two thick fingers inside me and curves them upward, finding the place that makes my hips jerk hard enough that Alaric has to brace one hand beside my head. Aldric's tongue flattens against my pussy while his fingers keep moving, and I grab Alaric's shoulder, my nails digging into muscle as the pressure builds faster than I'm ready for. "Don't stop. Please, don't you dare stop."

"Wasn't planning on it, Princess," Aldric growls against me, the words vibrating over my clit before he lifts his head enough to look along my body. His icy blue eyes are nearly gone beneath his pupils, and the sight should probably scare me more than it turns me on. Instead, my pussy tightens around his fingers when he says, "You're dripping for us, and I'm going to taste every bit of it before my brother gets greedy."

Alaric makes a rough sound against my breast, and I slide my hand down his stomach until I find his cock, long, thick, and so hard that the first stroke pulls a guttural "fuck" from him. He lifts his head, his mouth wet from me, and watches my hand move from the root to the head before tightening his fingers around my breast again. "You enjoy testing us," he murmurs, but his hips move into my fist, ruining the controlled tone he seems determined to keep.

"I don't even know your last names," I breathe, stroking him faster while Aldric adds a third finger and makes the entire thought disappear for several seconds. "I'm pretty sure testing you is the least reckless thing happening here."

Aldric laughs against my thigh, then sucks my clit hard enough that I lose the rest of whatever sarcastic point I planned to make. My orgasm hits fast, tightening every muscle in my body before releasing through me in hard contractions that leave my legs shaking around his shoulders. He doesn't stop until I pull his hair and gasp that I'm too sensitive, and even then, he only slows, dragging his tongue over me once more before sitting back on his heels.

"Do you want our cocks, Princess?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while his other hand remains spread over my thigh. His gaze moves from my face to the hand wrapped around Alaric, then back again. "Tell us what you want."

"Both," I answer, because pretending modesty now would be ridiculous. I tighten my hand around Alaric and look at Aldric. "I want both of you."

Aldric's jaw tightens. He trails both hands down my waist and over my hips before turning me onto my stomach, but he doesn't force me into place. He waits until I rise onto my hands and knees, then runs one palm over my ass while the other settles at my hip. "Your body was built for sin," he says, licking his lips as he spreads my cheeks and looks at the wetness already coating me.

"It was built for her," Alaric corrects, stroking his cock as he steps in front of me. His expression remains more controlled than his brother's, but the way he watches my mouth makes the difference mostly decorative. "What she chooses to do with it belongs to her."

"That's a much better answer," I tell him, then open my mouth when he rubs the head of his cock over my bottom lip. I taste the first drop of precum with my tongue, and his breath catches before I take him deeper. Behind me, Aldric rubs the head of his cock through my wetness, slow enough that I push my hips back, silently demanding more because speaking around Alaric isn't currently an option.

"Impatient," Aldric mutters, but his fingers tighten at my hips before he pushes inside. The stretch steals my breath and forces a muffled moan around Alaric's cock. Aldric stops once he's fully seated, his chest pressing over my back while he gives my body time to adjust. "Goddess, you feel so fucking good. Tell me if it's too much."

I pull off Alaric long enough to gasp, "It isn't," then take him back into my mouth before either one can slow down out of misplaced concern. My jaw already aches from the angle, but Alaric keeps one hand in my hair without pushing, and Aldric begins moving behind me, each thrust dragging over places that make my fingers curl against the stone.

They find a rhythm that should feel impossible but doesn't. Aldric pushes in as Alaric pulls back, then Alaric fills my mouth while Aldric withdraws, leaving me enough room to breathe between them. The garden around us stays warm and green, the air carrying the scent of wet soil and flowers I don't recognize, but all of it becomes background to the sounds they make and the pressure building inside me again.

"Fuck, Mar," Alaric warns, his hips becoming less controlled as I hollow my cheeks around him. "I'm going to come."

"I'm close too," Aldric says, reaching around me until his fingers find my clit. He presses in tight circles while his thrusts become deeper, faster, and harder. "Come with us, Princess. I want to feel you take everything we give you."

Alaric's free hand reaches beneath me, rolling one nipple between his fingers while I keep sucking him. Tears run from the corners of my eyes and my jaw burns, but neither pain is enough to make me stop. The next orgasm hits harder than the first, contracting around Aldric while my body shakes between them. Alaric groans and spills over my tongue, his hand tightening in my hair without forcing my head, and Aldric follows with a rough curse as he presses deep and comes inside me.

For several seconds, nobody moves. My breathing is too loud, Alaric's chest rises and falls in front of me, and Aldric keeps one hand around my waist, holding me upright even after my knees stop supporting me. When Alaric pulls free, he brushes his thumb across my lower lip and says my name in a voice that sounds different from everything he said while we were having sex.

"Maren."

"You finally remembered it," I murmur, sitting back on my heels while Aldric withdraws. The loss leaves me uncomfortably empty, and I hate how immediate the feeling is, because dream sex isn't supposed to come with emotional complications. Dream sex is supposed to be hot, irresponsible, and gone before breakfast.

"I never forgot it," Alaric says. He crouches in front of me and moves damp hair from my face, his knuckles brushing my cheek with a tenderness that makes my chest tighten more than the sex did. "You should wake soon."

Aldric turns me toward him, cups my face in both hands, and kisses me without caring that his brother's taste remains on my tongue. The kiss isn't rushed. He takes his time, his thumbs moving over my cheeks while his mouth stays warm and deep against mine. When he finally pulls back, his expression has lost the rough amusement he carried through most of the night.

"We must go," he says, and the sadness in his voice makes no sense when I don't know either of them outside this place.

"Will I see you again?" I ask, catching his wrist before he can step away. I mean to sound casual. I don't. "Because this would be a really shitty time for my imagination to develop boundaries."

One side of his mouth lifts, but his fingers close around mine. "Much sooner than you realize, Princess."

"Maren, get out of bed now."

The voice comes from somewhere beyond the garden, sharp, female, and very familiar. I turn toward it, confused because Piper has no business being here unless my subconscious has decided humiliation is the proper aftercare for a threesome.

"Maren," Piper shouts again, louder this time. "I swear to God, if you make us late because you were up watching porn again, I'm leaving without you."

"Wait," I say, looking back at Alaric and Aldric as the light around them begins fading. Both men step away, and the hollow feeling in my chest gets worse with every inch of distance. "You haven't told me anything. Who are you? Where is this?"

Alaric reaches for me, but his hand passes through mine as the garden breaks apart. "Wake, Maren. Look at the marks before anyone else does."

The sound of my bedroom door opening slams through the last of the dream. I fall backward, close my eyes, and brace for Piper to find two naked men in my bed even though some rational piece of my brain keeps insisting that none of this is physically happening.

"Maren, what the hell? Get up already." Piper yanks the covers away, and my eyes fly open as I bolt upright and grab for them, automatically trying to hide my naked body.

Except I'm not naked. I'm wearing the ratty T-shirt and cutoff sweats I went to bed in, my room looks exactly the same as it did last night, and there are no white-haired strangers anywhere near my mattress. Piper stands beside the bed holding my blankets, her dark hair twisted into a messy knot and irritation already set across her face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, dropping the covers when I stare past her toward the locked door. "Did you forget who I am, or are you still mentally occupied?"

"I was asleep," I say, which is technically true and not remotely helpful. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, then stop when soreness pulls through my hips and between my thighs. Dark bruises show above both knees and along my hips where my shorts have ridden up. Three thin green lines sit beneath the skin on the inside of my right wrist, too straight to be scratches and too bright to be ink. "What the fuck?"

Piper's eyes move toward my wrist, then away so quickly that I almost miss it. "You need to get dressed. Professor Hale locks the doors when class starts, and I refuse to explain to him that you overslept because your imaginary boyfriends wore you out."

"They weren't imaginary," I mutter, then look around the room again because saying that out loud makes it sound even worse. Sure, Maren. Two men had sex with you in a magical garden, and your best friend is the unreasonable one. I stand carefully and pull my shirt lower over the bruises. "At least, I don't think they were."

Piper drops onto the edge of my bed and picks up her phone. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that until you've had coffee."

I grab clothes from the closet and underwear from the dresser, then walk into the bathroom with as much dignity as possible while every step reminds me exactly how real Aldric felt inside me. Once the door is locked, I strip and stop in front of the mirror.

The bruises are darker without my clothes covering them. The green lines remain under my wrist, and a red-purple mark sits low on my neck where Alaric's mouth had been. I touch it, and the skin stings.

"Nope," I whisper to my reflection, leaning closer because part of me still expects a better angle to reveal a reasonable explanation. "Bodies don't collect souvenirs from dreams. That's not a thing."

The mark doesn't disappear. Neither do the bruises. When I step beneath the shower, hot water strikes every sore place and confirms that my body experienced something even if the rest of me remained in bed. I wash quickly, then stand under the spray longer than I need to while questions stack faster than I can answer them.

Are Alaric and Aldric real? How did I wake with a hickey that wasn't there when I went to sleep? Why am I sore in the exact places I should be sore after everything we did? And why did Alaric tell me to look at the marks before anyone else did?

Dreams aren't supposed to leave hickeys. I'm pretty sure science covered that somewhere before organic chemistry tried to kill me.

I shut off the water, dry myself, and photograph every mark under the bathroom light before getting dressed. Piper knocks twice and threatens to leave without me, but I ignore her long enough to open the locked notes folder on my phone and start a private symptom log. I record the date, approximate sleep time, the names Alaric and Aldric, the sexual contact I remember, the location of every bruise, the soreness, the hickey, and the three green lines. I add that the water didn't remove or change anything.

If this is stress, stress needs to stop being so specific.

The wrist mark warms beneath my thumb while I type the final sentence. A narrow pressure touches the outer edge of it from somewhere beyond my body, stays for less than a second, then disappears before I can identify where it came from. My heart kicks hard against my ribs, and I stare at the skin until the lines cool again.

I add the pressure to the log, pull my sleeve over the mark, and open the bathroom door. Piper looks up from the bed, her expression annoyed enough to be familiar, but the phone in her hand is locked so tightly between her fingers that her knuckles have gone pale.

I don't ask why yet. I need evidence before I accuse my best friend of knowing something about the two men who may have just fucked me through a dream. Apparently, that's the kind of sentence my life requires now.