His grip tightened in both women's hair.
Eliantra remained behind him, ass raised in the silver light, her holes breathing — winking, leaking, the patient preparation of a body that had been thoroughly claimed and knew, with the dumb certainty of marked things, that the man who had marked her would return to what was his.
She pushed her hips back slightly.
Just slightly.
'Waiting.'
Rihana's tongue worked up his shaft and Senna's worked down and they met in the middle and both of them looked up at him with the 'we are here, we are yours, we are not going anywhere' eyes of women who had stopped performing and started meaning it.
The moonlight held everything equally.
The night had runway.
Viktor breathed.
'Soon, Elena,' he thought. 'I am already on the way after done with your mother.'
Viktor ran a hand through his hair.
