Chapter 25 – Fly Me To The Moon
Having watched SHIELD's efforts to make humanity capable of defending itself, and knowing that I had played a not insignificant part in making it happen, I felt a quiet, unfamiliar pride settle in my chest. It was not the sharp rush that came from power or victory, but something steadier, something that lingered instead of burning out.
I had usually avoided big causes and large organizations for a very simple reason. I did not like responsibility. Having to worry about people I did not personally care about, and about how the consequences of my actions rippled outward to affect them, was not my idea of a good time. It was easier to focus on what was directly in front of me, on people whose faces I knew and whose voices I could hear.
Scion and Earth Bet had influenced me, but only to a point. I did not like that millions had died as a direct consequence of my battle with Scion. I wished they had not. Would I have made the same decisions if I had known exactly what they would cost? I was not sure. But if I were honest with myself, I thought I would have.
At the end of the day, the people of Earth Bet had not meant anything to me personally. They were faceless masses, numbers attached to reports and headlines. I knew a handful of them from the original Worm story, but I had learned, especially here in the MCU, that there was a vast difference between characters on a page and people living out their lives, with fears, hopes, and small routines that never made it into any narrative.
Was it selfish of me? Yes. I had never pretended otherwise, and I had never claimed to be a saint.
I cared far more about the people of the MCU. These were people who knew me, at least by reputation. People who saw me as a rich and powerful hero, who remembered that I had helped save their world from the Chitauri. That connection mattered, even if it was distant and abstract. Not enough that I would be willing to make great, personal sacrifices for them, but enough that, unlike the people of Earth Bet, I did not simply feel indifferent to their suffering.
I did not just not want bad things to happen to them. I actively preferred that they did not.
And even if much of that feeling was rooted in self-interest, I could admit that too. A lot of the comforts and luxuries my peerage and I enjoyed depended on a functional, stable, and thriving society. A world at constant risk of collapse was inconvenient at best and dangerous at worst.
So I wanted them to thrive. Not out of pure altruism, and not because it was my duty, but because it felt right, and because for once, responsibility did not feel like a burden I was being forced to carry.
So I started thinking about what I could do to help, and almost immediately my thoughts circled back to Wakanda.
Under normal circumstances, I would not have cared. I disagreed with their isolationist stance on a fundamental level – history had shown, time and again, that ignoring the wider world did not make it go away. It only ensured that when it finally came knocking, it would do so with far more force than if you had engaged with it on your own terms. Still, disagreement alone was not a justification for interference.
I was a firm believer in one simple principle: you did not owe strangers help. Doing good only had meaning because it was a choice, not an obligation imposed by power or circumstance. Wakanda had chosen secrecy and withdrawal. I thought it was foolish, even dangerously so, but that was their mistake to make. More to the point, they did not have anything I personally wanted. Their vibranium was impressive, but I did not need it. Their technology was advanced, but I already had access to equivalents or better.
Under those conditions, I would have been perfectly content to live and let live, no matter how idiotic I found their policies.
Unfortunately, they did not extend me the same courtesy.
From their perspective, my actions represented an existential threat. By supplying SHIELD and Tony with vibranium, I was accelerating Earth's technological growth in ways that could eventually expose Wakanda's greatest secret. And they were not entirely wrong. Between SHIELD's effectively bottomless black-budget funding – rivaling the GDP of several nations – and Tony being Tony, it was only a matter of time before patterns emerged. Supply chains left traces. Breakthroughs raised questions.
Sooner or later, someone would notice.
And once the wider world realized that Wakanda sat atop the largest known vibranium deposit on the planet, along with technologies decades, if not centuries, beyond everyone else's, there was no scenario in which that revelation ended peacefully. Global superpowers did not react kindly to learning that unimaginable strategic resources had been hoarded while the rest of the world struggled and fought wars with inferior tools.
Wakanda saw that future, and instead of adapting, they panicked.
They struck first.
Not openly, of course. Wakanda was too smart for that. Instead, they began a shadow war – covert operations, deniable assets, quiet assassinations, and sabotage attempts aimed squarely at SHIELD. They tried to disrupt research, eliminate key personnel, and undermine supply lines. On paper, it was a reasonable strategy.
In practice, they were losing. Badly.
SHIELD, reinforced by enhanced agents, alien tech, and Fury's relentless paranoia, was simply too well-prepared. Every probe Wakanda sent was anticipated. Every attempted infiltration was intercepted or fed false information. Every lead that might have revealed the source of the vibranium was carefully poisoned, redirected, or made to disappear entirely.
Fury went above and beyond to ensure that none of those threads led back to me or my peerage.
I knew why.
If Wakanda ever made the mistake of targeting us directly, I would not respond with counterintelligence or political maneuvering. I would step in personally. And between Wakanda's deeply ingrained arrogance and my complete lack of any reason to treat them with patience or restraint, the outcome would be painfully one-sided.
They would not be facing equals, or even rivals.
They would be facing consequences.
I had agreed to let Fury handle Wakanda, and I was not inclined to go back on my word.
Part of it was simple principle. I had given my word, and breaking it would set a precedent I did not like. The rest of it was far more practical. Enforcing my will on a sovereign nation, no matter how justified I felt it might be, was the kind of move that echoed far beyond the immediate problem. It would make some very important people very nervous. People who, while they could not actually hurt me, could still make my life inconvenient in a thousand small but persistent ways.
There was also the matter of goodwill. Stepping in personally would burn a great deal of it, not just with the international community, but with SHIELD and the Avengers as well. Fury tolerated my presence and my power because I respected his lines, because I did not treat Earth like something I owned. The moment I stopped doing that, the relationship changed.
That was a headache I had no desire to invite.
So I looked for another angle.
My second idea was simple.
Up until now, I had only been selling small quantities of vibranium. Small, in a very generous sense of the word. A few hundred thousand tons sounded absurd when you said it out loud, and by any sane metric it was. Before I had entered the picture, Earth's entire known supply had amounted to a single shield strapped to Steve Rogers' arm.
By comparison, what I had given them was staggering.
And yet, once they started using it on an industrial scale, it vanished far faster than anyone would have expected. What felt like an unimaginable stockpile was being burned through in months. Not years. Months.
Natasha had mentioned, almost offhandedly, that the only reason it was lasting even that long was because Fury was deliberately rationing it. Vibranium was being reserved for SHIELD's most advanced projects only, the kind of research that justified every gram. If he had decided to use it everywhere it could be used, even if access was still limited strictly to SHIELD, ten times the amount I had already provided would not have been enough.
And that was before factoring in the rest of the world.
Because Fury was good, but he was not omnipotent. Governments were already circling, applying pressure, asking questions, making demands wrapped in polite language and thinly veiled threats. Everyone wanted access. Everyone wanted their share. Everyone understood, at least on some level, that vibranium was the future.
Energy. Weapons. Infrastructure. Medicine. Transportation.
It touched everything.
No matter how careful Fury was, no matter how tightly he tried to control distribution, the simple reality was that demand was growing faster than supply. Which meant the problem was not Wakanda.
The problem was scarcity.
And unlike politics, secrecy, or centuries of cultural inertia, scarcity was something I could actually solve.
Which was why I had scheduled a meeting with both Fury and Tony.
We were in one of Stark Tower's private conference rooms, the kind Tony reserved for conversations that were either extremely sensitive or extremely strange. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, sunlight glinting off glass and steel, while a low table between us held a decanter of expensive whiskey that Tony had not bothered to hide behind any kind of pretense.
"So, what is this about?" Tony asked, leaning back in his chair, boots propped up on the edge of the table. "You usually just barge in."
I took a slow sip of my whiskey before answering, letting the silence stretch for a moment. It was a bad habit of mine, but I found that people tended to take what you said more seriously if you made them wait for it.
"What would it take to build a space elevator?" I asked.
Fury gave me a look that managed to be several things at once. Suspicion, calculation, and the weary anticipation of an incoming problem all flickered across his face in quick succession. Tony, on the other hand, blinked.
"Can't you teleport everywhere?" Tony asked. Even as he said it, I could see the gears already turning behind his eyes.
"It's not for me." I said calmly. "I have a solution to your dependency on me for vibranium."
That got both of their attention.
"What? Asteroid mining?" Tony said, half joking, a familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Eh, kind of?"
The smirk vanished instantly. His eyes widened, posture shifting as he leaned forward.
"What do you have in mind?" Fury asked.
I shrugged, keeping my tone casual despite the scale of what I was proposing.
"I figured I could make you a big enough chunk that you won't have to worry about running out if I'm not here." I said.
"In space?" Tony said slowly. "How big are we talking here?"
"That depends on you two." I replied. "I'm no physics expert, but I figured about twice the size of the one under Wakanda?"
The room went quiet.
Even saying it out loud made the idea feel obscene. I didn't know exactly how deep the meteor beneath Wakanda went, but Wakanda was still a country. A single, contiguous deposit of vibranium that large had shaped their entire civilization.
Twice that size, even accounting for how light vibranium was, would be equivalent to a mountain the size of Texas hanging in space.
Fury gave me a sharp look, his expression hardening, while Tony let out a low whistle.
"That's planet-altering levels of mass." Tony said. "We are looking at essentially giving Earth a second moon."
He glanced to the side without breaking stride.
"JARVIS?"
A hologram flared to life above the table. Lines of light and shifting projections filled the air, orbital paths intersecting with warning symbols and red highlights. I caught fragments I could understand at a glance, even if the finer math was beyond me. Satellites being torn out of stable orbits. Tidal forces spiking unpredictably. Coastal cities flooded, ports destroyed, entire ecosystems disrupted.
In other words, catastrophic consequences.
I exhaled slowly.
"The closest we could place it and not cause massive damage would be well past the moon." Tony continued, his tone already deep into problem-solving mode. "Anything closer and we start rewriting the planet's geology."
I grimaced.
"I don't suppose the space program has gotten good enough to get there in a reasonable amount of time, has it?" I asked.
Tony went quiet, eyes unfocusing as his mind spun through possibilities. For a moment, the room was filled only with the faint hum of the hologram projector and the distant sounds of the city far below us.
"I could build something that could get that far in three days." He said finally. "Less, if it was unmanned."
Fury didn't look impressed.
"We wouldn't be able to react if it was attacked." He pointed out. "Not in time."
I leaned back, considering it. The idea was ambitious, bordering on reckless, but that had never really stopped humanity before.
"A permanent settlement?" I suggested. "With Pym Particles, storing supplies wouldn't be an issue."
Tony's eyes lit up immediately, the way they always did when a problem transformed into an engineering challenge.
"It could work." He said. "We could automate most of the work. Mining, refining, transport. Minimal human exposure."
"How about an AI?" I asked. "We don't need humans operating it."
Fury shook his head without hesitation.
"Too risky." He said. "If we're doing this, I want people I can trust overseeing it."
I nodded. That was fair. Trust was a currency Fury valued even more than firepower.
We talked for the next hour, the discussion shifting from raw feasibility to logistics, redundancies, and contingencies. Tony grew more animated by the minute, sketching concepts into the air as he talked about propulsion systems, modular habitats, and orbital defense platforms. Fury, in contrast, focused on the political side of things. Jurisdiction. Oversight. How to sell the idea to governments without triggering mass panic or a dozen competing claims of ownership.
It would take months to put everything into motion. Months of planning, negotiation, and preparation. And then, when the time came, I would expend over half of my reserves to create the vibranium asteroid itself, a silent monument hanging beyond the moon.
In the decades that followed, the resources extracted from it would become foundational. They fueled humanity's first true steps beyond Earth, shaping ships, stations, and technologies that carried them into the wider universe.
And my name went down in history as one of the key figures who made it happen.
I wasn't the only one who enjoyed it when I was feeling driven. All three of my girls had made mention of how I was acting differently, and they clearly liked this new version of me.
Case in point, Wanda and Petra ambushing me in the shower.
The steam curled thick around us, turning the marble-tiled shower into something hazy and dreamlike. Hot water drummed steadily against my shoulders and back, sluicing down in rivulets that caught the low golden light from the overhead fixtures. I had my eyes closed, head tipped back, letting the heat loosen the last knots of tension from the day – until I felt the cool draft of the glass door sliding open behind me.
I didn't turn. I didn't need to.
Two sets of hands found me at once.
Petra pressed herself to my back first – breasts soft and warm against my spine, nipples already hard from the sudden shift in temperature. Her arms snaked around my waist, one palm flat against my stomach while the other slid lower, fingers curling loosely around my cock like she was claiming territory she already owned. She nipped at my shoulder blade, sharp enough to sting.
"Missed you," she murmured, voice playful but edged with that familiar hunger. "You've been strutting around like you own the place all week."
Before I could answer, Wanda slipped in front – smaller, quieter, but no less intent. Water plastered her dark hair to her neck and shoulders; droplets clung to her lashes as she looked up at me with those wide, hazel eyes that always seemed to see straight through every layer I tried to keep up. She didn't speak at first. She just rose on her toes, cupped my face with both hands, and kissed me slow and deep – like she was drinking me in.
I groaned into her mouth, hands finding her hips automatically, thumbs brushing the sharp jut of her hipbones. Petra chose that moment to stroke me once, firm and deliberate, and my hips jerked forward on instinct.
Wanda broke the kiss with a soft, breathless laugh against my lips. "See?" she whispered. "You're different. Bolder. Hungrier." Her fingers trailed down my chest, nails dragging lightly over wet skin. "We've been talking about it. About how much we like this version of you."
Petra hummed agreement against my neck, teeth grazing the tendon there. "You used to hold back. Now you just… take." Her hand tightened around me, stroking again – slow, teasing. "We want more of that."
I opened my eyes fully then, looking down at Wanda while Petra kept working me from behind. Water streamed over all three of us, turning their skin slick and gleaming. Wanda's gaze never wavered; there was heat there, yes, but also something softer – trust, maybe even pride.
I caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. "You sure you want more?" My voice came out rougher than I intended. "Because if I stop holding back tonight, I'm not stopping until both of you are shaking and begging."
Wanda's pupils dilated. She licked her lips once, slow. "Promise?"
Petra laughed low in my ear, the sound vibrating through my back. "Told you he'd bite."
I moved fast – maybe faster than they expected.
One hand slid into Wanda's wet hair, fisting gently but firmly enough to tilt her head back. I kissed her again – harder this time, all teeth and tongue – while my other hand reached behind me to grip Petra's thigh, hitching her leg up around my hip so I could feel how soaked she already was, arousal mixing with the shower water.
Petra gasped when my fingers found her clit – swollen, slippery, begging. I circled once, twice, then pressed down with steady pressure. She bucked against my hand with a sharp curse in Sokovian.
Wanda whimpered into my mouth when I broke the kiss to drag my lips down her throat. "On your knees," I told her, voice low. Not a request.
She sank immediately – graceful even in the steam – until she was eye-level with my cock. Petra's hand was still wrapped around me, stroking lazily, and Wanda leaned in without hesitation. Her tongue flicked out first – teasing the tip – then she took me into her mouth in one slow, deliberate slide.
The heat, the suction, the way her eyes flicked up to meet mine while she hollowed her cheeks – it punched the air out of my lungs.
Behind me, Petra ground herself against my fingers, riding my hand shamelessly. "Fuck – look at her," she breathed. "She's so good for you."
I thrust shallowly into Wanda's mouth – testing – then deeper when she moaned around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. My free hand tangled in her hair again, guiding her rhythm while I kept working Petra with quick, firm circles over her clit.
Petra came first – fast and messy – thighs clamping around my wrist as she cried out, forehead dropping to my shoulder. Her nails dug into my sides hard enough to leave crescent marks.
I didn't let up on Wanda. I pulled her off me with a wet pop, hauled her to her feet, and spun her so her back was to my chest. One arm banded around her waist; the other slid between her thighs from behind. She was drenched – more than just water – and when I pushed two fingers inside her she arched with a broken moan.
"Petra," I said over her shoulder, voice dark. "On your knees. Taste her."
Petra didn't hesitate. She dropped in front of Wanda, hands on her thighs, spreading them wider. The first swipe of her tongue made Wanda's knees buckle; I held her up, fingers curling inside her, thumb finding her clit while Petra licked and sucked with greedy little noises.
Wanda's head fell back against my shoulder. "Millicas – please –"
I kissed the side of her neck. "Come for us," I told her. "Then I'm fucking you both until you can't stand."
She shattered seconds later – silent at first, then a raw, trembling cry as her walls pulsed hard around my fingers. Petra kept licking through it, drawing it out until Wanda was shaking, oversensitive, weakly pushing at both our heads.
I eased my fingers free, turned Wanda in my arms, and kissed her softly – contrasting the roughness of moments before. She melted against me, boneless.
Petra rose, licking her lips, eyes glittering. "Your turn to take what you want," she said, stepping closer until her breasts brushed my chest. "No holding back."
I looked between them – flushed, dripping, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I smiled – slow, predatory.
"Bed," I said. "Now."
Neither of them argued.
I led them out of the bathroom like that – Wanda on my left, Petra on my right – my hands firm on the smalls of their backs, guiding without needing to push. Water still dripped from our skin, trailing dark spots across the cool tile floor of the suite. The moonlight had shifted; now it slanted through the half-open curtains in wide silver bands that cut across the massive bed, turning the white sheets almost luminescent.
They climbed onto the mattress without a word – knees sinking into the plush duvet, bodies glistening, eyes locked on me with that perfect mix of anticipation and surrender. I stayed standing at the foot of the bed for a moment, just looking. Two beautiful women, flushed and wet and waiting for me. My cock throbbed visibly between us, still hard from the shower, still aching.
"On your knees," I said, voice low and even. "Side by side. Press your tits together for me."
They moved instantly. Wanda and Petra knelt facing each other first, then turned toward me, shoulders brushing. Wanda's breasts were fuller, softer; Petra's were pert and high. They leaned in until their chests met – nipples brushing, skin sliding slick from the shower – and cupped their own breasts, pushing them together to create a perfect, warm channel right at the level of my hips.
I stepped forward, braced one knee on the edge of the mattress, and slid my cock between them.
The heat was immediate, overwhelming – soft flesh enveloping me, slick from water and their own arousal. They both gasped at the contact. I gripped the base of my shaft for a second, guiding myself deeper into that tight, plush valley, then let go and let them take over.
"Hold them tight," I ordered. "Squeeze me like you mean it."
Petra moaned first – low and greedy – and pressed harder, her fingers digging into the soft undersides of her breasts. Wanda followed, matching the pressure, and suddenly I was surrounded by perfect, yielding heat. They started to move together – slow rocks at first, then steadier glides – sliding their tits up and down my length in perfect sync.
"Fuck," I breathed, hands coming to rest on their shoulders for balance. "Look at you. My girls. My perfect fucking girls."
Petra looked up at me through wet lashes, lips parted. "Yours," she whispered, voice rough.
Wanda's cheeks were scarlet, but she nodded, eyes glassy. "Always."
I thrust shallowly between them – slow, deliberate – watching the way their breasts molded around me, the way their nipples dragged against my shaft with every pass. The friction was exquisite, almost too much.
"You know what makes this even hotter?" I said, voice dropping darker. "How wrong it is. How filthy. Sisters sharing my cock like this. Pressing your pretty tits together so I can fuck them. Letting me watch you taste each other after. That incestuous little secret between you… it drives me insane."
Petra whimpered, hips twitching like she was trying to grind against nothing. Wanda bit her lip hard enough to leave a mark, but she didn't look away – she just squeezed tighter, moved faster.
"You love it too, don't you?" I pressed. "Love knowing you're both mine. Love knowing I get to ruin you together. Love knowing every time you kiss each other, you're tasting me on her tongue."
"Yes," Wanda gasped, the word almost a sob.
Petra's rhythm faltered for a second—she was close again, just from the words and the pressure against her chest. "Fuck – Millicas – please –"
I sped up, thrusting harder now, the head of my cock bumping their chins on every upstroke. They tilted their heads back slightly, mouths open, tongues flicking out to catch the tip whenever it emerged – teasing licks, soft kitten kisses against the slit.
That was it.
Pleasure coiled tight and snapped.
I came with a low, guttural groan – thick ropes spilling across their pressed-together breasts, painting pale skin in white streaks that gleamed under the moonlight. Some caught their chins, their lips; the rest dripped slowly down the valley between them.
They didn't stop moving until I was spent – milking every last pulse out of me with soft, slick glides.
When I finally pulled back, breathing hard, they turned to each other without needing to be told.
Petra moved first – leaning in to lick a slow stripe up the side of Wanda's breast, gathering my release on her tongue. Wanda shuddered, then mirrored her – tongue dragging across Petra's collarbone, collecting every drop she could reach. They met in the middle, mouths crashing together in a deep, filthy kiss – tongues sliding, sharing me back and forth, moaning into each other's mouths like they were starving.
I watched, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and twitching at the sight.
They broke apart only when they'd licked each other clean—lips swollen, chins shiny, eyes dazed and dark with satisfaction.
Petra looked at me first, licking her bottom lip slow. "More?"
Wanda reached out, fingers brushing my thigh. "Please."
I smiled – slow again, predatory.
"On your backs," I said. "Legs spread. We're nowhere near finished."
They obeyed instantly, lying back side by side – thighs parted, glistening, waiting.
Moonlight spilled over them like a blessing.
And I climbed onto the bed between them, ready to give them everything they'd begged for.
I moved between them on the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight as I settled over Wanda first. She was already trembling – eyes wide and dark, lips parted, chest rising fast from the earlier intensity. I braced myself on one forearm beside her head, using the other hand to guide myself to her entrance. She was soaked, swollen from everything we'd done so far, and when the head of my cock nudged inside her she gasped, thighs falling open wider in silent invitation.
"Easy," I murmured, kissing her softly as I pushed in slow – inch by inch – letting her feel every ridge, every stretch. Her walls fluttered around me immediately, hot and tight, and I groaned low against her mouth. "You feel so fucking perfect."
She whimpered, hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging in just enough to sting. I started to move – long, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her. No rush. Just deliberate, steady rhythm designed to build her up slowly. Her hips rolled up to meet me on every thrust, chasing it, and I angled my hips until I was grinding right against that spot that made her breath hitch.
"Millicas – " Her voice cracked on my name.
I kissed her again – deeper this time – while one hand slid between us. My thumb found her clit, circling in slow, firm strokes that matched the roll of my hips. She arched hard, a sharp cry muffled against my lips as the first orgasm hit her. Her walls clamped down like a vise, pulsing around me in rhythmic waves that nearly dragged me over the edge with her. I didn't stop. I kept thrusting through it – slow, deep – drawing it out until she was shaking, gasping, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes.
"Good girl," I whispered against her ear. "Give me another."
I sped up just enough – harder now, but still controlled – thumb pressing firmer on her clit. She came again almost immediately, back bowing off the mattress, a raw sob tearing from her throat. I didn't let up. I fucked her through the second, then the third – each one crashing harder than the last, her body locking tight around me, thighs trembling uncontrollably. By the fourth she was babbling – my name, pleas, broken little sounds – completely lost to it.
When I finally felt my own release building – coiling hot and tight at the base of my spine – I buried myself as deep as I could go and came with a low, guttural groan. Heat flooded her in thick pulses; she shuddered one last time, milking every drop as her walls fluttered weakly around me.
I stayed inside her for a long moment, kissing her softly while she trembled through the aftershocks – forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged.
Then I eased out – slow, careful – and turned to Petra.
She was watching us with glassy, hungry eyes, one hand already between her own thighs, fingers circling her clit in lazy, desperate strokes. When I moved over her she spread her legs wide without hesitation, hooking them around my waist and pulling me down.
"Fuck me like that," she breathed, voice wrecked. "Don't hold back."
I didn't.
I thrust into her in one smooth, deep stroke – bottoming out hard enough to make her cry out. She was even tighter after watching, slick and greedy, walls gripping me like she never wanted to let go. I set a faster pace from the start – hard snaps of my hips that drove the breath from her lungs every time I bottomed out.
Her nails raked down my back. "Yes – harder –"
I gave it to her. Deep, relentless thrusts that rocked the headboard against the wall. One hand pinned her wrists above her head; the other slid between us, fingers finding her clit and rubbing fast, merciless circles. She came almost instantly – back arching, a sharp scream ripping from her throat as she clenched around me like a fist.
I didn't slow down.
I fucked her through the first, then the second – angling to hit that spot inside her that made her eyes roll back. By the third she was sobbing, thighs shaking, begging incoherently. I kept going – harder, deeper – until the fourth hit her like a storm: body seizing, walls spasming so hard it nearly pushed me out. I growled low in my throat and slammed home one last time, coming deep inside her with a rough groan, flooding her until it leaked out around me with every slow grind of my hips.
When I finally stilled, chest heaving, I eased out carefully and collapsed between them – Wanda on my left, Petra on my right – our bodies slick with sweat and release.
For a long minute there was only the sound of our breathing – ragged, slowing – and the distant crash of waves outside the open balcony doors.
Wanda curled into my side first, head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. Petra mirrored her on the other side, fingers tracing lazy patterns across my stomach.
They were wrecked – limbs heavy, eyes half-lidded, small satisfied smiles playing on their lips.
Then Petra lifted her head slightly, gaze drifting down my body. Her eyes widened a fraction.
"Millicas…"
I followed her look.
My cock – still hard, still glistening with them – was twitching against my stomach, ready for more.
Wanda noticed next. A soft, breathless laugh escaped her. "You're not even tired."
Petra reached down, fingers brushing the length of me – light, teasing. "We're exhausted," she said, voice hoarse but amused. "And you're still looking at us like you could go all night."
I caught her wrist, brought her hand to my lips, kissed her knuckles.
"I could," I said simply, voice low and certain. "If you want me to."
They exchanged a look – tired, sated, but still sparking with that same hunger.
Wanda pressed a slow kiss to my shoulder. "Give us five minutes," she murmured. "Then… yes."
Petra grinned, already shifting closer. "Make it two."
Moonlight kept spilling across the bed, cool and endless.
And none of us were going anywhere