[Eastiel: Summon me now or I will summon Cecilia here.]
The transmission sounded desperate. The lion had been listening to his brothers and wife engage in elaborate, invisible balcony acrobatics while he was stuck hundreds of miles away in a war camp, surrounded by soldiers and strategy meetings and the injustice of not being inside his wife.
[Mmm—fine—ngh!] Cecilia's mental voice was fractured, each syllable a negotiation between pleasure and concentration.
The rhythm of her husbands' thrusts had not paused for logistics, because of course they had not. Why would they? A teleportation request was simply not a compelling reason to stop railing her.
[Oathran, can I borro—]
[Take it, Saintess. My mana is your mana.] Oathran said, mentally thick with pleasure but steady with control. He thrust forward as he spoke, a deep, grinding motion that buried Richard to the hilt in Cecilia's other hole.
The force of it pushed her body forward, which also—
Slap.
