Luna's fairy-light paradise should've been a sanctuary for just us. Should've been our gentle space where I could stop performing and she could heal me with soft touches and medical facts whispered between kisses.
But my women had other plans. They always did.
It started maybe an hour after Luna had fallen asleep on my chest, her bare breasts soft and warm against my skin, one leg thrown over mine so her slick, still-sensitive pussy pressed lightly against my thigh, the faint musk of our earlier lovemaking lingering between us.
Her breathing was even and content, nipples still faintly peaked from the cool air and the memory of my mouth.
The door—which we'd left cracked because privacy was a joke in this estate—pushed open slowly.
Emma padded in first, wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts that hit her mid-thigh, the thin cotton doing fuck-all to hide how her heavy tits swayed free underneath, nipples dark and stiff against the fabric from the night chill.
