ttznovel Chapter 315: Look at You
Chapter 315: Look at You
Victor roared, his hips slamming flush against her ass as he emptied himself deep inside her ass alongside Ivan, their combined seed flooding her stretched hole. Ivan groaned, his hips jerking wildly as he came deep inside her ass. Damien shuddered violently, painting her thigh with another thick stripe. Lucan swallowed her scream, his purr a satisfied earthquake vibrating through her chest as he sucked harder, drawing milk mixed with her sweat.
Ivan lifted her clear of the water again. Her body hung there dripping, cum-filled, milk-slicked, ruined in the best way. She was momentarily aware only of the impossible size still buried deep inside her cunt and ass, the rough reverence of Ivan’s hold on her hips, the way his scarred thumbs pressed circles into her hipbones like he was memorising her shape.
Lucan’s mouth never left her breast.
Damien’s hands slid over her soaked back, cupping her ass cheeks, his clawed fingertips tracing the obscene stretch where Victor and Ivan remained buried.
Voss leaned in from behind, his wolf tongue broad and hot against her neck, licking sweat and milk from her pulse point, whispering filthy praise she could barely process
"Perfect little fox," he murmured against her throat. "Taking all of us. Look at you."
She whimpered.
Exile was last. Still buried deep with both cocks. He pulled back slowly, agonisingly letting her feel every ridge of both shafts dragging against her oversensitized, stretched walls. Then, with devastating, unhurried force, he slammed back in, hitting both cocks simultaneously.
Felicity sobbed. Her body jerked uncontrollably against the wall of men holding her. He repeated it, slow withdrawal, brutal re-entry, a methodical worship that had her cumming again in dry, shuddering waves, her cunt weakly fluttering around his monstrous invasion. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, drawing blood, holding on as he fucked her with relentless, consuming possession. His gaze never blinked. His coils tightened fractionally around her thigh, a reflex, not a request. Mine. The eucalyptus and rosemary rolling off his scales mixed with the heavy musk of sex until she couldn’t breathe anything else.
Throughout the brutal symphony of her ravaging, the edge of the bank was a constant pull. She couldn’t see it past the blindfold. But Felicity felt Dimitri there, his gravity a physical ache against her awareness. She heard the slow, ragged drag of his breathing, the sharp, bitten-off curse when Exile first shoved his second cock into her overflowing cunt, the low, animal groan ripped from him when Ivan pushed into her ass alongside Victor. She felt the blistering heat of his stare, hotter than the water, branding her somewhere deeper than skin. He was not in the water. He had not moved. But the frantic, slick rhythm of his fist on his cock echoed the brutal pace inside her; she could hear it, the wet sound of his hand working himself, faster, harder. He hadn’t looked away for a single second.
The stream settled around them, thick with the smell of sex and copper and the green mineral tang of the water. The men arranged themselves around her, spent but possessive.
Lucan’s purr softened to a low rumble against Felicity’s breast, his mouth gentling on her nipple, tongue laving instead of sucking.
Victor’s arm remained an iron band around her waist, his softening cock still nestled beside Ivan’s within her stretched asshole.
Exile slowly withdrew his twin cocks from her ruined, gaping cunt, a flood of cum and her own slickness following, spilling into the water in obscene ribbons.
She leaned back against Victor’s chest, utterly boneless. Filled beyond capacity. Milk is still leaking from her bruised, swollen nipples. Her cunt and asshole throbbing and gaping and used.
She reached up with trembling fingers and pulled the blindfold loose.
Dim light returned. She blinked, her vision swimming, the world resolving in soft watercolour shapes before sharpening.
She looked to the bank.
Dimitri stood where he had stood the entire time. Fully dressed. His arms no longer crossed. His dark red gaze met hers across the water, intense, consuming, stripped of every defence she’d ever seen him wear. His expression wasn’t frustration or denied hunger. It was deeper. Hotter. A possessive pride burned in the hard lines of his face, mixed with something that looked terrifyingly close to awe. His chest heaved. His knuckles were white where he gripped his still-hard, glistening cock, the thick length flushed dark and dripping.
She held his gaze. Her own exhausted, trembling, claimed to hold a power she hadn’t expected to find. Felicity felt it in her chest, in the way every man around her stilled when she looked at Dimitri, in the way the air between them bent like heated metal.
After a moment, he moved. He walked to the very edge of the water, crouched on the pale stones with the grace of something predatory and patient, and reached out one hand. Palm up. Wrist resting above the surface. His cock bobbed heavily between his thighs, thick and flushed and leaking a clear strand onto the stone beneath him.
She reached back. Her arm trembled so badly that the motion was more collapse than intention.
Her fingers found his across the gap. His hand closed around hers immediately, certain, firm, possessive. His thumb stroked across her knuckles once, twice, a gentleness that cracked against the filthy reality of what he’d just watched. His breathing was ragged, loud in the sudden quiet, the sound of a man holding onto control by threads so thin they should have snapped hours ago. The slick, frantic sound of his fist pumping his cock resumed. Faster. Harder. Echoing off the water.
"Good?" he rasped, the word rough, primal, meant only for her. His gaze burned into hers, demanding the truth of her utter wreckage.
Her chest tightened. Something flooded through her that was bigger than exhaustion, bigger than the throbbing ache between her legs, bigger than the stretch still inside her. She saw the desperate tension in his jaw. The furious rhythm of his fist. The way his thumb kept stroking her knuckles was so gentle, so impossibly gentle, while the rest of him was a barely contained detonation.