The garden filled with the specific textured warmth of an enclosed space containing too much life and heat and motion and all of it pointed at one man.
His cock pulsed against Mira's walls. His tail worked. Olivia's mouth moved. Everyone was making some kind of sound.
Viktor looked at the garden ceiling — the trailing jasmine, Helena's green, the morning light threading through it in gold columns.
"I know," he said, to no one and everyone, "it might sound rude."
Mira stopped moving.
Her green eyes found his immediately.
He continued, in the same observational tone he used for logistics and weather: "But you're all—" He found the word. "—'Sluts.' When it comes to keeping me aroused until my balls are completely empty."
The water went still.
Every pair of hands stopped.
Olivia lifted her head. Her golden eyes blinked once, twice, processing.
Elara's tail uncurled from his wrist.
Bella's hand, below the water, went very still.
