Shen Ling hesitated. Her round face was conflicted — the sisterly love and the guilt and the new, confusing devotion warring behind her eyes. Then she nodded.
"I'll send a message," she said.
Both women stood there for a moment, in the quiet of the small house, feeling the phantom sensation of his hands on their bodies, his cock inside them, his qi in their meridians. Shen Yue shifted her weight, pressing her thighs together. The soreness between her legs — the tender, swollen ache from a night of use — pulsed.
Then hands grabbed both their asses.
Both women gasped. Jerked. Spun.
Tianlong stood behind them, his crimson robes immaculate, his gold-crimson eyes warm with amusement. He had been there the whole time — concealed, suppressed, invisible. Listening. Watching. Waiting for the brother to leave.
"You—" Shen Yue started.
