Chapter 441 - 440- Both Women’s Realisation
She pressed her thighs together hard enough to feel her own pulse against them.
Lira, beside her, had one hand pressed flat to her sternum like she was physically holding her own heart still.
Then the climax.
They both felt it before they saw it — a pressure drop in the air, a thickening of the purple, the aphrodisiac density doubling in the space of a single breath as Viktor’s body locked up and his hips drove one final, catastrophic time —
PAAAH!
The light ’exploded.’
Violet fire, roaring up through his skin, his eyes blazing solid purple and inhuman, every muscle in his back and shoulders thrown into stark relief by the cold demonic glow — and the scream that tore out of Rihana’s throat when he bit both her nipples simultaneously wasn’t a human sound and it didn’t need to be.
Gwen came.
She didn’t mean to. She wasn’t touching herself anymore — she’d pulled her hand away — but her body made the decision without her, a short, violent clench low in her hips that made her thighs lock and her toes curl inside her sandals and a ’whimper’ press against her closed lips that she barely contained.
She looked at Lira with absolute mortification.
Lira’s face said: ’I am the leader of a bandit clan and I have never been more grateful for dark clothing in my life.’
The inside of Lira’s leathers were soaked.
Neither of them said anything.
Viktor, in the clearing, lowered Rihana’s wrung-out, overflowing body to the bank with something approaching gentleness — her thick thighs spread and trembling, both holes still trailing seed, her eyes flat and gone and breathing in long, ragged pulls.
He straightened.
The purple aura settled. Dimmed from a roar to a slow burn, coiled around him like a living thing that had decided to stay.
He rolled his neck once.
Paused.
His head turned.
Slowly. Precisely. In the exact direction of the tree-line.
The exact direction of two women pressed against two trees with soaked thighs and stopped breath.
His purple eyes caught the dark like a predator’s.
And he ’smiled.’
Not at one of them. At ’both’ of them. His gaze swept the shadow with an accuracy that made it clear the dark was not, in fact, hiding anything. That it possibly had never been hiding anything.
That maybe he’d known the whole time.
The smile spread. Slow. Satisfied. With the unhurried confidence of something that had already decided how the rest of the night ended.
"Oh." His voice carried through the dark like warm smoke. "We have two little squirting guests with tight holes, huh?"
The sound that came out of Gwen was not a word.
It was the sound a small animal makes when it realizes the shadow it thought was a branch is attached to something that eats small animals.
Her knees — already compromised from the past ten minutes of crouching in a state of complete physiological betrayal — simply ’went.’
She hit the forest floor. Both knees. The impact barely registered.
Lira lasted approximately one second longer.
One second of standing upright. One second of her jaw working with no output. One second of the bandit captain’s composure attempting and catastrophically failing to load.
Then her legs decided they were done making structural decisions for the evening, and she too folded — not gracefully, not with warrior’s dignity, but with the boneless, helpless collapse of a woman whose body had been running entirely on arousal and adrenaline for fifteen solid minutes and had simply run the account dry.
She grabbed the pine trunk on her way down. Caught herself halfway. Ended up kneeling in the leaf-litter with one hand on bark and her face on fire and her leathers ’destroyed.’
Both women, from their respective patches of forest floor, turned and looked at each other one final time.
The same thought crossed two very different faces in the same instant.
Gwen’s eyes were wide and young and ’hunted.’
Lira’s were calculating and experienced and ’just as hunted.’
Their mouths opened.
In perfect, unplanned unison — the elf girl from Millbrook who’d never seen a cock and the bandit captain who’d seen too much of everything else — they both said, breathless and unanimous:
’"I need to run."’
Neither of them ran.
That was the humiliating truth of it. The words came out — ’I need to run’ — simultaneous, breathless, completely genuine in intent — and then both women simply stayed exactly where they were, kneeling in the leaf-litter with soaked thighs and racing hearts, staring at each other with the shared expression of people who have just discovered their legs have unilaterally resigned.
In the clearing, Viktor did not come for them.
He turned away.
That was somehow worse.
He simply... turned his back on them. Deliberately. With the unhurried disregard of a man who has already decided the outcome and sees no reason to rush the formality of getting there.
He looked down at Rihana.
She lay at the bank exactly as he’d left her — thick thighs fallen open, both holes trailing slow rivers of glowing seed, her heavy breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath, her expression that flat, gone, thoroughly ’ruined’ blankness of something that had been taken entirely apart and hadn’t yet worked out how to be a person again.
Viktor crouched beside her.
Grabbed a fistful of her damp, dark hair.
And ’pulled.’
Not cruel. Not gentle. Somewhere in the middle — the way you grab something you own and direct it without ceremony.
Rihana’s head came up, mouth falling open automatically, her body still so deep in the wreckage of what had been done to it that it had bypassed volition entirely and gone straight to ’comply.’
Viktor’s other hand closed around the base of his cock.
Still half-hard. Flushed dark and wet and obscenely thick even in its current state — the shaft glistening with everything the pond and Rihana’s body had produced between them.
He pressed the head against her open lips.
"Clean it."
From the tree-line, Gwen made a sound she would deny forever.
Both women watched, with wide eyes and stopped breath and thighs pressed together like the pressure alone could contain what their bodies were doing, as Rihana’s tongue came out.
Not reluctantly. Not under obvious duress.
’Eagerly.’ The way a woman licks something she’s decided belongs to her, tracing the underside of his shaft from base toward tip with a flat, slow stripe, her swollen, teary eyes turned up toward his face like she was looking for approval and already knew she’d get it.
Viktor’s free hand moved to her breast.
Not cupped — ’dug in.’ Fingers sinking into the heavy, pale softness with a grip that displaced the flesh entirely, thumbing inward until a fresh thread of milk welled from the dark nipple and dropped into the pond below.
Rihana moaned around his cock.
He pushed deeper.
Gwen watched his cock — limp-soft enough to bend, still ’enormous’ — slide past Rihana’s lips and keep going, the woman’s jaw stretching to accommodate it, her throat working as it pressed toward the back.
No gagging.
No resistance.
Her tongue curled along the underside and her hands came up to rest on his thighs and she ’cleaned him’ with the devoted, blissed-out focus of a woman whose entire nervous system had been rewired in the past hour to understand exactly one priority.
’His cock.’