Ethan pushed the front door open with his shoulder, helmet dangling from two fingers, leather jacket still smelling of high-speed wind and gunpowder.
The moment he stepped inside, the entire house wrapped around him like a hug.
Soft golden lamps cast warm pools of light across the open-plan living room.
The air smelled of vanilla candles, fresh milk, and the unmistakable scent of his women.
He stopped dead in the doorway.
On the massive L-shaped sectional, illuminated like a Renaissance painting of pure sin, sat Valentina and Isabella.
Completely naked.
Skin glowing.
Curves on full display.
Valentina reclined against a mountain of pillows, eight months pregnant and more beautiful than ever: belly perfectly rounded, heavy breasts swollen and veined with milk, nipples dark and leaking slow, steady drops that trailed down her chest and pooled in her navel.
Isabella was curled in her lap like a possessive kitten, one arm wrapped around Valentina's waist, lips latched onto her left breast, drinking greedily.
Soft, wet sucking sounds filled the entire hall.
Every swallow audible.
Every drop of milk that escaped the corner of Isabella's mouth glistening on her chin.
Their free hands were busy between each other's thighs:
Valentina's elegant fingers sliding slow and deep into Isabella's soaked pussy.
Isabella's smaller hand doing the same to Valentina, knuckles slick and shining.
Wet, rhythmic sounds mixed with the milk-sucking like the world's most intimate symphony.
The second Isabella sensed him (heart-shaped pupils flaring instantly), she detached with a soft pop, a thin string of milk connecting her lips to Valentina's nipple for a heartbeat before breaking.
She stood, cum and milk both dripping down her inner thighs, and walked to him like she was floating.
No words.
Just took the helmet from his hand, let it fall to the rug, and started peeling his jacket off his shoulders.
Ethan let her.
Shirt next.
Belt.
Jeans.
Until he stood as naked as they were, cock already hard and heavy, pointing straight at her like it knew exactly where home was.
Isabella took his hand, led him to the couch, pushed him down gently between Valentina's open legs.
Then she straddled him, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips.
One hand guided him to her entrance (soaked, swollen, ready).
One slow, deliberate descent.
Warm.
Tight.
Perfect.
She took every inch until her ass rested on his thighs and he was buried to the root, her inner walls fluttering around him in greeting.
She didn't move.
Just wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her forehead to his, and exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for days.
Valentina leaned forward, breasts brushing his arm, and guided his mouth to her free nipple.
"Drink, baby," she whispered. "You've had a long day."
Ethan latched on.
Warm, sweet milk flooded his tongue, rich and creamy, flowing freely.
He swallowed slow and steady, eyes half-lidded, while Isabella held him close, pussy gently clenching in tiny pulses around his cock, like a heartbeat.
No thrusting.
No grinding.
Just three bodies connected in the most intimate way possible:
mouth to breast, cock to pussy, hearts to hearts.
Valentina's hand stroked his hair.
Isabella's fingers traced the scars on his back from today's mission.
Minutes stretched, ten, twenty, thirty.
Milk kept flowing.
Isabella's walls kept fluttering.
The room filled with soft breathing, occasional swallows, and the faint wet sound of Valentina lazily circling her own clit.
Eventually Isabella pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, heart-shaped pupils glowing brighter than ever.
"Welcome home, husband," she whispered, voice thick with love and possession.
Ethan released the nipple with a soft pop, milk still on his lips, and kissed her slow and deep.
Valentina curled against his side, one hand resting on Isabella's back, the other on her own belly.
Their family.
Finally complete.
He stayed exactly where he belonged (buried inside his wife, drinking from his mother, surrounded by love that would burn the world to keep him safe).
Outside, the city could burn.
Inside, everything was perfect.
The first rays of dawn slipped through the half-open silk curtains, painting Liana's bedroom in soft rose-gold light.
The massive king bed was a landscape of tangled white sheets, scattered pillows, and two bodies that hadn't separated since last night.
Aria woke first.
He was still buried completely inside Liana, her walls warm and velvety, gently fluttering around him in her sleep like a heartbeat.
His slender arms were wrapped around her waist, face nestled between her full, heavy breasts, breathing in the faint scent of vanilla and sex that clung to her skin.
One tiny shift of his hips and the sensation hit them both like lightning.
Liana's eyes fluttered open, long dark lashes framing sleepy golden irises.
She smiled before she even spoke, soft, maternal, hungry.
"Good morning, my sweet honey," she whispered, voice husky and thick with leftover pleasure.
Aria's heart actually stuttered.
He looked up at her, violet eyes shimmering with tears he hadn't let fall yet, and answered with everything he had.
"I love you."
Then he pushed deeper, slow and deliberate, watching her pupils blow wide.
Liana's back arched off the mattress, a low, broken moan spilling from her lips as he filled her to the absolute limit.
He started moving: medium, perfect rhythm, not fast, not slow, just enough to make the bed creak softly and the wet sounds of their joining echo through the entire penthouse.
Slap… slap… slap…
Each thrust perfectly timed, skin on skin, his slim hips rolling against her thick, soft thighs.
The room filled with it:
the slick, intimate music of two bodies that belonged together.
Liana's hands roamed everywhere:
one threading through his long silver hair, pulling gently;
the other digging into his lower back, urging him deeper.
"Ahh—ahh—god, you're so deep—right there—don't stop—"
Her legs locked around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, ankles crossed, refusing to let even a millimeter escape.
Aria's pace never faltered: steady, loving, relentless.
Every thrust pushed a soft cry from her throat, her walls fluttering harder, milking him with every stroke.
He leaned down, forehead pressed to hers, violet eyes locked on gold.
"I love you—love you—love you—"
Each confession punctuated by a deep thrust that made her toes curl.
Liana's breath hitched, eyes rolling back for a second before snapping to his again.
"I'm—gonna—cum—!"
She shattered first.
Her whole body seized, walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses, a flood of warmth soaking them both as she came with a broken cry of his name.
The feeling dragged him over the edge.
He buried himself to the root and let go, pulse after thick pulse, filling her so full it leaked out around him in creamy rivulets, painting her thighs and the sheets beneath.
They stayed locked together, trembling, panting, foreheads touching, tears mixing on their cheeks.
When the aftershocks finally slowed, Liana cupped his face with both hands and kissed him.
Not just a kiss:
a slow, deep, soul-melting claim.
Tongues sliding, breath sharing, lips swollen and red, tasting salt and milk and each other.
Minutes passed, five, ten, fifteen, just kissing, still joined, still leaking, still refusing to separate.
When they finally broke apart, only far enough to breathe, Liana smiled against his lips, voice soft and full of wonder.
"Best morning alarm in the entire world."
Aria blushed crimson, hid his face in the crook of her neck, arms tightening around her.
Liana laughed, that rich, velvety laugh that made his whole body shiver, and hugged him tighter.
"Stay inside a little longer, pretty boy…"
She kissed his temple, his cheek, the corner of his eye.
"Mommy's not nearly done with you yet."
And in that quiet, sunlit bedroom, with the city waking up far below,
two broken souls stayed perfectly, completely, irrevocably whole.