"Why... is it only one inch... inside...?"
Three men blinked when they heard—a protest?
Cecilia pouted, her voice already breathless and petulant.
Oathran gasped above her, his arms trembling where they bracketed her shoulders. Sweat beaded at his temple, and his slit pupils had blown wide, black swallowing grey as he held himself in rigid, painful control. "What do you mean? We can't go further than this... or I..."
"Be good..." Eastiel murmured warmly against her ear as he pressed himself against her side. His fingers had slipped between her thighs, tracing slow, patient circles around her most sensitive spot while Oathran remained buried just barely inside her.
The dual sensation made her squirm. Oathran's shallow, pulsing presence stretching her entrance, Eastiel's clever fingers working her with the exact pressure she liked. "Don't worry, we can pleasure you some other way too..."
