Vyrena sat on Akane's chest for another moment, then climbed off. Stood. Looked at the state of her own hands—milk, the overflow, her own arousal. Looked at the ceiling. Made no comment.
Seris materialized a cold formation-cloth from nowhere and pressed it against Akane's forehead with clinical precision, her ice-blue eyes having returned to composed professional. Her other hand, still slick, she tucked behind her back.
Yu Xiang's hand at the base of his cock stroked slowly—once, twice—drawing out the last of it, milking the final throb while his cock began its gradual descent from full erection. Her violet eyes watching this with the focused attention she gave everything.
He fell back.
The bodies caught him—multiple pairs of hands, a cushioning of warmth and softness—and his head landed on—
'Enormous softness. Copper-warm. The smell of her skin.'
Kaira's breast.
