Chapter 445 - 444- Gwen’s Dilemma
Rihana’s lips curved against his neck.
Not a smile exactly. Something older than a smile — the expression of a woman who has been named correctly and feels the accuracy of it in her bones. Her arms tightened around his torso from behind, her full breasts pressing warmer into his back, and she breathed out a single soft sound that wasn’t quite a word and didn’t need to be.
"Yeah," she murmured. "You’re right."
Her voice was still wrecked. Still that hoarse, honey-dark ruin of a voice. And even in that single syllable, the Siren blood did what it always did — wrapped around the word like warm fingers and made it land somewhere behind the sternum rather than in the ear.
Both Gwen and Lira felt it in their chests.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
They were both staring at the water.
Specifically at the surface of the water, where Viktor’s seed was still spreading — thick, slow, faintly luminescent in the moonlight — sitting ’on’ the water rather than dissolving into it, dense enough that it held its shape in long, pearlescent threads that drifted with the gentle current like something that meant to remain visible.
Gwen swallowed.
Lira’s throat moved in the same moment.
Their eyes tracked one rope of it across the dark surface, then another, and neither of them spoke because there was simply nothing to say about it that wouldn’t make their current situation considerably more vivid than it already was.
His hand moved.
Casually. No announcement. Just his palm sliding from where it had rested against Gwen’s ribs back upward, fingers cupping the underside of her breast through her dress with the unhurried familiarity of someone re-acquainting themselves with something they’d already decided was theirs.
Gwen’s face went scarlet.
"Control your hand," she said, voice cracking slightly on the second word. "You ’bastard.’"
Lira, on his other side: "Agreed. Get your—"
"Sit down." His voice was easy. "Follow what I say." A pause, the hand continuing its lazy kneading against Gwen’s breast as if the conversation wasn’t happening. "Or I fuck you both here." He glanced between them. "Right now. And you know you can’t stop me."
The silence that followed was the particular quality of silence that happens when two people simultaneously realize the threat is accurate.
Gwen looked at Lira.
Lira looked at Gwen.
The seed was still floating on the water beside them, and both their nipples were still pressed tight against soaked fabric, and his cock was still half-present against their thighs under the surface, and the purple air was still in their lungs doing its slow, patient work.
Both of them turned their faces forward.
And buried them.
Not together, not coordinated — but within two seconds of each other, both women dropped their chins and pressed their faces into the curve of his neck and shoulder respectively, Gwen on his left, Lira on his right, both of them hiding from the conversation they’d just lost and letting his hand continue what it was doing rather than pursue an argument they couldn’t win.
His fingers kneaded. Slow. Thorough.
Neither woman said anything further.
The water shifted.
Both of them felt it before they saw it — the displacement of the pond’s surface, a slow wade, the soft sound of a heavy body moving through shallow water with the unhurried grace of something that had already decided where it was going.
Rihana came around from behind him.
She moved through the water to face him, her thick body catching the moonlight as she emerged — the curve of her belly, the impossible fullness of her breasts, the seed still trailing in slow threads down the inside of her thighs — and lowered herself to her knees in front of him in the shallows.
The water came to her waist. Her breasts floated slightly at the surface, nipples just above the waterline, dark and peaked and still occasionally beading milk at the tips.
She looked up at him.
Her eyes — dark, wet, luminous with something between exhaustion and devotion — were the eyes of the Siren half, Gwen realized suddenly. The part of her that made you look and keep looking and forget you were doing it.
"Are you going to leave me?" Rihana asked.
Her voice did the thing it always did. Even wrecked. Even reduced to a croak. The words arrived somewhere intimate and stayed there.
Viktor looked down at her.
His expression — that composed, permanently-slightly-amused face — shifted for half a second into something that didn’t have a clean category. Not softness exactly. Not warmth. More like ’acknowledgment.’ The expression of a man who finds the question predictable and finds that fact interesting.
"Why would you think that," he said.
Not a question. Just words dropped into the space she’d left.
Rihana’s mouth curved. She leaned forward.
Her tongue found the head of his cock under the water — long, slow, flat stroke, base to tip, the underside of the shaft — and both Gwen and Lira’s hands flinched away from it simultaneously like they’d touched something hot.
Both of them looked down.
’She’s just—’ Gwen’s thought didn’t finish.
Rihana had taken the cockhead into her mouth.
Not gradually. Not with preamble. Simply ’opened’ and enclosed it, cheeks hollowing slightly, and looked up at Viktor with those ruined Siren eyes the way a child looks up with something precious in their hands to confirm they’re allowed to keep it.
The image of her — thick, bred-full, her heavy body kneeling in moonlit water, nursing the cockhead of the man who’d just wrecked her with the tender fixation of someone who has decided he belongs to her now — was so specifically, precisely ’wrong’ that it bypassed both women’s objections entirely and landed somewhere that made their thighs press together.
The MILF energy of her. The maternal body of her, curves built to feed and hold and comfort, reduced to kneeling in pond water with her mouth around a cock and looking up at him like she was the one receiving something.
Her skin, they noticed then.
The glow. It wasn’t the moonlight. It had been there before — they’d half-registered it — but kneeling in the water with the soft light catching her wet skin, the luminescence was clearer. A warmth that came from ’under’ the skin rather than off it. The Siren element, maybe. Or the breeding. Or both things becoming the same thing.
"Deep throat," Viktor said.
Flat. Instructive. Like giving directions.
Rihana closed her eyes.
And ’leaned in.’
It happened slowly enough that both Gwen and Lira watched the entire thing.
The thick shaft disappearing past her lips inch by inch, her jaw accommodating the girth with a stretch that should have been a limit and wasn’t — the knob of her throat ’moving’, visibly, as the cockhead pressed down and through — and then the wet sound of the final inch seating itself, her chin touching the water’s surface over his balls, throat bulging in the exact shape of him.
Her eyes had rolled back.
Not distress. Not pain. The specific expression of someone receiving something their body was rebuilt to accommodate.
Gwen pressed both hands flat over her own mouth.
Lira’s hand had found the lacing of her own vest and gripped it, white-knuckled, doing nothing with it except holding.
Both of them had pressed completely against Viktor’s sides — not consciously, not as a choice, but their bodies had compacted into him like objects seeking warmth — and neither of them had the presence of mind to notice they’d done it.
Viktor breathed.
Long. Deliberate. The exhale of a man receiving something he will not perform gratitude for but will absolutely receive completely.