Ch. 33 – Occupied

There is no way, Rhys screamed silently in his head, his eyes widening in pure horror. She wants to do this HERE?! In a public bathroom?!

Before he could voice a single protest, the four of them swept through the heavy marble doors of the unisex VIP lounge. The room was a blur of high-end luxury—polished black marble, gilded mirrors, and soft amber vanity lighting. In a flurry of eager hands, soft gasps, and frantic, intoxicating kisses, the three women backed Rhys into the largest, most secluded marble stall at the very end of the line.

The heavy wooden stall door slammed shut, and the latch clicked into place with a sharp, definitive snick.

Rhys was practically shoved back against the cold, polished tile wall as the three breathtaking women closed in, trapping him in an inescapable sanctuary of soft skin, radiating Genasi heat, and sweet, perfume-laced breath.

“Wait—hold on, ladies!” Rhys tried to reason, raising his hands, his voice a raspy whisper as he tried to invoke some semblance of sanity. “We can’t do this here! Marcus is literally right outside—someone could walk in—”

It was entirely useless. Dione, Rhea, and Ariadne were completely lost in a hypnotic trance—their senses utterly undone by the high-proof magical cocktails, the pulsing bass, and the rising, unstoppable tide of their collective devotion to him. They were completely unphased by the risk of being caught.

Dione moved first with swift, breathless efficiency. She didn’t hesitate for a single second. Reaching down, she deftly hitched the sheer blue mesh of her dress up over her hip, unzipped Rhys’s trousers in one fluid motion, and guided his heavy, throbbing length straight into her slick, burning heat.

Dione let out a loud, shuddering gasp that echoed against the marble tiles, her head throwing back as she immediately began bucking her hips against him in a frantic, desperate rhythm.

Rhys’s head slammed back against the tile wall, his mind short-circuiting entirely. “D-Dione... god...” he groaned, his hands gripping her wide hips instinctively as the mind-melting tightness of her rain-magic body engulfed him.

Rhea pressed in close against his left side, her statuesque, furnace-hot frame pinning him to the corner. She leaned up, kissing his jawline with feather-light, velvet softness before taking his free right hand and guiding it down past her golden micro-dress, pressing his fingers directly onto her soaking wet entrance.

“We couldn’t wait another second, Rhys...” Rhea whispered into his ear, her voice humming with a rich, motherly purr that vibrated straight to his core. “You looked so commanding out there on the dance floor... we needed to belong to you right now...”

Rhys’s fingers instinctively sank into Rhea’s scorching, honey-like wetness, eliciting a loud, trembling moan from the Earth Genasi that she muffled against his neck.

On his right, Ariadne wrapped her smooth arms around Rhys’s head, pulling his mouth straight into a deep, agonizingly slow, lingering kiss that tasted like dark plum liqueur and wild passion. She pulled back just a fraction of an inch, her dark eyes sparkling with manic, absolute surrender.

“We just want to please you...” Ariadne purred softly, her dark lips resting against his. “...Husband.”

A sharp, electric sting of thrill shot straight down Rhys’s spine at that word.

Husband. The title felt wrong, dangerous, and intoxicatingly forbidden. That word was supposed to belong exclusively to Lira—the woman waiting at home, completely oblivious to everything. Yet hearing Ariadne say it with such absolute, unfiltered devotion sent a rush through Rhys’s blood that made his knees tremble, drowning out every last shred of his morality.

Ariadne slid down to her knees on the polished tile floor. She leaned in close, opening her dark lips to gently kiss and lick the very spot where Rhys and Dione were tightly connected, her hot breath and soft tongue creating an agonizing, mind-melting sensation that pushed Rhys over the absolute brink of sanity.

Rhys closed his eyes, his head leaning back against the stall wall, his knuckles white as he held onto Dione’s hips, completely surrendering to the overwhelming, illicit ecstasy drowning his senses.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sharp, heavy rap against the stall door echoed through the small marble bathroom like a gunshot.

Rhys’s eyes snapped wide open, every muscle in his body instantly locking up. Dione froze mid-stride, letting out a sharp, choked breath as she remained tightly impaled on him. Rhea’s hand stilled on his chest. Ariadne paused on her knees, her dark eyes darting up toward the latch in stunned surprise.

A smooth, velvety, hauntingly familiar voice drifted over the top of the stall door—a voice dripping with aristocratic amusement, dark satisfaction, and predatory delight.

“My, my...” Vespera purred from the other side of the wood, her voice crystal clear against the distant thumping bass of the club. “It certainly sounds like you four are having a lot of fun in there...”