Three days. That's how long it took for the hum to come back—thin at first, a thread of sound barely felt beneath his sternum, then stronger, weaving itself back into the rhythm of his heartbeat. Rift had spent those days in the house between dimensions, letting Dawn bring him broth and water, letting the other women drift through his room like warm currents. He'd felt their concern like a weight, their hands gentle on his shoulders, their voices soft in the half-dark.
But the hum was back now, and it was singing a different note. A new signature. One he'd been tracking for months, saving for last like a bottle of aged whiskey at the back of a cabinet.
The summons came as a ripple in the air—not a rift, but a call. A knowing. Somewhere beyond the walls of his house, a voice was speaking his name with the kind of confidence that made his cock stir even before the image formed.
Princess Daisy. The final girl on his list.
He dressed carefully. Dark trousers, a fitted shirt with the top buttons open. He ran a hand through his hair, felt the glow of his tattoos pulse beneath his sleeves, and stepped through a rift that opened onto marble floors and the scent of roses.
The receiving chamber of Sarasaland's castle was vast and warm, lit by a hundred candles that threw long shadows across the polished stone. The heavy oak doors were already closing behind him, sealing with a soft, final click that seemed to echo in the silence.
And there she was.
Princess Daisy stood at the far end of the room, backlit by the flickering flames, her silhouette tall and athletic beneath a gown of sheer silver that caught the light with every breath she took. The fabric was almost translucent, clinging to the curves of her hips, the flat plane of her stomach, the full swell of her breasts. She wore no jewelry except a small, ornate key hanging from a delicate chain at her belt—a detail he noticed and filed away for later.
She was smiling. Slow. Knowing. Like a cat that had watched the mouse approach for weeks and was simply waiting for it to step into the trap.
Rift's hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white against the dark fabric of his trousers. He'd walked into a hundred rooms with a hundred women, always the one holding the power, always the one setting the pace. But something about the way she stood there—utterly still, utterly patient—made the air feel thicker.
"You're late," she said. Her voice was low and amused, carrying across the marble like it had been waiting for this moment all along. "I've been expecting you for some time, Kai."
She used his real name. Not Rift. Not the playful alias he wore like a second skin. She said *Kai* like it was a secret she'd been saving, and the intimacy of it caught him off guard.
"I had a few things to take care of," he said, forcing his grin into place. "You know how it is. Women. Worlds. The usual."
"Oh, I know." She began to walk toward him, her bare feet silent on the marble, the sheer silver of her gown flowing around her like water. "I've heard all about your *usual*. Misty. Dawn. Hilda. May. Nemona. And the three little ones—Pan, Bulla, Marron. You've been busy with the others." She stopped a few feet away, close enough that he could smell the roses on her skin, the faint musk of something darker beneath. "I hope you saved something for me."
His grin faltered. Just for a second. She saw it—he knew she saw it, because her smile widened, sharp and satisfied.
"I always save the best for last," he said, but the words came out rougher than he'd intended.
"Do you?" She circled him slowly, her eyes traveling over his body like she was appraising a prize. The candles flickered as she passed, casting her shadow large against the walls. "Or do you just tell yourself that to feel better about the ones you left behind?"
He turned to follow her, but she was already behind him, her voice close to his ear. He felt the heat of her breath on his neck, the brush of her fingers against his shoulder as she circled back around to face him.
"I've been watching you, Kai. For a long time." She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "I know what you do. I know how you collect them. How you take them to that little house of yours and keep them like treasures."
"They stay because they want to," he said, but his voice was thinner than he liked.
"Do they?" She stepped closer, her body nearly touching his. The scent of roses was overwhelming now, heady and sweet, and beneath it, something else—something warm and alive. "Or do they stay because you've made them feel like they have no other choice?"
His jaw tightened. "They have a choice."
"Mmm." She didn't argue. She didn't need to. The word hung in the air between them, a question he couldn't quite answer, and she let it sit there, comfortable in the silence.
The candles flickered. A log settled in the hearth somewhere beyond the room, the soft crack of it echoing through the chamber. Rift could feel his heart beating against his ribs, the hum of his anchor pulsing in time with it—but weaker now, somehow. Quieter. Like it was listening to her too.
"You've saved the best for last," she said, her voice dropping to something almost intimate. "But I wonder, Kai. Do you know what you're walking into?"
He met her eyes. Emerald against amber. "I always do."
"No." She smiled, slow and devastating. "You don't."
Her hand moved from his jaw to his chest, pressing flat against the spot where his anchor hummed. The touch was light, but he felt it like a brand—a charge that ran through him, making his breath catch, making his muscles tense.
"You think you're the one in control here," she said, her voice soft, almost gentle. "You think you're the predator, and I'm just another prize to be claimed." She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "But I've been waiting for you, Kai. I've been planning for you. And when this night is over, you're going to understand exactly what it means to be *mine*."
His cock stirred, hardening against the fabric of his trousers. He hated how easily she did that—how her words alone could make his body respond before his mind caught up. He'd walked into this room expecting to seduce her, to charm her, to claim her like he'd claimed all the others.
But she was looking at him like she already knew every move he was going to make.
She stepped back, her hand dropping from his chest. The absence of her touch felt like a loss, and he hated that too.
"Kneel," she said.
The word landed between them and did not bounce. It settled into the marble floor, into the space between his knees and the stone, into the silence that had been waiting for it all along. Rift's body went still—not from defiance, not from calculation, but from the sheer weight of the moment pressing down on him. He had knelt for no one. Not in any world, not for any woman, not once in all his collecting.
His knees bent anyway.
The marble was cold through the fabric of his trousers, a shock against his skin that traveled up his spine. He felt the candles on his face, the heat of them, the way the light pooled around him and made him the center of the room. Daisy stood over him, and from this angle she seemed taller than she had a moment ago—her silhouette cutting against the flames, the sheer silver of her gown falling in lines that drew his eyes up, up, past the flat plane of her stomach, past the swell of her breasts, to the smile that had not wavered once.
"Good," she said. The word was soft, almost approving. "You learn fast."
She moved then, circling him again, and this time he felt the difference. Before, she had been appraising him as an equal—a prize to be weighed. Now she was walking around something she already owned. Her bare feet whispered over the marble, and he heard the faint rustle of her gown, the shift of the key at her belt, the small sounds of a woman who had all the time in the world.
"I want you to understand something," she said, her voice coming from behind him. "I've been watching you for a long time. Not just the women you've collected. You. The way you move. The way you smile. The way you think you're always the one in control."
Her fingers brushed his shoulder, light as a breath, then traced down his arm. He felt the heat of her hand through the fabric of his shirt, and his cock stirred again, harder this time, pressing against his trousers with an insistence he couldn't ignore.
"You walk into rooms like you own them," she continued, stepping back into his view. "You charm women with that grin and that voice, and you think that's enough. You think that's all it takes." She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could see the pulse at her throat, the way her chest rose and fell beneath the silver. "But you've never met someone who could see through you. Until now."
She reached down and took his chin in her hand, tilting his face up to meet her eyes. Her grip was firm, her fingers warm against his skin, and he felt the sting of it—not pain, but something sharper. The sting of being seen.
"You've saved the best for last, haven't you?" she whispered, and her thumb pressed against his lower lip, parting it slightly. The touch was intimate, deliberate, a gesture that claimed him without asking. "The one you couldn't quite figure out. The one who made you nervous."
His breath caught. She was right. He hadn't admitted it to himself, not once, not in all the months he'd been tracking her signature. But she was right. There was something about her that unsettled him, that made the hum in his chest stutter and his hands clench at his sides. She wasn't like the others. She wasn't a target to be seduced and claimed. She was something else entirely.
"I—" he started, but the word died in his throat.
Her smile widened, slow and devastating, and she let the silence hold. The candles flickered. A log settled in the hearth somewhere beyond the room, the soft crack of it echoing through the chamber. He could feel his heart beating against his ribs, the hum of his anchor pulsing in time with it—but weaker now, somehow. Quieter. Like it was listening to her too.
Her hand moved from his jaw to his chest, pressing flat against the spot where his anchor hummed. The touch was light, but he felt it like a charge that ran through him, making his breath catch, making his muscles tense. She held his gaze, and he couldn't look away—couldn't do anything but kneel there, her hand on his chest, her eyes on his, the whole room waiting.
Her palm stayed pressed against his chest, and beneath it he felt the anchor pulse—not the strong, confident hum he was used to, but a thinner note, like a string being plucked in a room too large to hear it properly. Daisy felt it too. He saw it in the way her eyes narrowed, the way her lips parted, the way her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his shirt.
"You're weaker than I expected," she said, and there was no cruelty in it, only observation. "Something's taken from you. Something important."
Rift opened his mouth to lie, to deflect, to spin the story back into his favor—but the words wouldn't come. Her hand was still on his chest, and the anchor was still humming its thin, uncertain note, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't have a line ready.
"It doesn't matter," he managed.
"No," she agreed, and her thumb traced a slow circle over his sternum. "It doesn't. Because I don't need your power, Kai. I never wanted it." She leaned down, her face close to his, the scent of roses flooding his senses. "I wanted you to understand what it feels like to be seen. Truly seen. Not as a collector, not as a conqueror, but as a man who kneels because he has no other choice."
His breath caught. She was so close he could see the flecks of gold in her amber eyes, the faint line of a scar at her temple, the way her lips curved when she looked at him—not with triumph, but with something almost tender.
"I've been watching you for months," she continued, her voice soft. "Watching you take what you want, leave what you don't, move through worlds like they're yours to command. And I thought—here is a man who has never been stopped. Here is a man who has never been told no." Her thumb brushed his lower lip again. "But that's not true, is it? You've been told no. You've been stopped. And you came here anyway, hoping I'd be like the others."
He couldn't look away from her. The marble was cold beneath his knees, the candles hot on his face, and her hand was warm on his chest, and he felt something crack open inside him—something he'd been carrying for so long he'd forgotten it was there.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, and his voice was rougher than he'd intended, stripped of the charm, the confidence, the easy grin.
Daisy's smile softened. "I want you to understand that you're not the only one who collects things." She stepped back, and the absence of her touch was a physical ache. "I've been collecting information about you for a long time, Kai. Every world you've crossed. Every woman you've taken. Every promise you've made and broken. I know you better than you know yourself."
She reached down and unclasped the small key from her belt, holding it up so the candlelight caught it. It was ornate, delicate, the metal warm with the heat of her body.
"This key opens a door in my castle that's been locked for a hundred years," she said. "Behind it is something I've been saving. Something I've been waiting to give to the right person." She looked at him, and her eyes were dark with intent. "I think that person is you."
Rift's throat was dry. "What's behind it?"
"A way to get back what you lost." She tucked the key back into her belt, the chain settling against her hip. "But first, I want something from you. Something I've been thinking about for a long time."
She stepped closer again, her body brushing against his as she moved past him, and he felt the heat of her through the sheer silver of her gown. She stopped behind him, her hands settling on his shoulders, her breath warm on the back of his neck.
"I want to taste you," she said, and her voice was low, intimate, a promise and a demand all at once. "I want to feel you in my mouth. I want to swallow everything you have to give me, and I want you to watch me do it."
His cock throbbed against his trousers, painfully hard, and he heard himself make a sound—a low, desperate sound that he'd never made before, not with any of the others. She laughed softly, a warm, knowing sound, and her hands slid down his chest, finding the buttons of his shirt.
"I've been thinking about this for so long," she murmured, working the buttons open one by one. "The way you'd taste. The way you'd sound. The way you'd look at me when you came." She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, baring his chest to the candlelight, and he felt her fingers trace the lines of his tattoos, the dim glow of them under her touch. "You're beautiful, Kai. Even like this. Even empty."
She stepped around him, kneeling in front of him on the marble, and the sight of her—the Princess of Sarasaland, in her sheer silver gown, on her knees before him—made his breath catch. But she wasn't kneeling in submission. She was kneeling in ownership. Her hands found his belt, and she unbuckled it with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving his.
"You're going to watch me," she said, and it wasn't a request. "You're going to watch me take you apart, and when you come, you're going to come down my throat, and you're going to remember this moment for the rest of your life."
She pulled his trousers down, freeing his cock, and he heard her breathe in—a soft, appreciative sound that made his hips twitch. She wrapped her fingers around him, her grip warm and sure, and he felt the calluses on her palms, the roughness of a woman who trained with her hands.
"So beautiful," she murmured, and then she leaned down and took him into her mouth.
The heat of her was overwhelming. Her lips sealed around him, her tongue flat against the underside of his shaft, and she took him deep—deeper than he expected, deeper than he was ready for. His hands found her hair, the soft waves of it, and he gripped it without meaning to, his hips rising to meet her.
She made a sound around him, a low, satisfied hum that vibrated through his entire body, and she pulled back, her tongue tracing the ridge of his head before she took him again, deeper this time. He felt the back of her throat, the tight, hot squeeze of it, and he groaned, his head falling back, his eyes closing.
"No," she said, pulling off him with a wet sound, her hand stroking him slowly. "Eyes open, Kai. I want you to watch."
He forced his eyes open, and she held his gaze as she took him back into her mouth, her lips stretched around him, her throat working as she swallowed him down. The sight of it—the Princess of Sarasaland, her amber eyes locked on his, her mouth full of his cock—was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen, and he felt himself getting close already, too fast, too soon.
"I'm—" he started, but she cut him off, taking him deeper, her nose brushing his belly, her throat opening to take all of him. He felt the convulsive squeeze of her throat around his cock, and he came with a broken sound, his hands gripping her hair, his hips thrusting as he emptied himself down her throat.
She swallowed. He felt it—the rhythmic contractions of her throat, the way she kept him buried inside her until he was spent, the way she pulled off him with a soft, wet sound, licking her lips like she was savoring something sweet.
"Delicious," she said, and her smile was sharp and satisfied. She stood, her gown flowing around her, and she looked down at him—still kneeling, still panting, still reeling from the force of his own climax.
"Now," she said, and she held out her hand. "Come with me. I have something to show you."
He took her hand, and she pulled him to his feet, her grip strong, her eyes bright. She led him through the castle, through corridors lined with tapestries and torchlight, until they came to a heavy oak door bound in iron. She produced the key from her belt and unlocked it, and the door swung open onto a room he hadn't expected.
It was a study. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a large desk sat in the center, covered in maps and papers and strange devices. But what caught his attention was the far wall—a massive, ornate mirror, its surface dark and rippling like water.
"That," Daisy said, nodding toward the mirror, "is a way back to your house. And it's also a way to get back what you lost." She turned to him, her eyes serious. "The woman who drained you—Maria—she took more than your energy, Kai. She took a piece of your anchor. The mirror can help you reclaim it, but only if you're willing to pay the price."
Rift stared at the mirror, feeling the hum in his chest pulse weakly, like a distant heartbeat. "What price?"
Daisy smiled, and it was not a kind smile. "You're going to have to trust me."
And before he could respond, she pushed him through the mirror.
The world dissolved into silver light, and then he was falling—falling through a void that smelled of roses and ozone, until he landed hard on a familiar floor.
His house. The warm, humming house between dimensions. He was home.
He pushed himself to his feet, his head spinning, and found himself in the main living area. The women were there—all of them. Misty, Dawn, Hilda, May, Nemona, Liko, Pan, Bulla, Marron. They were gathered around the fireplace, talking in low voices, and when he appeared, they all turned to look at him.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Misty stepped forward, her cerulean eyes bright, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"You're back," she said. "And you look like you've been through hell."
Rift opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, the others were moving—closing in around him, their hands finding his chest, his shoulders, his arms. The touch of them was overwhelming, a flood of warmth and desire that made his head spin.
"We felt you come back," Dawn said, her sapphire eyes dark with intent. "We felt the hum in our chests answer yours. We've been waiting."
"Waiting for what?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.
Misty smiled, and it was the smile of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. "For you to remember what you left behind." She pushed him down onto the couch, and before he could react, she was straddling him, her hands on his chest, her hips grinding against his.
"You've been gone too long," she murmured, and she leaned down to kiss him—deep, demanding, a kiss that tasted like Cerulean water and summer heat. She pulled his shirt open, her hands finding his skin, and she moaned against his mouth as she felt the anchor pulse beneath her palm.
The others gathered around, their hands on him, their voices soft and hungry. Dawn knelt beside the couch, her fingers finding his belt, and Hilda pressed her body against his side, her mouth on his neck. May hovered at the edge, her amber eyes wide, her lips parted, and Nemona was already stripping off her jacket, her golden eyes blazing with challenge.
"We're going to take care of you," Misty said, pulling back to look at him. "All of us. Together. And when we're done, you're going to remember exactly who you belong to."
She reached down and freed his cock, already hard again, and she positioned herself over him, the heat of her cunt brushing against his shaft. She sank down onto him with a slow, deliberate motion, and he groaned as she took him inside her, her walls clenching around him, hot and tight and perfect.
"That's it," she breathed, riding him slowly, her hips rolling in a rhythm that made his eyes roll back. "That's what we've been missing."
Dawn's hands found his thighs, and she leaned in, her tongue tracing the base of his cock where it disappeared into Misty's cunt. The sensation was overwhelming—Misty's tight heat above him, Dawn's tongue below, Hilda's mouth on his neck, May's hands on his chest. He was surrounded, swallowed, consumed.
Misty rode him harder, her head thrown back, her auburn ponytail swinging, and he felt himself getting close again, too fast, but she didn't slow down. She took what she wanted, her cunt milking him, and when she came with a sharp cry, she pulled off him just in time, his cum spilling onto his stomach.
But there was no time to recover. Dawn was there, her mouth replacing Misty's, taking him deep into her throat, her sapphire eyes locked on his as she swallowed him down. She was more practiced than Misty, more patient, and she worked him with her tongue and her throat until he was hard again, until he was trembling.
"My turn," Hilda said, and Dawn pulled off him with a wet sound, licking her lips. Hilda straddled him, her curvy body pressing against his, and she took him inside her with a single, smooth motion, her gray eyes fluttering closed as she began to ride him.
She was slower than Misty, more deliberate, each roll of her hips a long, drawn-out torment. She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, and she whispered against his ear, "I've been thinking about this since the frozen path. About how you felt inside me. About how you made me feel."
He gripped her hips, thrusting up into her, and she gasped, her rhythm breaking. She came quickly, her body shuddering around him, and he pulled out just in time, his cum spilling onto her thighs.
Hilda slid off him with a satisfied sigh, her thighs glistening, and before Rift could catch his breath, May was there—shy at the edge of the group, her amber eyes flickering between his face and his cock, still slick and hard. She bit her lip the way she always did when she was thinking, and then she stepped forward, her red crop top already discarded somewhere behind the couch.
"I've been waiting," she said softly, and there was something different in her voice—not the hesitant girl from the oasis, but a woman who had spent nights alone in this house thinking about exactly what she wanted. She climbed onto the couch, straddling his hips, and she reached down to guide him to her entrance, her chestnut hair falling around her face like a curtain. "Since the water. Since you claimed me. I've been waiting to feel you inside me again."
She sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch, and Rift groaned at the tight, wet heat of her—different from Hilda, different from Misty, a snugness that made his eyes roll back. May's breath caught as she seated herself fully, her hands braced on his chest, her amber eyes locked on his.
"That's it," she breathed, and she began to move—a gentle, rolling rhythm that built slowly, deliberately, like she was savoring every sensation. Her breasts brushed against his chest with each rock of her hips, and he felt her walls flutter around him, tentative at first, then more confident as she found her pace.
"You feel so good," she whispered, leaning forward to press her lips against his. "So deep. I can feel you in my belly."
He gripped her hips, guiding her rhythm, and she gasped against his mouth, her movements growing faster, needier. The others watched—Misty with her arms crossed and a knowing smile, Dawn with her hand between her own thighs, Hilda sprawled on the floor beside the couch, her fingers tracing lazy circles on her clit. May didn't seem to notice them. She was lost in him, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted, her body moving in a rhythm that was all her own.
"Kai," she moaned, and the sound of his name on her lips made him throb inside her. "I'm close. I'm so close."
He thrust up into her, meeting her rhythm, and she cried out, her body shuddering around him. He felt her clench, felt the hot pulse of her orgasm, and he pulled out just before he came, his cum spilling onto her stomach, mixing with the sweat on her skin.
May collapsed against his chest, panting, her lips pressed to his neck. "Thank you," she whispered, and he didn't know what she was thanking him for—the pleasure, the claim, the fact that he'd chosen her. He just held her, his hand stroking her hair, until she finally slid off him with a soft, reluctant sound.
Before he could speak, Nemona was there—her black and yellow jacket already gone, her crop top following it, her golden eyes blazing with challenge. She didn't climb onto the couch. She pulled him to his feet, her grip strong, and she pushed him down onto the rug in front of the fireplace.
"My turn," she said, and it wasn't a request. She stripped off her cargo shorts, her fingerless gloves already discarded, and she stood over him, naked and fierce, her tan skin glowing in the firelight. "And I don't share."
She knelt over him, her thighs straddling his chest, and she leaned forward, her mouth finding his cock. She took him deep without hesitation, her throat opening to take all of him, and Rift groaned, his hands finding her hips. She was aggressive, demanding, her head bobbing with a rhythm that was almost punishing, and he felt himself getting hard again, faster than he should have.
"Not yet," she said, pulling off him with a wet sound, her hand stroking him slowly. "I want to ride you first. I want to feel you come inside me."
She positioned herself over him, her cunt slick and ready, and she sank down onto him with a single, smooth motion that made them both gasp. She rode him hard, her hips slamming against his, her golden eyes locked on his, and he felt the challenge in her gaze—the need to conquer, to claim, to prove that she was the best.
"You're mine," she growled, leaning forward, her teeth grazing his ear. "When you're inside me, you're mine. Say it."
"I'm yours," he gasped, and she smiled—a sharp, triumphant smile—and she rode him harder, faster, until she came with a cry that echoed off the walls, her body clenching around him. He pulled out just in time, his cum spilling onto her stomach, and she collapsed on top of him, panting, her lips pressed to his.
But there was no time to rest. Liko was there, her strawberry-blonde hair framing her face, her green eyes wide with a mixture of nervousness and desire. She was smaller than the others, more tentative, and she approached him like she was approaching a wild animal—slowly, carefully, her hand outstretched.
"I don't know what to do," she admitted, her voice soft. "I've never done this with someone else. With anyone."
Rift sat up, his hand finding her cheek. "Then let me show you."
He guided her down onto the rug, her body small beneath his, and he kissed her—gentle, patient, a kiss that tasted of first times and nervousness. She responded hesitantly at first, then more boldly, her arms wrapping around his neck, her body arching into his.
"You don't have to be nervous," he murmured against her lips. "Just tell me what feels good."
He moved down her body, his lips tracing a path from her neck to her collarbone to her breasts, and she gasped, her hands finding his hair. He took her nipple in his mouth, sucking gently, and she moaned, her hips rising off the rug.
"That feels good," she whispered, and he smiled against her skin.
He moved lower, his tongue tracing a path down her belly, and when he reached the junction of her thighs, she tensed, her breath catching. He looked up at her, his eyes finding hers.
"I want to taste you," he said. "Is that okay?"
She nodded, her cheeks flushed, and he lowered his mouth to her cunt, his tongue flat against her clit. She gasped, her hands gripping the rug, and he worked her slowly, patiently, until she was trembling, until she was moaning his name, until she came with a sharp cry that she tried to stifle with her own hand.
"Don't hide it," he said, pulling back to look at her. "I want to hear you."
He moved up her body, his cock pressing against her entrance, and he paused, his eyes finding hers. "You're sure?"
She nodded, her green eyes bright with trust. "I'm sure. I want you to be my first."
He pushed into her slowly, carefully, and she gasped, her eyes widening, her body tensing around him. He stilled, giving her time to adjust, and she relaxed slightly, her hands finding his shoulders.
"It hurts a little," she admitted. "But it feels good too. Don't stop."
He moved slowly, gently, each thrust measured and careful, and she began to relax, her body opening to him, her moans growing louder. He could feel her virgin walls gripping him, tight and hot, and he knew he wouldn't last long—not with her, not like this.
"I'm close," she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed. "I feel something—I don't know what—"
"Let it happen," he said, his voice thick. "Let go."
She came with a soft cry, her body shuddering around him, and he felt her clench, felt the hot pulse of her first orgasm, and he pulled out just in time, his cum spilling onto her belly. She lay there, panting, her eyes wide, and she reached down to touch the sticky warmth on her skin.
"Is that what it's supposed to feel like?" she asked, her voice wondering.
He laughed softly, kissing her forehead. "That's exactly what it's supposed to feel like."
But there was no time to rest. Pan was there, her spiky black hair wild, her dark eyes blazing with impatience. She pushed Liko aside—gently, but firmly—and she straddled him, her compact body already slick with sweat.
"You took too long with her," she said, her voice a growl. "I've been waiting."
She sank down onto him without preamble, her tight cunt swallowing him whole, and she rode him hard, her hips slamming against his, her hands braced on his chest. She was fierce, demanding, a warrior taking what she wanted, and Rift groaned, his hands finding her hips.
"That's it," she growled, her head thrown back, her ponytail whipping. "That's what I've been wanting. Since the mall. Since the shower. Since I first saw you."
She came with a shout, her body clenching around him, and he pulled out just as he felt his own climax rising, his cum spilling onto her thighs. But she didn't stop. She reached down, gripping his cock, and she guided him to her mouth, her tongue tracing the head.
"You're not done yet," she said, and she took him deep, her throat opening to swallow him. She worked him with her mouth, her hand stroking the base, until he came again, his cum flooding her throat, and she swallowed every drop.
Bulla was next, her lilac hair immaculate, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. She sauntered over, her purple dress already discarded, her slender body pale in the firelight, and she knelt beside Pan, her hand finding his cock.
"You've been busy," she observed, her voice a purr. "But you're not done yet, are you? I saw the way you looked at me. At the mall. I know you want me."
She leaned down, her tongue tracing the length of him, and she took him into her mouth, her lips sealing around him. She was practiced, deliberate, her head bobbing with a rhythm that was both teasing and demanding, and Rift groaned, his hands finding her hair.
"You taste like the others," she said, pulling off him with a wet sound. "I don't mind. I like sharing."
She straddled him, her cunt slick and ready, and she sank down onto him with a slow, deliberate motion, her eyes locked on his. She rode him with a lazy, confident rhythm, her hips rolling in circles that made his eyes roll back, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear.
"You're going to come inside me," she whispered. "I want to feel it. I want to feel you fill me up."
He thrust up into her, his rhythm matching hers, and she moaned, her head falling back, her body arching. She came with a sharp cry, her walls clenching around him, and he felt himself getting close, too close—
But she didn't pull off. She held him inside her, her hips grinding, and she whispered, "Come inside me. I want it."
He came with a broken groan, his cum flooding her cunt, and she rode him through it, milking every drop, until she finally slid off him with a satisfied sigh, his cum leaking from her thighs.
Marron was last, her turquoise hair cascading down her back, her honey-brown eyes soft with a mixture of nervousness and desire. She approached him slowly, her fitted top already discarded, her curvaceous body bare in the firelight. She was shy, hesitant, but there was a determination in her gaze that hadn't been there before.
"I was a virgin before you," she said, her voice soft. "In the shower. You took that from me. And I've been thinking about it ever since—about how it felt, about how you made me feel." She knelt beside him, her hand finding his cock, still slick from Bulla. "I want you to come inside me this time. I want to feel it. I want to know what it's like to be filled."
He guided her down onto the rug, her body soft beneath his, and he pushed into her slowly, gently, his eyes locked on hers. She gasped, her body tensing, then relaxing, her arms wrapping around his neck.
"That's it," she breathed. "That's what I've been wanting."
He moved slowly, deliberately, each thrust a long, drawn-out torment, and she moaned, her hips rising to meet his. She was tighter than the others, her body still learning, and he could feel every inch of her, every flutter of her walls.
"I'm close," she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed. "I feel it—I feel you—"
She came with a soft cry, her body shuddering around him, and he felt himself getting close, too close, and he buried himself deep inside her, his cum flooding her cunt, filling her, and she moaned, her walls milking him, taking everything he had.
He collapsed on top of her, panting, his forehead pressed to hers, and she smiled, her hand finding his cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."
He rolled off her, lying on his back, his chest heaving, his body spent. The women gathered around him, their hands on his skin, their voices soft and warm, and he felt the anchor in his chest pulse—stronger now, warmer, like it was feeding on the connection, on the desire, on the love.
Misty leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "You're ours," she whispered. "And we're yours. Always."
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he felt whole.