Chapter Text
The room was still dark despite the late morning hour.
Terzo’s heavy, velvet curtains blocked out every ray of light that dared try to peek into his lair. You sink into your pillow, pulling the sheets to your chin and reveling in the feel of Terzo’s silk pajamas against his silk sheets.
Though it had been Terzo’s night to woo you and do you, after the tempest had been tamed and tensions eased, you’d both agreed to share a bubble bath and a large, stuffed crust pepperoni.
You roll over and find Terzo awake, head in his hand, propped up with his elbow, smiling, “Good morning, my wife.”
“Good morning,” you smile, stretching, “You’re… happy.”
“I am always happy.”
“You’re happy considering the current state of affairs.”
He shrugs, “What things? My wife is happy. We are going to have another wedding. The birds are singing and the sun is shining somewhere behind those lovely curtains and you are here. With me. My creamy, dreamy girl.”
“We need to have a conversation - in the clear light of morning,” you say, running a finger down his jawline, the black scruff is a dark shadow now and the prickle is starting to soften with every minute that passes, “You should shave less.”
“I’m afraid beard doesn’t go well with paints.”
“You’re distracting me,” you grin, meeting his eyes, “Don’t distract me.”
Terzo lifts the covers and slides on top of you, you wrap your legs around his waist and he settles in between your legs, “I said nothing,” he leans down and inhales as he presses his face into the curve of your neck, “You distract yourself.”
“Terz,” you sigh, putting a finger under that perfect chin, “Look at me for a sec.”
Terzo lifts his head, “I am looking.”
“I need to know that you’re truly okay with this.”
Terzo rolls his eyes and looks away but, you don’t miss the tears brewing, “Terz,” you gasp, “my sweet, sweet Terzo,” you exhale, sitting up and pushing him backwards until you’re in his lap and he’s sitting on his ass, “I need you to be honest. Please, just talk to me.”
“I am happy to agree - there is no reason I shouldn’t, my darling,” he looks up at you, pushing your hair behind your ears, “But, of course I don’t want to share you with another. Even with my brothers! There is jealousy there, when my bed is empty,” Terzo says, exasperated, “You have to understand that, allow me to feel that. Copia is… he is taking my crown, you see? He is being given everything I love in this world. He is taking my job. He is taking my wife.”
“You’re still Papa and I’m still your wife.”
“But I will be less of a Papa and have less of my wife.”
You kiss Terzo then and he wraps his arms around you. It’s slow and soft and you run your hands through his lovely hair, “He cannot replace you,” you whisper, nuzzling your nose against Terzo’s, “You cannot be replaced. You are Papa Emeritus the Third and you have done so well. You are my husband and you cannot ever, ever be replaced. You are my Terzo. You are incomparable.”
“My love, please,” Terzo’s voice shakes, “I cannot be crying before coffee.”
“You trust me?” you ask.
“Of course,” Terzo says, offense stains his tone, “Of course, I do.”
“Then trust me in this,” Terzo looks away, staring at the wall, chewing on his lip, “Terzo. Trust that there will be no hurt. Trust that I will not love you any less.”
He lets out a growl and flips you over onto your belly, returning his face to the soft skin of your shoulder, “Of course I trust you,” he says, pulling down your pants with a finger hooked in the waistband, you lift your hips and allow him to bunch them around your knees, “I trust you and I love you and I don’t want to talk about the others anymore. I am a jealous man,” he nips at your neck, “I need you. I need my wife.”
“You have her,” you mumble, smiling into the pillow.
Terzo’s lips are soft and hot against your skin as he kisses a searing, slow line across your shoulders and down your spine. He plants a scruffy kiss onto your ass cheek as he pulls your hips up, his hand sliding down your spine, a bit of pressure has you arching, exposing your core to him, “You have her,” you whisper, again.
The bed shifts and Terzo runs his tongue up your slit from clit to ass and you sigh, pressing yourself against his mouth. Terzo moans, his lips brush your flesh, “Cara mia,” his voice is low and velvety and you whine a bit; his breath on your pussy only serves to tease you and Terzo doesn’t keep you waiting. Your eyes roll as he presses his tongue between your folds, fucking you with expert precision.You spread your knees a part and arch your back until you’re stretched and open for him. His fingers come up and swirl around your clit and your thighs burn; shaking as you gasp. His name is on your tongue; over and over as he works you. His tongue is hot and hard inside of you. He nips at the folds of your pussy; eating and sucking and drinking you up. His fingers pause, pressing on your hard clit; the friction you need withheld, “Who am I?” he growls against your skin, winding you up tight, your body anticipating the orgasm that he’s withholding from you.
“Oh, Satan help me, Terzo,” you groan, bunching up the silk sheets in your fists.
“Who am I,” he asks again, his chin on the curve of your ass, waiting, palming your pussy; touching you everywhere but where you need him; his fingers slip through your flesh, avoiding your clit - his palm barely grazing the tip of it.
“Papa,” you shake out a moan, pushing yourself against his hand, “You’re my Papa. My Papa. My husband. My Terzo. Mine, oh god, Terz. You’re mine.”
You’re rewarded with three fingers in your pussy, a tongue in your ass and two perfect fingers on your clit; fast and hard you come and Terzo is there to catch every last drop. Oversensitive and spent, you laugh and squirm away from Terzo’s mouth, flopping onto your back. Terzo’s mouth follows your pussy, settling in between your legs, nuzzling your thighs apart, “Too much,” you say, running your fingers through his hair.
“Let me clean you up, eh?” he winks, eyes sparkling with mirth now - there’s no whisper of sadness or hurt, “No towels needed.”
A few hours later, you emerge from Terzo’s bedroom - freshly showered, still sporting that post-four-orgasm glow and you’re ready to take on the world. Terzo had been on the phone when you left. He’d covered the mouthpiece and kissed you quickly, “I love you,” he gave you a reassuring grin. You kissed him once more and he caught your wrist, pulling you back to him; his hand no longer over the phone, “And you are my favorite breakfast.”
You left smiling like an idiot and now you’re walking to your office with a latte and a stack of to-do’s that didn’t get done yesterday and you’re feeling like you can get most of it cleared before the weekend.
Turns out maybe all you needed was a good mouth fuck, sixty-nine sesson and two shots of espresso to turn your mood around.
Your heels click on the stone floor - you’re wearing one of your favorite outfits - a pencil skirt that hugs your hips and cups your ass and silk blouse that feels like you’re still in your pajamas. You smell like Terzo’s soap and you can’t stop grinning. You tremble at the thought of his tongue on you.
And in you.
You paused in the hallway and composed yourself; shivering dramatically.
You open your office door and prop it wide with a little cement gargoyle Primo found for you when you first remodeled the former guest room into your own space. You turn on the lights and smile at the bouquet on your desk. It looks like one blossom from each bush and plant and tree has been added to the massive bunch. You pull the little card from the middle of it and smile when it’s in Copia’s handwriting: wasn’t quite sure which one you’d like so I picked them all. Meet me in the garden at sunset. Yours - CC.
You grin, blushing a bit before putting the flowers on the windowsill.
You get to work, making your space as warm and inviting as you can. You start a small fire in the hearth, watching it catch and then, satisfied, fluff the throw pillows on the couch and turn on a bit of soft music. You turn on the coffee pot - already prepped for the day's brew - and sigh as it starts to percolate and steam. You light your favorite candle and settle in, opening your laptop and taking a long draw of Terzo’s perfectly made latte. You gaze around your cozy office and it’s hard to imagine that Terzo and Copia duked it out on the floor just last night. It had been an old guest chamber, long before you’d been a Sister and your Papas had insisted that you remodel the two rooms into a private room connected to an office - just like they had but on a smaller scale. It was an oasis for you - a reminder that you still had work to do, things to accomplish, Siblings to help. You were, after all, High Imperatrix. The only other station higher than yours was Imperator and Satan forbid you ever were promoted; to lose your Imperator would certainly mean that the apocalypse was upon you. The carefully thrifted, ancient overstuffed couch and chairs in the sitting area have counseled many a Sister as she navigates her path to Imperatrix, Ghouls and Brothers have all sought your advice on their walk with Satan - it is easier to talk to you than to face a Papa, bedecked in silks and paints. You are the warm, open, highly-esteemed, educated and knowledgeable wife of the mouthpiece(s) of Satan and that is much less intimidating than three men you call husband(s). Relationship advice, job hunting, Satanic studies and dark magic all had been brought to your lovely sitting area. Gossip, too but you weren’t sure that was something to brag about. The bowl of candies, the ever-hot carafe of coffee or piping hot water for tea, the small library of romance novels and Satanic texts and the plethora of pictures on the mantle - wedding days and candid weekends with you and your husbands made it the homiest room in the Abbey.
Every once in a while, there’s someone on your couch because it’s warm and quiet and sometimes that’s all a person (or ghoul or even a Papa) might need for a bit.
And you’re happy to provide it.
The door next to the fireplace leads to your private, but rarely used, bed and bath. Occasionally, you might sneak a nap on the bed or take a hot bath if your monthlies were against you but, you had three lovely husbands with three lovelies rooms you much preferred, “Good morning,” Dewdrop appears in the doorway, a grin on his face, “Good, good morning.”
You turn your chair to face him, narrowing your eyes, “What are you up to?”
“Does a ghoul have to have a reason to see his favorite Mama?” he saunters into your office and around your desk, hopping up and sitting on the paper calendar you have open, “God, you’re beautiful. And you smell so good. Like you’ve been coming all morning. Just lovely, you are.”
“Up to no good then,” you eye him.
He scoffs dramatically, hand on his heart, “I am just stopping by to say hello!”
“Dew, darling,” you lean back in your chair, walking your fingers up his thigh, “What… are… you… doing? As if you just schlep all the way up here to tell me how hot I look,” you sit back with a smirk, “Even if I do look hot. What’s up?”
He snatches your hand and eyes your ring, “This is just so pretty,” he inspects your glittering wedding band, “What size is it?”
“I don’t know? Seven and a half? Why?”
“God! That was just too easy,” he cackles, kissing your cheek, “Bye!”
Dew skipped past Secondo and then put on the brakes; turning on his heel and smiling, “She does look hot today, doesn’t she?”
Secondo smirked, arching an eyebrow at the tiny ghoul who laughed nervously and nodded before disappearing permanently, “He belongs to Copia, you know,” Secondo put his hands in his pants, leaning against the doorframe, “He’ll be your stepchild.”
He’s wearing his paints and a suit and he’s looking deliciously long and tall and strong in the tight, tailored three-piece. You sit back in your chair, forgetting all about Dewdrop and smile at Secondo. You take another long draw from your latte and marvel at how lucky you are, “How can I help my Papa this morning?”
Secondo took a deep breath and exhaled, “There’s rumors of a proposal in the air.”
You choke and snort at the same time, foamy milk and espresso droplets hitting your desk and nose, “A what?” you choke and cough and set your mug down, grabbing a few kleenex to dab up the mess.
“Copia is making his move before any of us change our mind. Primo and I had breakfast with him this morning. We gave him our official approval. Terzo, too, just after you left him. Terzo was actually… surprisingly happy. Sweet even, with Copia. Everything is set for you. He’s excited and, really, the man is so soft and sweet.”
Secondo walks slowly around the desk and leans against the edge - the same sort of smirk as Dewdrop had sported, sitting in the same spot but, somehow completely opposite in every way. His thighs thicken as he leans against the wood of your desk and it’s distracting at best, “That’s… really great,” you clear your throat, “I mean, that’s good. It is!”
“You’re about to have a meltdown, tesoro,” he notes plainly, an eyebrow arched, “What is wrong?”
“I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Copia this morning,” your voice is an octave higher, panic setting in, “I haven’t… I need to,” you stand up quickly. All of the sudden your fantasy is becoming very, very real. You put your hand on your chest, willing yourself to take a deep breath, “A proposal? Of marriage?” you take your hand and move it to Secondo’s chest - your heart is beating so wildly you need to ground yourself on something steadier.
Secondo waits and you stand there staring at him, your hand over his heart, “Our love,” he leans over your desk and blows out your candle and then returns his gaze to you.
You’re shaking, trying to get your head wrapped around this whole plan that you came up with, “I literally asked for this,” you said, starting to pace, “I came up with this whole thing. Why am I surprised? Why am I panicking?”
“You panicked everytime one of us got down on one knee,” Secondo flashed a true smile, crooked and rare though it was, “As a matter of fact, you quietly said no as soon as I sank to the floor and locked yourself in the bathroom for a half hour.”
You were pacing now, back and forth in the space behind your desk, “I panicked.”
“You did,” Secondo said, standing up and stepping in front of you, you looked up at him, fingernail between your teeth, “And you are panicking now.”
“I am. I so totally am.”
“Do you remember what I did to calm you down?”
“I suppose the actual proposal?” you said as he pulled your hand away from your mouth.
Secondo clucked his tongue and put his hands on your arms and turned you so that you were leaning up against the desk, “I am a bit offended,” he said, sinking to his knees and undoing the first few buttons at his collar, “That you’ve forgotten how I convinced you to be my wife.”
“Oh,” you grinned, leaning back, your hands flat on the desk behind you, “Oh, yes. I remember.”
“Hours of it,” he says, pulling your patent leather heels from your feet.
“We didn’t come out for days,” you whisper as he pushes your skirt up to your hips, “Secondo.”
Secondo’s tongue on your clit is instantly almost too much. He is ravenous. He presses your thighs open, his palms flat against you until you hook your hands under your knees; falling back onto your desk with an unceremonious thud. He pulls your blouse from your skirt and his hand finds your nipple. You bite your lip and close your eyes; you’re vaguely aware that the door is hanging open and anyone who comes down the hallway can see Secondo’s face buried between your legs.
And that you’ll be looking at them upside down with your mouth hanging open as you try to control an inch of a fiber of your being.
You, frankly, don’t really care.
Two fingers slide into you and your head snaps forward. Secondo’s fingers pump inside of you; he spreads them, avoiding the still swollen, tender spot you want him, his long, strong fingers stretching you, “Look at me,” he demands, mismatched eyes boring into yours when you finally manage to meet them.
You watch his tongue swirl around your clit for a moment before his mouth covers you and finally, finally those two fingers press against...
… Your eyes roll and Secondo growls. You force yourself to hold his gaze, your hand over his as he works your nipple beneath it. His pace and pressure intensify inside of you and before you can prepare, you’re cumming on his fingers; he works you through it, pumping in and out of you, mouth covering you, until you sigh and he pulls away; you prop yourself up on your elbows, smiling.
You’re out of breath as he kisses the soft skin at the apex of your thigh, grinning up at you; the paints around his mouth almost gone, “You are already calming,” he says and the arrogance in his voice has you rolling your eyes and sitting up.
“A lovely distraction,” you say as Secondo helps your shoes back on and returns you to your feet, “Thank you,” you say, your hands on his strong chest, “I appreciate you and your talents.”
You right your blouse and reorganize the papers that you wrinkled while Secondo touches up his paints from the spare set you keep in your bathroom.
He returns, buttoning his shirt and winking, “Was that,” you sit back in your chair with a happy flop, “A going down on me to convince that I need to ditch Copia and stick with you? Or calming me down to accept my fourth proposal of marriage?”
Secondo kisses the top of your head and then heads for the door, “You decide.”
You go about the rest of your morning feeling extra noodly and relaxed despite your impending engagement. THe world is your oyster when two out of three husbands give you earth-shattering orgasms before noon.
You finish out your early afternoon with a few visitors, nothing out of the ordinary. You clear your emails and by the time you’re ready for lunch, your to-do list is just as empty as your inbox.
You head down to the kitchen to scrounge up some lunch and stop outside the chapel doors. Primo is there, standing in front of the altar, staring up at the Baphomet; his arms are outstretched and you’re sure he’s chanting as tendrils of smoke curl up around him.
He’s alone and you stop just inside the doors, watching from the shadows, “You know I don’t even need to see you to know you are near,” he says, never moving. You hum happily as you walk down the aisle, “I remember, too,” he finally turns, “I remember you walking down this aisle, to me, smiling like that - a heart full of love.”
You pause and he holds out his hand, a smile creeping across his face, “My Papa. My first Papa.”
“Come to me, my sweet,” he says and you obey, slipping your hand into his. He pulls you close, one arm around you as he presses your hand to his lip, “I love you, so much,” he says, gazing down at you; he kisses you before you can reply and you sigh into him, “And,” he waits for a moment, smile widening, “To know that you will be happy long after I’m gone.”
“Okay, no thank you,” you laugh, putting your hand over Primo’s lips, cutting off the rest of that sentence, “Enough of that.”
“I mean it.”
“You’re an undying Emeritus, first of all,” you bump your nose against his, “And if you die on me, I will murder you.”
Primo’s laugh rumbles in his chest and he kisses you, again, “I was just doing a bit of a spell,” he says, nodding towards the altar.
“Oh?”
“For you and the Cardinal, good luck, perhaps some protection, confidence,” he winks, “It’s missing a bit of juice,” he sighs dramatically, finally letting go of your hand, turning back to the altar. The cauldron burns hot with charcoal; herbs and resin smolder, “What else does it need?”
“An orgasm.”
“Oh, Primo,” you laugh, “You old perv.”
“I was going to give it one of mine but,” he takes your hand and leads you to the confessional, opening the door with a flourish of his chasuble, “Getting one from you will be so much more powerful,” you step into the booth and turn, arms on the doorframe, “And fun,” Terzo and a gaggle of Siblings appear in the bright doorway of the chapel and you grab Primo by a fistful of silk and yank him into the booth with you, “Just like old times,” he giggles as you kiss him.
You surprise yourself - you should be spent, should be exhausted but you want Primo and you want him now.
You move to sink to your knees and he pulls you back up by your elbows, “Stand,” he looms over you; it’s cramped and already hot as Primo pushes you up into the corner, lifting your skirt and hooking a hand behind your knee; guiding you to put one foot on the wooden bench. He pushes his mitre off and buries his face in the curve of your shoulder, his mouth is gentle and sweet against your skin. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your neck. He slides his free hand down your belly and under the hem of your skirt. His long fingers are calloused and rough though his touch is so light goosebumps follow in his wake; you're slick, and he runs his fingers up and down your wet thighs. His hand isn’t anywhere near your pussy but you’re already throbbing; you know this won’t last long - you’re sensitive and tender and Satan, do you want him on you and in you and everywhere in between. You can feel him smile, “I need to taste you.”
You put your hands on either side of his face and when he meets your eyes you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning, his fingertips still teasing your thighs, “I am so, so in love with you,” you whisper as Terzo’s voice echoes off the chapel walls, “but Terz is having a class today. In the chapel,” you close your eyes and try to focus through the searing kiss that Primo burns against your lips, “He’s doing the class now. Here. Now.”
“Here?” Primo asks - his voice barely an exhale as he pressed his lips to the soft skin below your ear, “Or here?” he kisses your pulsepoint and then both his hands, fingers spread wide, press up your body until he has his face buried in between your tits, inhaling your scent as he pushes them up and around his nose, “Is he here?” he looks up with a smile and you shake your head at him, “Let me try one more spot.”
You don’t have the heart to tell Primo Terzo’s been exactly there more than once today.
Primo sinks to his knees and you brace yourself on his shoulders and let your head fall back against the wall. Terzo’s voice is muffled and far away; he could be in the booth with you for all you know, you can’t hear him over the blood rushing through your ears as Primo sucks a dark, crimson mark into your thigh.
Your hand slams against your mouth as soon as Primo makes contact with your pussy. You double over but, keep your leg up on the bench; spread and open for him. It’s too much.
And it’s so good.
You grip Primo’s shoulder as he rolls the tip of his tongue around your clit; he’s teasing you though the little bundle of nerves is already aching and hard and your slick is running down the back of your knees. Primo looks up at you, his breath on your clit is hot and teasing and your eyes burn with tears, “This is not the first orgasm you’ve had today,” he says and his eyes flash when you shake your head. He slams his face back up between your legs and you honestly don’t care who hears you - your cries echo off the walls of the entire chapel and there’s a silence in between your gasps that you know means Terzo and his group are staring at the confessional booth.
Primo is not here for slow, sultry fucking. He whispers the latin he needs for his spell as his thumb presses hard; relentlessly swiping across your clit as his fingers stretch you from the inside; you’re coming hard - squirting and shaking and sobbing and gasping for air - soaking his silk sleeve, washing his paints away as he forces you to come over and over until you squeal with a laugh, “Enough, enough,” you sink down onto the bench, skirt hiked up around your waist, legs trembling. Primo smiles up at you and you cup his chin and lean down to kiss him, your slick is salty sweet on his lips.
The door flings open and Terzo is staring, wide eyed, “I thought I knew that screaming.”
Primo turns around to sit between your legs, “Hello, little brother,” he grins, wiping his mouth on his wet sleeve. He leans back a bit, his head settling against your stomach, concealing your bare pussy from the crowd behind Terzo.
“You couldn’t keep it down?” Terzo asks, eyebrow arching.
You stick out your bottom lip and bat your lashes, “I’m sorry my Papa. Primo needed some extra razzle dazzle for his spell and I was just walking by and you know,” you give him your best Puss in Boots look, “You know how helpful I like to be. Please don’t be mad.”
“You’re doing the thing,” Terzo says, exasperated.
“What thing?” you play innocent but you’re feeling hardly that as Primo turns his head to kiss the inside of your leg, his fingers running up and down your calf, “What are you talking about my Papa?”
“My darling,” Terzo shakes his head, “You can convince me most days to do backflips in peanut butter for you but, I cannot be swayed for much when my big brother is sitting between your bare, but beautiful, legs sporting the boner of the century whilst your orgasmic cries are still echoing off these walls like the grand canyon.”
Terzo slams the door shut and you laugh, Primo’s rapsing giggle makes you lean over and kiss the top of his head, “You got enough razzle dazzle?” you waggle your eyebrows at him as he looks up at you.
He maneuvers onto his hands and knees and you’re already arching, preparing yourself. His voice is gravelly and deep with lust and his words have you moaning before he even touches you, you brace yourself on the wall as his mouth closes in once more, “Perhaps a few more to seal the deal, eh?”
The sun is finally setting as you walk to the gardens - a forever grin plastered on your face. Your day was so, so productive and now, after countless orgasms, you’re glowing as you make your way to Copia.
Secondo had been waiting at the door for you, watching you like a wolf as you descended the curving stairs, “Hello, my love,” you held out your hand as you came down the last few steps. He took and helped you to the door, his hand on the iron knob, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I wanted to see you one last time before my third of you turns into a quarter.”
You look up at him and he’s grinning, “I’ll stop it right now if you ask.”
“Oh, no,” he shakes his head, kissing your temple, “Go on, get married. I just wanted to wish you good night and good luck.”
“I love you,” you say, standing on your toes to kiss him.
“Go on,” he pats your ass, “Show me the ring before you go to bed.”
You stared at Secondo for a second, confusion drawing your brow tight, “It’s Primo’s night.”
Secondo’s face softened, “We’ve already discussed it. It is Copia’s night. It is your night,” he gently pushes you out the door, “Go before I change my mind and throw you over my shoulder.”
The night is warm and you’re glad you donned the black silk dress - its thin straps hang on your shoulders and the rest of it pools around your curves and trails behind you in the soft, cool grass, “Copia?” you call from the arches of ivy and statues of Lucifer that guard the entrance to Primo’s private gardens.
“I’m back here,” he calls, “Come in, the door’s open, I suppose!”
You follow the close cut grass path, your fingers lighting over the velvety roses and waxy leaves that frame them, and smile when you come around the corner. Just as Copia looks at you and smiles, the champagne in his hands pops and fizzes over, splattering on his shoes, “A portent for things to come?” you laugh.
Copia shrugs, cheeks pink, “I have never been good at champagne. Almost lost a finger when Dewdrop convinced me I could do it better with a sword. Come,” he guides you to the quilt he has laid out, “The moon is bright and the stars are out.”
You sit down and he joins you with a happy groan, “How was your day?” he asks.
“Oh, I’m spent,” you huff out a nervous chuckle. There’s a little black box next to the champagne glasses and strawberries, “Yours?”
“I have had heartburn all day,” he says, forcing a sheepish grin, “Nerves, I think,” he rubs his sternum and meets your eyes, “You know what I am up to, I suppose?” he asks and you nod, “A drink then?”
“Please.”
Copia pours the champagne into two flutes and you clink yours against his, “I had a speech prepared but,” he pauses, swallowing, his adam’s apple bobbing, “I am sort of… well, I,” you take his hand and kiss the back of it and he exhales in relief. The energy that arcs between you and Copia is now a gentle hum - a confirmation that you are where you’re supposed to be. Copia continues, “You are… one of my best friends. You have been a confidant and a guide and sometimes, just a smile from you is all I need. I am honored that you would have asked me to join you, like this… I just,” his eyes twinkle, “I am honored. And I'm grateful. And excited.”
“Me, too,” you manage to squeak out, you're hanging onto his hand so tightly you apologize when you loosen your grip, “I’m just… I’m happy.”
“I know that,” he picks up the velvet box and hands it to you, “I know you don’t wear the other engagement rings and I don’t expect you to wear this but, it felt wrong not to get you one.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to,” you say, opening the box - the ring is - perfect and it sparkles in the low light. It’s a juicy pear of a diamond surrounded by rubies, sapphires, emeralds and deep, dark tanzanite, “Oh… Copia.”
“It’s you and all of us,” he says, running his finger around the rim of his glass, avoiding your gaze. You wish he’d look up at you - your eyes are brimming with tears, you’re smiling so wide it hurts, “I don’t want to step on toes or intrude or,” he takes a deep breath and looks at you, “I want all of us to be happy. Together.”
You toss your champagne over your shoulder and jump on Copia, knocking him backwards onto his back, sprawling out on the blanket, “I love it,” you laugh, kissing him, “It’s perfect.”
Copia stares up at you, pushing your hair back and cupping your jaw, “You’re happy?”
“I am,” you sit up a bit but Copia stays put as you straddle him, his hands on your thighs, your dress riding up - he’s hard beneath you and you’re very aware that you’re not wearing underwear. You toss the box aside as you put the ring on and admire it, holding your arm out and wiggling your finger, “How’d you get it so fast?”
Copia clears his throat, grinning, “I was… well,” he laughs nervously, “I was going to ask you before you asked me.”
“Copia,” your heart skips a beat as he smiles up at you, “Really?”
“I was using the High Imperatrix candidates as an excuse to… well,” he sits up on his elbows, “I was floundering. Scouring through potential mates with the person you’d like to be your wife is, well, not a great dating strategy.”
“It worked,” you lean forward, your hands on his chest and kiss him. He sighs, a little squeak of a moan from his has you instantly wet.
“Do you love me?” Copia asks and you pull away just far enough to breath, your lips brushing his.
“I,” you pause, your heart pounding in your chest. Copia’s mismatched eyes are full of love - shining bright, reflecting the stars and making him seem all the more dreamy. You put your hand on his chest and feel another, steady, strong beat, “Yeah,” you kiss him, “I think I do. Do you love me?”
“Just now,” he says, “When you put that ring on and wiggled your finger? I knew I loved you.”
There’s a flurry of hands and tongues and giggles as you work at Copia’s clothes - unbuttoning his vest and shirt, sighing as you finally get your hands on him. You hook your fingers in the waistband and yank them down to his ankles. His head falls back as his cock bobs free and you sigh in delight - taking him in, “You are,” you watch him as you slide your hands up his tensing thighs. He bites his lip and closes his eyes as your fingertips graze his balls. You stroke his cock and he hisses, his hips jerking up, fucking into your fist, “Oh, god. You’re beautiful.”
You lean down and run your tongue up the length of him and your pussy throbs in response to the pulsing heat beneath your tongue.
Your name comes out in a breathless wave of need - his hands finding your hair, pulling it away from your face as you take him in your mouth, slow and careful; you want this very moment to be seared into his brain. Your ring glints as you squeeze the deliciously thick base of his cock. He sucks in a breath, “Wait,” he begs, “Please, not yet - I don’t want to yet,” he gives a little yip when you pop of him and you realize how much you’re going to enjoy making him make those noises, “I will admit that I am very,” he groans as you run your tongue around his head, lapping up the precum that’s shining at the tip of it, "very,” he groans, “ close,” his eyes roll and you show him some mercy, returning to your knees, your hands on his hips. He calms though his cock twitches on his tummy and he stares up at you, “I have dreamt about this for a long time.”
“Oh?” you lean down once more, quickly becoming addicted to that mustache, to those little squeaks and squirms, “What did you dream about then?”
“Just this,” he says against your lips, eyes closed as the silk of your dress caresses his cock, “Just like this,” it’s awfully innocent, you think, considering the day you’ve had, “Except,” he breathes and you smile.
“Tell me.”
“Turn around,” he opens his eyes and it’s no longer the sweet, shining Cardinal beneath you - it’s Papa and he’s hungry, “Turn around and sit on my face.”
“Help me take this off,” you say, nearly panicking to obey and Copia sits up, taking fistfuls of the now too much fabric and lifting it over your head. His mouth is on your chest in an instant; his tongue swirling around your nipple - sucking and biting - his hands flat against your back. He comes up for breath with a frustrated growl, “What’s wrong?”
“I was distracted, these,” he plants a loud kiss on one nipple and then the other, “these are so distracting,” he says laying back down, his fingers sliding up to his own nipples, squirming beneath as he pinches and twists them, “Sit on my face. I am begging you.”
“It is my duty to give you everything you could ever want,” you smile, kissing him quickly before maneuvering, scooting back until Copia’s hands find your ass spreading it wide.
You gasp when he presses his nose hard against your pussy and inhales, his exhale is a growl, “You’ve been coming all day, haven’t you?” he runs his lips up and down your slit, a testament to his self control, and your eyes are rolling now, “I thought it would be harder, smelling the others on you.”
“It’s not a competition,” you whisper, leaning down and arching your back - opening your hips to Copia and he sighs. His cock is beneath your mouth; precum pooling on that soft, fur covered tummy.
“I am not a competitive man,” he says, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the bare flesh between your pussy and ass. You bite your lip - hardly able to focus on the beautiful dick before you, “And I have never thought of myself as possessive or jealous.”
“But?”
“But I do not know how those Papas have not killed each other over you.”
“I’ll admit,” you say, putting your head on Copia’s thigh, running the tip of your finger up the length of him and back down again, “We have a carefully crafted schedule of - oh,” you forget your words, forget language altogether when Copia spreads your pussy with his thumbs and dives in - for a few moments you can only press your face into his thigh and try to catch your breath. He is everywhere. His high-pitched squeaks and moans have turned into guttural growls, hungry for you.
Your toes curl and you try to focus, wrapping your hand around Copia’s cock - it’s hot and sticky and throbbing; begging for attention.
The whole thing is a blur - you and your last two brain cells don’t remember coming but one second you’re on your belly, on Copia and the next you’ve fallen off to the side, breathless and coming back to some semblance of consciousness, “You good?” you huff out, your cheek smooshed up against Copia’s knee. He grunts something relatively affirmative and you smile. You’re sure it’s been hours and the sun should rise any minute but, it’s only been moments and you sit up, “Happy engagement,” you sigh.
Copia sits up to join you, “Oh, my love - yes, happy engage - oh, oh dear,” he laughs at you, “You have a bit of,” he points at your cheek, “A bit of cum,” he searches for something to clean you up with and you hand him the hem of your dress, “You’re sure?”
“This gown isn’t a stranger to cum.”
Copia cleans you up, scooting a bit closer until you’re sitting hip to hip, your mouth dangerously close to his; the silk is soft on your face but you can only think about his lips on your skin instead, “We should,” Copia clears his throat, “Get back, no? Imperator is chomping at the bit to start wedding planning and the whole church will be upon once I announce,” he stares at you for a moment, “Announce us at mass in the morning. We should get a good night’s sleep, I think.”
For the first time all day you consider your engagement, your impending marriage and your fourth husband without any panic, without any fear. Tears prick at your eyes and burn on your cheeks as they fall, “I’m fine, really,” you let out a pathetic, happy sob, “I am.”
“You are crying,”
“It’s nothing,” you find a clean edge of silk and dab your eyes, “I’m just,” you shrug, smiling through the tears.
“Happy?”
“I’m happy.”