Chapter 652 - 651- Surprise!

Chapter 652: Chapter 651- Surprise!

"We missed you," Helena whispered. Her brown eyes were spilling. Tears ran down her cheeks, over the laugh lines, onto his chest. The maternal woman — the nanny who had raised him, who had changed his diapers, who had held him as a child — was crying against his adult body.

"Where were you?" Mira’s voice cracked. "Where were you, you bastard—"

Viktor chuckled. The sound vibrated through his chest, through their bodies pressed against him.

"It’s just been a month," he said.

"A MONTH?!" Mira pulled back. Her green eyes blazed. Tears still falling. "A month of — of TAXATION DISPUTES and DUNGEON MANAGEMENT and ARMY THREATS and — and SHAVING MY—"

She stopped. Looked down. Remembered she was naked from the waist down. Her shaved, puffy, swollen pussy was directly visible. She had been mid-sprint, mid-breakdown, mid-everything, and her bare cunt was on full display.

She didn’t cover it. Her perverted nature wouldn’t let her. Instead, her thighs pressed together — not hiding, squeezing.

Viktor’s eyes dropped. Found her pussy. The shaved, clean, puffy slit — the lips swollen with pregnancy, the pink flesh glistening with a thin sheen of arousal that her body had been producing since the moment she heard his voice.

"Good girl," he said. His eyes came back up. "You shaved."

Mira’s face went crimson. Her thighs squeezed tighter.

Helena nuzzled his chest. Her face pressed into the fabric of his shirt, her breath warm, her tears wet. "I helped," she said quietly. The maternal voice. The steady voice. But the trembling in it betrayed her.

Viktor walked them backward. Both women clinging, both stumbling, both thick-bodied and pregnant and unable to walk straight because their husband was between them and their legs were weak. The back of his knees hit the bed — the king-sized bed, freshly made, the sheets clean, the pillows fluffed.

He sat.

Both women climbed.

Mira on his right. Helena on his left. Their thick bodies settling onto his lap — their asses pressing against his thighs, their bellies resting against his stomach, their tits pressing into his chest. The weight of two pregnant women on one man’s lap should have been uncomfortable. It wasn’t. His enhanced body — the 100x physical boost from Evriana’s Catorian bloodline — held them without strain.

Mira’s hands found his shirt. Her fingers — trembling, clumsy, the perverted MILF suddenly reduced to a nervous girl — worked the buttons. One. Two. Three. His chest emerged — pale, lean, defined. She pressed her lips to it. Kissed the skin. Tasted him. Salt. Sweat. The faint remnant of something else — something coppery, something feminine, something that wasn’t her.

Helena kissed his neck. Her lips found his pulse point. Her mouth opened against the skin, her tongue tracing the line of his throat. The nanny who had once fed him from a bottle was now tasting his neck like a starving woman.

"I missed you," Helena whispered against his throat. "I missed you so much."

"Missed you too," Mira mumbled against his chest. Her lips moved over his skin as she spoke, leaving wet trails. "Every night. Every single night. The bed was so empty—"

"Did you sleep on my side?" Viktor asked.

"Both of us," Mira admitted. "We shared your pillow. It still smelled like you."

Helena’s hands joined Mira’s. Both women working his shirt — pulling it open, sliding it off his shoulders, exposing his upper body. Their hands roamed. Mira’s fingers traced his collarbone. Helena’s palm flat against his abdomen, feeling the muscle beneath.

Viktor leaned back. His hands found their bodies — one on Mira’s hip, one on Helena’s thigh. He let them explore. Let them touch. Let them relearn the body they had been missing for a month.

Mira’s hand moved down. Over his chest. Over his stomach. Her fingers found the waistband of his pants. She didn’t stop. Her perverted nature surged back — the tears and the vulnerability giving way to the woman who had been craving him. Her palm pressed against his crotch. Over the fabric. She felt it — the thick, heavy length beneath. Her fingers curled around the outline.

"Miss me?" Viktor asked. His voice dropped. Lower. Warmer. The incubus resonance threading through it. "Or miss my cock?"

Mira’s hand squeezed. Her fingers tightened around the outline of his shaft through the fabric. She felt it twitch. Felt it stir. Felt the first pulse of blood entering the tissue.

"Were you busy with other women?" she asked. Her voice was quiet. The perverted flirtation was there, but beneath it — beneath the teasing — was something raw. Something scared. Something that needed to hear the answer.

Viktor looked at her. His eyes were calm. Honest. Amused.

"Yeah," he said. "You know. There are so many pussies."

Mira’s hand trembled on his cock. The words hit her — the casual admission, the flat confirmation that he had been inside other women while she was here, managing taxes and raising his son and carrying his child. Her perverted mind should have been turned on. Part of it was. But another part — the part that had been sleeping on his pillow — cracked.

She pulled her hand from his crotch. Bent down. Her lips found his knee. She kissed it. A submissive, small, un-Mira-like gesture. Her black hair fell over his thigh.

"Did you forget about us?" she whispered. Against his knee. Not looking up.

Viktor’s hand found her chin. Lifted her face. Her green eyes — wet, red-rimmed, scared — met his.

"Do you really think that?" he asked.

Mira looked at him. At the calm in his eyes. At the amusement. At the warmth beneath the amusement — the ’of-course-I-didn’t’ warmth that didn’t need to be spoken because it was obvious.

"No," she said. The word was small. Relieved. She exhaled. Her body sagged against his leg. "No."

Viktor leaned back. Fully. His back hit the bed. He lay flat, his arms spread, his body open. Both women followed.

Helena came up. Her body climbed over his right side — her thick frame, her enormous milk-heavy tits, her round belly — settling onto his chest. Her face found his. Her lips found his mouth.

She kissed him.

Not gentle. Not maternal. The kiss of a woman who had spent a month without her husband and was now tasting him and couldn’t get enough. Her lips crushed against his. Her tongue pushed into his mouth. She sucked his lower lip — pulling, tasting, her teeth grazing the flesh.

’Slurp.’ Her mouth moved over his. Wet. Hungry. The sound of lips and tongue and saliva filling the chamber.

"Mmph—" Viktor’s voice, muffled by her mouth. His hand found the back of her head. His fingers threaded through her brown hair, pulling the bun loose, the strands falling over his hand. He pulled her deeper. His tongue met hers — dueling, wrestling, the wet sounds of two mouths devouring each other.

’Slurp. Smack. Mmm—’

Helena moaned into his mouth. The sound was maternal no more. It was the moan of a woman whose body was on fire — whose pregnant, milk-swollen, cock-starved body was finally touching the man it had been craving.

Down below, Mira worked his pants.

Her fingers found the zipper. Pulled. He raised his hips — lifting both women slightly, his enhanced strength making the motion effortless — and she tugged. The fabric slid down his thighs. His cock emerged.

Mira gasped.

It was bigger.