Gwen's free hand had found his balls.
She wasn't sure when that had happened. She was operating somewhat outside normal executive function at this point — the purple air thick in her lungs, his fingers still kneading her breast, his thumb now tracing the areola in maddening slow circles, the warmth of his thigh under her wet skirt, the weight and heat of his cock pulsing steadily in both their hands.
Her fingers cupped. Explored.
The fullness of them — heavy, dense, rolling warm against her palm — made her squeeze her own thighs together on his thigh instinctively.
Lira noticed, from the corner of her eye.
Said nothing. Her own thighs were doing the same.
Viktor turned his head.
"Rihana."
His voice carried the word with the ease of someone calling something they expect to come, not someone asking.
