Sunny's chest still heaved with ragged breaths, the aftershocks of release fading slowly as the dining hall's distant chatter washed over them like background noise. His untouched plate sat cooling in front of him; Nephis's bowl was nearly empty, only a thin film of gray broth and a few stray shreds of meat left clinging to the sides.
He watched her take the last deliberate spoonful, silver eyes calm and unreadable, as though she hadn't just ridden him to mutual climax in the middle of a crowded room.
Then he leaned in again, voice barely above a whisper.
"Stand."
Nephis paused mid-chew, spoon hovering. She met his gaze—curious, not resistant—and rose smoothly from his lap. The subtle shift of her hips made a final warm trickle escape her cunt, sliding down the inside of her thigh beneath the armor before being wicked away by the lining.
Sunny picked up her nearly empty bowl with one hand. With the other he guided her hips forward until she stood directly in front of him, thighs parted just enough under the table's cover. He positioned the bowl beneath her crotch, tilting it upward so the rim hovered inches from where her armor plates met at the groin seam.
"Push," he murmured.
Nephis blinked once—confusion flickering across her usually impassive features—then understanding dawned. A faint flush crept up her throat, the first real crack in her composure all evening.
She didn't speak. Didn't protest.
She simply flexed her inner muscles.
A thick, slow gush answered.
Litre upon litre of Sunny's earlier release—still warm, viscous, heavy with the unnatural volume granted by Bloodweave—poured out of her in a steady, obscene stream. It splashed into the bowl with soft, wet plops, mixing with the remnants of stew until the gray broth turned creamy white. The pomegranate scent bloomed instantly—sweet, tart, intoxicating—rising between them like forbidden perfume. The bowl filled rapidly, surface rippling, until it brimmed again, now mostly his cum with only faint traces of the original meal swirling through it.
Nephis stared down at the contents for a long second, silver eyes dark with something unnameable—shame, arousal, possessive satisfaction all tangled together.
Sunny set the bowl back in front of her spot without a word.
He sat back, arms folded, mismatched eyes fixed on her face.
Nephis lowered herself onto the bench again—slow, deliberate. She picked up the spoon. Dipped it into the cum-heavy mixture. Brought it to her lips.
The first taste hit her tongue: thick, salty-sweet, unmistakably him. The pomegranate flavor coated her mouth, rich and heady, warmer than the stew had ever been. She swallowed without flinching.
Sunny watched every movement—every slow glide of her throat, every subtle press of her lips around the spoon—like a man starved.
She took another spoonful.
Then another.
The bowl emptied steadily, methodically. By the time she scraped the last viscous traces from the sides, her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose, pupils blown wide, breathing just a fraction shallower than before.
Sunny leaned close one last time, voice rough and reverent.
"Dessert."
Nephis set the empty bowl down with perfect calm.
She turned her head, met his gaze, and—very slowly—licked the last lingering drop from the corner of her lower lip.
No words.
Just that small, deliberate gesture.
Then she rose, armor plates shifting with a faint metallic sigh, and started toward the hall exit without looking back.
Sunny stayed seated for several long seconds, heart hammering, cock already stirring again beneath his armor despite the exhaustion.
Finally he stood—legs unsteady—and followed her.
The pomegranate scent trailed behind them both like a claim no one else in the hall could smell.
But they both knew.
Dinner was over.
The night had only just begun.