“Tell me you missed me,” he says.


His lips brush against mine, “I missed you.”

“Don’t.” I try to turn my head away to break his spell but he wraps my hair around his fist and holds me there. Dammit!

He slips his other hand between the gap in my kimono and makes contact with my bare skin. “I missed touching you,” he purrs, pleased to discover that I am naked underneath. He trails his index finger slowly down the centre of my torso, past my navel and in between my legs. He sucks in a breath at the same time that I gasp -my desire for him is evident. “Did you miss me touching you, baby?” he says, sliding his finger in and out of me with ease.

“Stop it.”

He smiles roguishly and kisses me, slow and dreamily, gradually deepening it, greedily swallowing my moans whilst his finger encourages more. It’s a true kiss; one that makes me sigh and wrap myself around him like I never want to let him go. A kiss so perfect that when he softly utters, “Tell me…” against my lips, I cave.

“Yes, I did,” I half scowl, “Are you happy now?

“Not yet.”

His inserts another finger and curves them inwards so that every thrust stimulates my g-spot. Each time he makes the fervid connection the butterflies in my stomach speed up creating this kinetic energy that shoots through me and makes my walls clench around him, until I’m melting like hot candle wax.

I whimper.

“Now I am,” he smiles.

He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around him as he walks us over to my bed and sits down. Soon the swell of my cleavage is graced with his mouth and I’m rocking against him. The thrill of him groaning, growing and hardening beneath me makes my skin flush with heat. White teeth sink into my flesh and I arch my back, whimpering for him again, quietly begging for more. He undoes the silk sash holding my kimono closed, with controlled urgency, taking his time unwrapping me. He knows how anxious the wait makes me, how the pressure builds at the soft apex of my thighs, how it aches and dissolves, how the warmth of my body plummets and sends a delicious shiver up my spine making goosebumps bloom before I flare up again.

My nipples harden, pressing through the thin cherry blossom silk like braille as his hands sweep across them so that he fully understands the effect he has on me. His mouth falls onto them, warm and wet through the fabric, the sensation of his tongue heightened by the barrier.

I rock harder, grinding against him and sighing sweetly as he tilts his pelvis so that I can feel more of him.

He hisses through his teeth then rolls me onto my back and climbs on top of me, pulling my leg up onto his hip then groans and massages my tongue with his as our kiss deepens.

I reach down and undo his belt; it clinks frantically as my fingers fumble at the brass button at the top of his jeans, followed by the sharp metallic buzzing sound of his zipper going down swiftly before my eager hands slip inside of his boxers. He is hot, pulsating and rigid to my touch, and I have no doubt that he aches for me the way that I ache for him. Satisfied, I lick my hand and suck my fingers gratuitously before curling them around the head of his length, twisting, pushing, pulling, and gradually building up speed, watching his irresistible face with fascination as his eyelids lull and his proud lips part.

He sits back on his heels and shifts closer, pressing his scrotum against the wet space between my thighs. I hitch my other leg on the other side of his hip to hold myself against him as I twirl my hips in slow motion and continue to pleasure him with my hand.

“Fuck” he groans and closes his eyes, his abundance of lashes casting long wispy shadows across his cheekbones. With this expression and in this light, he looks like a Romeo; his face is softer, more romantic.  I’ll miss looking at him. Out of all my lovers I’ve admired in the throes of love making, he is by far my favourite. “You’re so wet.” He presses harder against me and gently caresses my clit in small circles with his thumb.  My stomach tightens and it’s hard to focus on pleasing him the way I intended. He’s distracting me with this loveliness, arousing me to the point where a sticky sound joins our heavy breathing, with every fervent swirl of my hip. Now I’m throatily moaning his name, gasping, and purring in appreciation of the maddening sensation we are creating with our bodies. He bites his lip, “Shit -we need to stop. You’re gonna make me cum.”

I giggle feeling a tad smug at my ability to please him so much with so little effort.

My giggling is silenced when he reopens his eyes. They’re burning so intensely that his irises are look like molten pools of liquid gold, and at that moment I realise that I’m going to pay dearly for it.

“Move up.” His voice is sharp and low. I shuffle backwards, conscious of the way his heated eyes run down the length of my body until they reach my glistening sex. He pushes my legs apart then lies on his stomach. His eyes flick up to my wide ones and he smirks.

My butterflies commence World War Three.

“JESUS CHRIST! OH-OHMYGOD. OH MY…UGH.” I thump my fist against the mattress and squeeze my eyes shut. “Shit!” His mouth suckles at my clit while his tongue flicks it back and forth rapidly, and his fingers, oh his long, thick, expert fingers are buried deep inside of me, slamming against my back wall hard and fast like machine gun bullets, and for the life of me I can’t manage to breathe without crying out in ecstasy. It’s too much, too fast. The sucking, the finger fucking, the licking…and the licking…and the licking, and the_ “Stop! Oh god…oh god!” I can feel it already; the sudden rush of uncomfortable heat, the trembling, the tightening, and the otherworldly sensation of my body detonating, bursting open and setting my frenzied butterflies free. I push at his head, on the brink of my one woman chaos, unable to bear it for much longer, “Pleaseeee!

He groans gluttonously and hooks his free arm under my thigh then presses his palm flat against my stomach and holds me still.

Time pauses for a millisecond, and in that small fraction of time nothing feels real…and then reality comes rushing back to me all at once, and it’s distorted and rose-coloured, and filled with bursts of blinding white lights behind my eyes like I’m having a thousand epiphanies at once. I fist the bedsheets arch my back and shiver until I’m all burnt out.

He’s wipes his mouth and smiles triumphantly.

I grab his shirt, yank him up to me and kiss him. I can taste myself on his tongue. “Take off your clothes right now,” I growl against his soft mouth, tugging at the suddenly offensive items, tempted to tear them off of him if it means I can fuck him faster.

He kicks off his jeans and I pull his top off and then-

“…………” My mouth is wide open but no sound is coming out.

He crashes into me, stretching and filling me to the hilt with his length, and I’m gasping, trying to reclaim the air that whooshed out of my lungs. He’s bites my neck and squeezes his eyes shut, growling colourful words under his breath, waiting for my tightness to adjust to his size. I sigh blissfully as it does, and kiss his face.

The ache subsides and I feel…complete, like whether I wanted to mean it or not, I did miss him. I missed this; the intimacy of being closer than close to another person.

I missed being connected.

For the countless time since I’d met him, I reconsidered our impending sunset, wondering if we could delay it a little longer, because after three years, four months and seventeen days, walking away from each other would feel like leaving home –a home with mismatched furniture, cracks in the foundation, and set in the wrong neighbourhood, but home nonetheless. But you’re not supposed to make homes out of people.


“How do you want us, Red?”

I squeeze my thighs together. I want to do this. I’ve fantasised about it for years as I lay in my bed with my hands under the covers, but it’s one of those fantasies that you never speak on or admit to, one that you never imagine you will ever act out because the idea of a threesome is usually something that favours men. Requests of two women fawning over them and each other, or two men having one woman at their mercy. I’ve never admitted to my thoughts of this because women aren’t always granted the courtesy to own and/or indulge in their sexuality the way men are. One woman and two men means she is theirs to use and ruin (reputations beware), never that she gets to experience double the pleasure, the worship, the exhilaration of pure, unadulterated liberty.

I look up at the wolf from under my lashes, “I was hoping you’d take the lead.” I don’t miss the sly smirk he brandishes in the nymph’s direction.

The wolf lifts his chin and rolls his broad shoulders back, assuming the stature of the alpha, clearly pleased with my choice. “You want to be dominated.”

It’s not posed as a question but I nod anyway.

The nymph takes my hand and closes it around his shaft, guiding my caress, “How do you want it?”

“Slow,” I move at my own pace, squeezing his girth as I stroke, “Intimate. Like we have all the time in the world.” I stand and take the wolf in my other hand, summoning the courage to meet his burning gaze, “I want to enjoy this.” I hold his stare until he nods that he understands because I don’t want this to be some tortured recreation of aggressive pornography catered to the male gaze. I want unselfish sensuality, something rooted in love, something so good that if I ever work up the courage to discuss it with my girlfriends, they will lean in eager to hear more and say, ‘Well okay, sis,’ snap their fingers and encourage me to keep living my best life.

The wolf tangles his fingers in my hair and tilts my face up to meet his. He kisses me, slow and strong, taking his time when he pulls away, only to rush to pull me back in and catch my bottom lip between his teeth. I moan and continue to stroke them both in time. Their breaths are out of sync with each other. Their moans are sporadic and breathlessly earnest, one like gravel, the other like velvet. It’s a heavy, sighing, skin-tight, quivering-lips-singing-in-alto kind of sound, that bounces invariably from staccato to reverb between them. The sensual sonata collides with the luxury of the wolf’s tongue caressing mine. I whimper quietly into his mouth. He releases me into the arms of the nymph, who takes my face in his hands and guides my smeared red lipstick onto his mouth. He’s more fervent, his need vibrating along his skin like an electric current. His tongue travels further, deepening the kiss, and it’s borderline face fucking. He touches my sex and the wolf palms my breasts. The overwhelming sensation starts again.

We three sink onto the edge of the bed, me in the middle with them either side of me. The wolf pulls my legs open further and watches the nymph’s thick fingers rub my clit. He crawls his claws along my inner thigh. The nymph goes lower and inserts a digit into me, and the wolf picks up where he left off; one massaging me from the outside and then other from deep within.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” the wolf groans before his teeth pinch my neck.

I gasp and tear my face away from the nymph’s to breathe and watch what they’re doing to me. My mouth forms an o, and short sharp breaths burst between moans at the sight of not one, but two hands provoking me. It looks strange, like I’m being pried open and explored by men who are seeing a vagina for the first time and have decided that they like it, but also, I feel powerful because all of this attention is on me. I peel off my nipple covers and raise my chest, and like bees to honey they flock to fill their mouths. It’s surreal.

My temperature sky rockets and I’m writhing for them, my body readying itself for another escape into oblivion.

“Turn over,” the wolf barks. All action comes to a halt as I crawl further into the huge bed, kicking off my heels and sticking my ass in the air, enjoying making them watch. I hear their hands slapping against their own flesh and the removal of leather.

The wolf stalks onto the bed and moves in front of me, on his knees and pulls me upright. His expert hands unhook my corset, “Before we indulge you, I want you for myself.” He throws my glittering bodice to the side and yanks me to him and it’s all skin, on skin, on skin, hot and aching to be pressed together till we become one. He pushes loose strands of my hair away from my face, “I wanna get drunk on you, Red,” he kisses my behind the ears, “Is that okay?”


He gestures to the nymph to give us some space. The nymph moves to the other side of the bed and stretches himself out like a jungle cat.

The head of the wolf’s hardness bumps against the opening of my softness and he nuzzles into the crook of my neck, “Tell me your name, Red.”

“Red Riding Hood,” I smirk.

“No,” he pulls back breaking the skin on skin, “Your real name.” His eyes serious and inquisitive as they search my face for truth. Hesitant hands reach for my mask.

I shift back, “What are you doing?” My focus shifts between him and the nymph, “I want to keep it on.”

“Then how will I know you?” he frowns, putting emphasis on the word know like it means so much more than seeing the face behind the mask. “You asked for intimacy -names and faces count, don’t they?”

“I don’t know your name,” I frown.

“You never asked.”

I didn’t ask because I don’t want to know. The whole point of coming here was so that I could indulge myself and remain anonymous. No names, no faces, just sex and mystery. I fold my arms.

“I’m Lilu,” he says without prompting.

“Paris,” the nymph chimes from his side of the bed.

So much for mystery.

Lilu takes my hand in his, “You have nothing to be afraid of. I created The Garden so that people us can be free to be who we are. You are safe here.”

I sigh and remove my mask but keep my head down, working up the courage to meet my lovers as myself, after all, what is freedom isn’t free if it comes with restrictions.

Paris takes my mask from me.

They wait.


Lilu tilts my head up and brushes his thumb across my lips, “Luna.” His inquisitive eyes drink me in and from the expression on his face I believe that he is getting drunk because he’s staring at me like I created the constellations. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His arms hold me tighter and in one swift move I am on my back beneath him. He slips on a condom and then…then he is inside me, pressing down, stretching, snaking and filling me to the brim with him till there is absolutely no room for anything more.

The sound that bursts from my mouth is inaccurate; it does him no justice. It should be a long, hard scream of pleasurable disbelief, but all I manage is a miniscule squeak followed by stunned silence. I’m not breathing. I can’t remember how to. All I can do is cling to his back with my mouth wide open and feel.

He feels like a rebirth, and I know that sounds weird to say because how on earth does a person feel like being born again? I was going to say it’s like waking up, but this is more than that. I woke up and I KNOW stuff now.

He gasps and drops his face into my neck, pushing and pulling in and out of me, cursing and fisting the sheets. “Fuck!” He picks up the pace.

I release a long sigh, melting as I curve my hips up to meet his so he can know me more.

We collide at the hips.

His claws tear holes in the sheets and white fangs sink into my throat.

“God!” My eyes snap open and I can see Paris with flowers in his hair, thrusting into his hand, lids low, mouth slack and breathing in time with me. I reach out for him, “Come.”

Lilu pulls out and sits back on his heels as I switch position onto all fours.

Paris presents his sex to me and presses it into my wanting mouth.

Lilu trails kisses down my spine as my tongue wraps around the head of Paris’s dick. It’s smooth like hard candy, slick with my saliva and his precum and as I moan, Lilu slips back inside of me.

At first my thoughts are scattered, I can’t tell my head from my tail. It’s similar to when you lose your virginity and you’re trying to get used to the realisation that, yes, you are actually having sex. But it’s worse…in a good way…an unusual way, because this time I know what I’m doing but I just can’t seem to function correctly. Dicks thrust between both sets of lips, both individually amazing, but together they are epic.

I push back against Lilu, trying to regulate his speed and make room to propel onto Paris. Eventually they slow and follow my lead, and that’s when the pressure starts to build. It begins in my stomach and the otherworldly thing fighting to free itself from the confines of my skin seeps from my pores and flows over all of us. Our bodies are flush, glowing with sweat, our sounds growing louder, wilder, rougher. It doesn’t sound pretty anymore. Grunting, gagging, groaning and growling over the slapping and squishing of hard bodies in wet orifices.

I need them deeper. I need to lose myself in this because lord knows if I’ll ever do this again, so this time has to count. I arch my back and drop the back of my tongue.

Paris’s length slides further into my throat and he grabs a handful of my hair. He’s not following my lead anymore, he thrusting hard and I’m doing my best to breathe through my nose and take it.

Lilu slows and curls his waist as he strokes, letting Paris take centre stage. “That’s right baby,” he growls, “Take all of it.” I tighten around him and I can feel him fighting to wait his turn.

Paris’s throat fucking turns jerky and his thrusts are drawn out. He soon spills into my mouth with a strained groan, pulling my hair at the roots and squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that his lashes disappear into the folds. He lets me go and falls back to watch the finale.

Lilu keeps his new, slower pace, but his strokes are more articulate. He rolls and grinds his length into me, hitting every wall with fluid precision. I sigh and sink my upper half into the bed. It sounds pretty again, like how lovers sound in the movies, filled with passion and poetry.

“Are you ready to cum for me, Luna?” he says in a voice that feels like 90s R&B.

“Yes,” I moan.

He pulls out a little and twists my hips so that I’m laying on my side with one leg between his and the other adjacent to his torso and resumes his forbidden dance, with his eyes locked onto mine. “Don’t look away,” he orders gripping my thigh, “I want to watch you cum for me.”

You’d think that the two of us would be overshadowed by the three-way that just took place, but as I stare at him and he back at me, something clicks into place and we start to burn brighter than anything I’ve ever known. We’re riding each other into insensibility and there is nothing but us in those last moments. He’s too deep for comfort, his hips slamming against mine, the start of him crashing into the end of me, but I don’t care. I’m delusional, high on the thing that teeters along the fine line between pleasure and pain. I want his destruction and all the chaos that comes with it…

And it comes…

And like rain…

I storm for him.