His hands — still loosely cupping both women's breasts on either side of him — stopped moving. Just rested. As if even his hands had paused to appreciate the specific heaven of the current arrangement.
Two warm bodies pressed against his sides, soft breasts against his ribs, their faces tucked against his neck, their wet hair against his jaw, their racing pulses hammering against his skin.
And Rihana's throat around his cock in the water below.
He looked up at the sky.
"I'm going to impregnate all of you," he said, conversationally. To the moon, approximately. "And then leave for the Capital."
The words were delivered with the same register a man uses to announce travel plans.
"Get stronger."
Lira went rigid.
Not gradually — 'immediately', spine locking, head coming up from his shoulder, the bandit captain's composure snapping back into emergency configuration.
"What—" Her voice came out higher than she intended. She worked it back down. "'What?'"
He turned his head.
