Chapter 442 - 441- Rihana’s Confession
His hand stayed buried in her breast. Milk leaked steadily from both nipples now, running in thin rivulets down the curve of her heavy belly, dripping from the underside in slow, white drops.
Viktor watched the tree-line while she worked.
His purple eyes, settled and burning, found both women in the shadow with the precision of something that didn’t need light to see.
He ’observed’ them.
Let them feel observed.
Then — slowly, almost lazily — shook his head once.
Like: ’you’re not fooling anyone, and you both know it.’
Lira’s jaw tightened.
Something that might have been her pride made one final, valiant attempt to assert itself against the purple air and the heat between her thighs and the sight of that man’s back muscles moving in the moonlight.
’I am the leader of this camp,’ she told herself, with considerable internal force. ’I have put down three men who challenged me. I negotiated this territory from a warlord who had thirty soldiers. I do not tremble for anyone.’
Her thighs were shaking.
She pressed them tighter.
Gwen’s self-talk was considerably less experienced but no less desperate.
’He’s a pervert. He was a pervert in Millbrook. He argued with me about food portions. He is not— this is the purple air, this is not— I’m not— I have never even—’
Viktor’s voice came across the clearing, low and carrying, warm as banked coals.
"Come out now. Willingly." A pause. The sound of Rihana’s wet mouth working. "Or I come to you." Another pause. Then, lighter, almost amused: "Come on, girls."
Gwen and Lira looked at each other.
The look said several things simultaneously.
It said: ’did he just call us girls.’
It said: ’I cannot believe my legs are already moving.’
It said: ’we are not going to discuss what just happened to our underwear, ever, not once, not even when we’re old.’
Lira stood first. It cost her.
She straightened to her full height, squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and performed the complete physical vocabulary of a woman who is absolutely in control of herself and proceeding by choice. She checked that her leathers were straight — they were, on the outside; the inside was a separate jurisdiction she was refusing to acknowledge — and stepped out of the tree-line.
Her hands, without her deliberate instruction, settled at the front of her thighs.
Covering.
Because the dampness had spread further than she’d realized while she was kneeling, and the dark fabric of her tight trousers was clinging in ways that the moonlight was not going to be kind about.
Gwen followed half a step behind, one hand bunching her skirt at the front in what she hoped read as casual.
It did not read as casual.
They walked.
Both of them performing ’fine’ with the commitment of women who are absolutely not fine and know the man they’re walking toward can tell the difference and are choosing to perform anyway because the alternative is standing in the forest admitting things they aren’t ready to admit.
Viktor watched them approach without getting up.
He’d straightened from Rihana — she lay back against the bank now, breathing, her expression that heavy, hazy, milk-and-seed-drenched contentment of something thoroughly tended to — and was simply ’standing’, the pond behind him catching the moon, the purple aura still coiled loose and slow around his body like smoke that had decided to stay.
He looked at them.
Both of them. A slow, top-to-bottom inventory that missed nothing.
His eyes settled, briefly and with complete frankness, on their chests.
Because their nipples were visible from six feet away.
Not ’revealed’ — fully clothed, both of them — but the fabric betrayed everything. Gwen’s thin traveling dress pressed flat against two small, stiff points that had been hard since the moment the purple light erupted and hadn’t softened since. Lira’s leather vest, laced tight across a chest built for it, couldn’t hide the way both peaks pushed outward against the material with an insistence that had nothing to do with temperature.
Primed.
Taut.
’Prepared for breeding,’ some ancient, inhuman part of Viktor’s brain noted with satisfaction, and his cock — currently Rihana-slicked and half-resting in her mouth — began to make decisions of its own.
Rihana felt it first.
The slow, unambiguous thickening against her tongue. Her eyes widened. She looked up.
Viktor wasn’t looking at her.
Her throat worked around his steadily-hardening shaft with a small, involuntary sound somewhere between startled and ’pleased’ — the sound of a woman who has just realized she is no longer the primary focus and is surprised to find that her body minds considerably less than her brain expected.
Gwen stopped at the edge of the clearing and found her voice.
It came out angrier than she intended, which was both accurate to her feelings and completely undermined by the way her cheeks were flaming.
"You bastard." She pointed. It was meant to be an accusatory gesture. Her hand was shaking slightly. "What the hell — you just ’molested’ a random woman you found on the streets?!"
Viktor’s expression did not change.
He looked at her.
Then he slowly pulled his cock from Rihana’s mouth — a long, wet, obscene withdrawal, the shaft glistening under the moon, Rihana’s tongue chasing the tip for an inch before he moved it out of reach — and he simply said, with the ease of a man making an observation about weather:
"Oh, come on. Aren’t hookers ’found’ on the streets?"
The sound Gwen made was indescribable.
Several things happened in her body simultaneously. Her mouth opened. Her face went three shades darker. Her hands balled into fists at her sides — which unfortunately removed them from their covering position — and her pussy, apparently finding this interaction considerably more stimulating than reasonable, gave one hot, helpless pulse that she felt from her navel to her knees.
She wanted to yell at him.
She opened her mouth to yell at him.
And then he was ’right there’ — close now, having closed the distance while she was processing her outrage — and the proximity hit her like a wall. The heat of his body. The ’size’ of him, those six-pack abs catching moonlight, the evolved bulk of his shoulders, the purple aura breathing soft and warm against her skin from two feet away. Those eyes. Solid violet. ’Old.’ Looking at her with an attention that her inexperienced nervous system had absolutely no developed immunity to.
Her argument simply... fell off a cliff inside her chest.
Her mouth stayed open. Nothing came out.
Lira stepped up beside her, jaw set, eyes blazing.
"You bastard." Her voice came out level. Controlled. Almost impressive. "How ’dare’ you touch a woman from my clan — you have no right, no authority, no—"
Viktor looked down.
At Rihana.
Who lay on the bank at their feet, thick and naked and thoroughly spent, her heavy breasts falling to either side of her chest, seed still trailing from both her holes in slow silver threads. Rihana, who was looking up at Lira with half-lidded, warm, ’unconcerned’ eyes.
Viktor raised his cock.
And slapped it, flatly and deliberately, against Rihana’s cheek.
’SMACK.’
"WHAT—" Lira’s voice cracked. "What are you ’doing?!’"
"Getting a confession." He looked down at Rihana, expression entirely calm. "Hey. Tell them."