The Collector 3: Cauldron

A.J. Matthews

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Actress Kate Susadi and Harvard academic Matt O'Brien are summoned to the residence of the enigmatic Collector, lured by a promise of wealth and adventure. Yet when the pair meet it's loathe at first sight. Matt thinks Kate's a be...
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Actress Kate Susadi and Harvard academic Matt O'Brien are summoned to the residence of the enigmatic Collector, lured by a promise of wealth and adventure. Yet when the pair meet it's loathe at first sight. Matt thinks Kate's a beautiful ditz with some pretense at smarts: She thinks he's a patronizing WASPish stuffed shirt (although the shirt is stuffed with a mighty fine body...)

The Collector sends the pair to Galway, Ireland on a mission to recover a legendary artifact and find his old friend Thomas, Kate's grandfather, missing -- presumed dead - for thirty years.

On the Galway shore they locate an ancient burial mound which holds the key to finding both man and relic -- but when they enter it they get more than they bargain for. Powerful sex magic plunges them through a strange portal into the legendary world of Eirin, a lethal and unforgiving place where gods and heroes walk the land and magic abounds. Somewhere here lies the Cauldron of Fire, the relic they must find to get them home -- but there're plenty of people who have a vested interest in keeping it just where it is. Kate and Matt's own squabbling and bickering doesn't help their cause -- until they begin to see the real person within the other.

Kate's pulse was pounding in her veins, and she felt herself grow incredibly wet between her thighs. She turned to see Matt standing with his head tilted to avoid the low ceiling, a strange, intense expression on his face. She could see him quite clearly in the silver light, the symbols blazing out like high-wattage bulbs now at their presence. A huge bulge shaped the front of his jeans.

“Kate ...” he began to say, and then they launched themselves at each other, colliding and grappling and gripping and sliding to the floor.

Matt’s hands were on her breasts and belly and butt, his body pressing urgently against her. She thrust her hands under his sweatshirt and began to haul it off him without regard for causing pain ‑‑ pain was good!

“I want you!” she cried in a near scream, and the words were cut off as he crushed his lips to hers.

Matt fumbled at the closures of Kate's jeans and forced them down over the swell of her hips, the fabric grazing her skin, but she didn’t care; she only wanted him, wanted him so fucking badly!

A small part of her kept its sanity and protested at what was happening, but some power had overridden all conscious volition and was driving her into his arms.

Jeans around her ankles, she trod on his feet in her eagerness, until he grabbed her and held her steady. The altar was close by, the centuries-old carved block a nice, convenient height for him to lean his butt against. She used her feet to free her ankles from the jeans and kicked them away with a glad cry. Matt enfolded her in his arms, pulling her close, then reached down to push her panties down her thighs. She pressed against him, savoring the feel of his body, moving away reluctantly to allow him to remove her panties. They followed the jeans in a shallow arc across the chamber, and she pulled her sweatshirt off and flung it away, too.

Matt’s hand was on her breast, and her thighs went up around his waist of their own accord. He began fumbling one-handed with his jeans as she kissed his lips, cheeks, his jaw, his throat, the muscles and tendons there straining like whipcords. She drew her legs up further. The stone of the altar felt cool under the soles of her feet as he held her close, and she braced herself on the hard surface.

A low animal growl surged from Matt's mouth, and his eyes seemed to blaze. His cock rose up and banged into her butt crack, and she writhed, seeking to grasp it and pull it inside her pussy.

“Oh gods, now, now,” she moaned into his mouth.

“Not yet!” he gasped around their crushed lips. “We need more!”


“To open. The. Portal. Ohhh dear lord, what’s happening?” He grasped a breast and crushed it to his lips, nibbling and biting her until heat surged in her face and throat and fire flamed in her belly. Her nipples puckered and crinkled, rising to peaks that ached to be sucked. She forced one against his lips, and he sucked it in and nipped it cruelly.

A footstep sounded in the passageway.

“He’s here,” Matt gasped, squeezing her breast. His eyes rolled, and he seemed to focus with an effort and looked behind her.

She craned her head around to look to see who disturbed them.

It was Colm Houlahan. And he was naked. Her eyes traveled down from his enigmatic face, framed by the flowing locks of wavy red hair, over his broad muscular chest and down the V-shape of his perfect abdomen to his cock. It jutted out at her, a long slightly-curved spear emerging from a tight nest of russet curls. “Mmmmmm!” she sighed with anticipation and smiled at him.

What the hell is he doing here? Kate’s annoying little inner voice demanded.

Colm is a fisherman, and there’s a fishing boat in the cove. That was all the thought she spared for the puzzle as he walked toward them, his cock bobbing gently which each graceful step. “The gods bless you for this,” he murmured.

And then his hands were sliding up over her back, fingertips running over each bump and hollow of her spine, and a strange mewing arose in her throat. The skin of his palms felt hard but not calloused as she’d expected. He pressed close against her and reached around to cup her breasts in his hands, offering them for Matt to suckle.

Copyright © A.J. Matthews


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