Blind Box World - SSS-Rank Eye of Truth

Laira did not walk around in front of him.

She came from behind, bent down, and then laid the whole upper half of her body across Ethan’s back. First came the warmth. Then the weight. Finally two large breasts pressed flush against his spine, soft but heavy, enough that the layer of cloth between them was crushed down and its shape was forced to follow the line of his backbone. Ethan stalled. His shoulders were completely covered. With a height of two meters twenty, Laira only had to press in and her shadow already wrapped him from the nape down to the waist, like a cloak of flesh fitted so close that no gap remained.

"You—"

"Quiet."

Laira’s voice came out right against his temple, hot and close. She was not furious the way she had been that afternoon, but she was not gentle either. Her chin rested on the crown of Ethan’s head for a moment, then slid down. Red hair spilled over both sides of his face, carrying the smell of sun, of fire, and a trace of scent from the treatment district.

"I am jealous."

Ethan could not turn. His back was pinned by that large pair of breasts, and Laira’s long arms had already come around in front of him, crossed over his chest like a belt. Her hands were quite a bit larger than his. When those fingers closed on Ethan’s wrists, he had the sense that he was being locked in by a creature both soft and strong, not by violence, but by the sheer excess of her body taking up space.

"I know."

Laira pouted. Ethan could not see it, but he could feel it. The edge of her mouth brushed lightly against the rim of his ear, her breath longer than usual, like a child whose toy had been stolen and who was now deliberately blowing hot air into the face of the person holding it.

"That woman kissed you. In front of me. And she licked her lips."

"You watched that closely?"

"I watched very closely." Laira snorted. "I still remember her saying she would talk with you at great, great length. Talk about what? Talk with her mouth?"

Ethan could not help a short laugh.

Laira was immediately dissatisfied. She tightened her arms, and her chest pressed harder for a beat, forcing Ethan to lean forward to take the weight. The difference in build was so clear now it was almost funny. A Crimson Dragon two meters twenty tall was holding a man sitting on the edge of a bed, and the posture looked more like she was locking him inside her body than leaning on him.

Ethan turned with difficulty and lifted a hand to rub the exact spot between her two horns. Laira wanted to dodge, but the old reflex was faster than will. Her head dipped slightly after his hand, her eyes narrowed, the sulky look still there, but less sharp than it had been that afternoon.

"That face." Ethan looked at her, the corner of his mouth curving. "You are that tall, that strong, and when you get jealous you look like someone who just lost a piece of candy."

"I do not look like a child."

"You do."

"I do not."

Laira pouted at the exact moment Ethan finished speaking, wrecking her own denial. Ethan laughed out loud. She looked at him for two seconds, then, as if she refused to lose, her whole tall body came down.

Ethan was pinned onto his back on the bed.

His back hit the mattress. His vision was immediately filled with red hair, broad shoulders, and the pale span of her chest hanging over him. Laira planted both hands on either side of Ethan’s head, knees bracketing his hips, the posture locking him neatly inside the frame of her bones. She was not using her full strength. If she did, the bed would break. Even so, the mere fact of her body covering him was enough for Ethan to feel every point of contact: a soft stomach pressed to his stomach, long thighs clamping his hips, breath falling straight onto his mouth.

"That woman kissed you once." Laira bent close, her voice slow. "I have to kiss back until it is enough."

She kissed down.

It was not a quick kiss like Xue Ji’s. Laira kissed deep, her mouth hot, a tongue larger than he had imagined sliding in, taking space, pulling Ethan’s breath with it. He meant to inhale and found the path blocked. A moment later he had to tap lightly on her arm. Only then did Laira lift her mouth half a finger’s width, a thread of saliva still connecting them, her eyes slightly red from being both angry and wanting more.

"Enough yet?"

Ethan was panting. "Almost smothered."

"Not enough."

She kissed him again.

This time it was slower, but no less occupying. Laira’s tongue licked from the corner of Ethan’s mouth down to his chin, then came back, as if she were erasing someone else’s mark with her own heat. Ethan raised his hands and held her waist. Laira’s waist was not small. His palm spread out and still could not cover the hot skin under her clothes. The more he held her, the clearer the difference became: she could wrap him, and he could only keep hold of one part of her.

Laira pulled Ethan’s shirt up.

Not in such a rush that she tore it, but not patient enough to undo each button neatly either. She kissed down his throat, down the collarbone, the large tongue going ahead of her hands and leaving a hot, wet line. Ethan tipped his head back, looked at the ceiling for a moment, then had to close his eyes. The sensation was so clear he could hear his own heartbeat fall out of rhythm.

The shirt was pulled off his shoulders. The room’s chill had not yet arrived before Laira’s breath drove it off. She licked down his chest, slow, thorough, as if confirming which stretches of skin still belonged to whom. When her tongue went lower, Ethan set a hand on the red hair.

"Laira."

"Do not call my name if you want me to stop."

He did not call it again.

The pants came off. The room suddenly became very quiet, left with only the sound of cloth and the sound of breathing. Laira bent down between Ethan’s legs, red hair spreading across his thighs like a cloth. She looked for a moment at what was straining in front of her, her face both curious and stubborn, then put out her tongue and licked.

Warm.

Broad.

It was not the skill of someone who had done this many times. It was coverage. The large tongue traveled from the base upward, slow, a little clumsy, but the heat and the area of contact made Ethan grip the sheet. Laira lifted her head to look at his reaction, was satisfied by what she saw, then bent down and took him into her mouth.

Ethan drew in a breath.

She did not take him deep at once. The motion was still off-beat, her teeth almost catching, so that he had to lift a hand and touch her chin. Laira made a low sound in her throat, adjusted, and tried again. The clumsiness was still there, but the pleasure did not lessen because of it. On the contrary, that very lack of polish made every movement clear, real, and aimed straight at the nerve.

Ethan watched the red hair rise and fall, his voice hoarse.

"Where did you learn this?"

Laira let him go, wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, then smiled. The smile was extremely pleased with itself.

"Xue Ji taught me."

Ethan went silent.

It was not silence from pleasure. He looked at Laira, his mind empty for a very long beat. That afternoon she had still wanted to slap Xue Ji. Now that name was coming out of her mouth with a naturalness so absurd it made no sense.

Laira saw his expression and immediately pouted, the sulk clearer than before. She braced a hand on his thigh, her large chest pushed even closer by the bent posture, her voice dissatisfied.

"You do not like it?"

Ethan came alert at once.

"I like it."

"Really?"

"I like it a great deal."

Laira looked at him another second, as if checking whether the answer was only something said to be done with it. Seeing Ethan nod, she was satisfied, and bent down again. This time the motion was less clumsy. She remembered the rhythm he had just reacted to, took him deeper, the large tongue licking along the places that made Ethan’s shoulders go tight. He had to take his other hand and hold her horn, not to push her off, but to keep himself from finishing too fast.

A while later, Laira could not stand it anymore.

She left his mouth, breathing hot, her eyes redder. The tall body climbed up, both knees set on either side of Ethan’s hips, her shadow covering a full half of the bed. She took hold of what was wet from her own breath, found the place, and slowly sat down.

Ethan gripped her waist.

Even prepared, the feeling of being enclosed still made him tip his head back. Laira was both hot and tight, and her large body made every descent feel like a wave pressing down on him. She did not take him all at once. She went section by section, breathing as she watched Ethan’s face, as if she wanted to see clearly how many parts of his composure he was losing because of her.

When she had taken all of him, Laira trembled slightly.

She bent down. Two large breasts slid in front of Ethan’s face, soft, heavy, filling his entire field of vision. He held them, took one into his mouth, and sucked hard. Laira moaned low in her throat, her back arching, red hair hanging down into a curtain around his head. Her body in that moment truly covered Ethan. His shoulders, his chest, his stomach, all of it lay under the shadow of a Crimson Dragon sitting on him, angry and wanting him at the same time, wanting to take back what someone else had touched that afternoon.

Ethan sucked on one side and then switched to the other. Laira began a rhythm. Each time she lifted, a cold gap of air slid across Ethan’s skin. Each time she sat down, the heat took the space back, heavy and full, making the mattress give a small sound. The difference in height made the posture even clearer: Laira could bend down and kiss him without Ethan having to lift his head too high, while he had to reach just to hold all of the chest pressed against his face.

"Mine." Laira said against his ear, her voice breaking. "That woman only kissed. I am taking all of you."

Ethan did not argue.

He answered by tightening his hands at her back and pushing the rhythm up. Laira liked that. She gave a short laugh and drove faster, her large body making every impact drag a wave of flesh and hot breath with it. The room had been wide. Now it shrank because of her shadow.

Krit.

The door opened.

Rou Yan stood on the threshold, her hand still on the lock. She looked in, then stalled for exactly one beat. White hair lifted slightly in the corridor wind, her eyes opening wider than usual. The scene on the bed needed no explanation: Laira sitting on Ethan, her clothes down to her waist, red hair spilled in a mess, and Ethan locked under that tall body, his mouth still very close to her chest.

"...I can go back out."

Rou Yan’s voice tried to stay ordinary, but her ears were already red. She stepped back half a pace, meaning to close the door.

Ethan lifted his head and looked past Laira’s shoulder.

"You are already here. Come here."

Rou Yan stood still.

Laira did not stop completely. She only slowed, turned her head toward her housemate, her breath still hot. "Come in!"

Rou Yan let out a long breath.

That breath held the fatigue of the whole day, plus the fact that she had just opened the door at the exact moment it should not have been opened. Even so, she still stepped in, closed the door, then leaned her back against it for a second as if negotiating with herself. At last she walked to the bed.

She took off her gloves, set them on the chair, then crawled onto the mattress from the direction of Ethan’s head. White hair hung down, a different color from the red covering the lower half. Rou Yan looked at Ethan from closer, her eyes complicated: there was blame in them, familiarity, and a little of something she had not said for a long time.

"You really do know how to pick a moment."

"I was not the one who opened the door."

Rou Yan gave a faint snort, then bent down and kissed him.

Her kiss was different from Laira’s. It did not take space by size, but by precision. Her mouth was cooler, her breath more even, her tongue pushing lightly, drawing Ethan out of the rhythm Laira had just been leading. Ethan held the nape of her neck with one hand, the other still on Laira’s waist. Two different temperatures ran over him at the same time: above, the cool air and tea scent of Rou Yan; below, the heat and enormous weight of Laira.

Seeing that, Laira refused to stay outside it.

She bent down, kissed Ethan’s shoulder, then kissed the corner of the throat Rou Yan had not yet claimed. Three people stacked on a bed that had only been wide enough for two. Laira’s body took up nearly the whole face of the mattress, forcing Rou Yan to lie off to the side, a leg thrown across Ethan’s thigh, a hand sliding into the gap between the two bodies pressed together.

Rou Yan’s clothes came down fairly quickly. Not because she was in a rush, but because Laira saw it and lent a hand, the motion both helping and carrying the meaning that once you were in, you did not stand there watching. Rou Yan glanced at her, said nothing, and only guided Ethan’s mouth to her own chest. Ethan kissed, licked, heard her breath break right against his ear, while Laira started a new rhythm, slower but deeper, as if she wanted him unable to give his full attention to the other woman.

The room filled with heat.

Skin against skin. Red hair mixed with white. The sound of the mattress, the sound of breathing, the sound of Laira whispering "mine" and then being shut up by a look from Rou Yan. Ethan was pulled from one side to the other. When he kissed Rou Yan, Laira sat down deeper to call him back. When he held Laira’s chest, Rou Yan bit lightly at the rim of his ear, enough to make him turn again.

No one was still wearing the face they had worn during the day.

Laira was no longer the Crimson Dragon growling in front of the meeting-room door. She became a large, hot, wet body that wanted to swallow Ethan into herself and would not accept giving up all the space. Rou Yan was no longer the one holding her forehead and complaining of being tired. She kissed him as if demanding a silent share of fairness, every beat deliberate, every breath held down until she could not hold it anymore.

Ethan could not count the time.

He only still recognized a few things very clearly: Laira was so large that every time she bent down his world went dark with hair and breasts; Rou Yan was smaller, closer, her mouth more precise; and he himself was caught between the two of them, covered and then pulled up, kissed until he could not breathe and then given exactly one beat of air before being taken again.

By the time Laira trembled at length on top of him, holding so tight that Ethan’s ribs gave a faint sound, Rou Yan still did not leave. She rested her forehead against his temple, her breath disordered, her hand clenched on the left wrist that still wore the Primordial Armor. Ethan released into the heat clamping down on him, his head tipped back, his vision for a moment nothing but red and white.

After that came the quiet.

Laira would not roll off at once. She stayed sitting on him a few more seconds, breathing, and only then consented to tip to the side. Even after she had lain down, one arm and part of a large breast still lay across Ethan’s chest like a declaration that had not yet been written into words. Rou Yan lay on the other side, her face pressed to his shoulder, white hair stuck with sweat.

Ethan wanted to say something.

He could not.

His eyelids grew heavy. He did not know how long he had been doing that. He only knew his body felt as if the last of its wakefulness had been drawn out. In the dark before sleep, he still heard Laira whisper against his ear, her voice already hoarse but still stubborn:

"Next time that woman kisses you, I will kiss back longer."

Rou Yan did not open her eyes. She only answered very softly, tired but clear.

"Next time lock the door."

Ethan wanted to laugh.

The smile had not yet taken shape when sleep pulled him under.