Kouhei hammered his hips faster against Chihiro, the cadence of his pelvis a hard, driving drum while his fingers pressed insistently into Kyouka's drenched core. Each stroke was measured—urgent, but precise—like he was trying to thread three heartbeats into one rhythm.
Above them, the meters climbed. Chihiro's and Kyouka's bars were racing upward, already brushing the eighties—hot, precarious, ready to spill. Kouhei's own meter lagged behind at about sixty percent, a stubborn dip that made his jaw tighten.
If nothing changed, the two girls would crest before him. In most ordinary sex that might be fine—women can cascade through repeated climaxes—but this wasn't ordinary. If their peaks arrived out of sync, the Love Link could stutter, the meters scramble, and the whole thing might fail. The risk scraped at him like a cold hand. He had to make them climax with him. At the same instant.
