Julian's breathing had turned ragged, each inhale sharper than the last. The dual assault—Clarissa's warm, eager mouth alternating with Specter's cool, unerringly precise one—had pushed him past any semblance of control. His hips rocked in small, helpless thrusts, limited by the bed and the casts, but enough to chase the building pressure.
"I'm close," he rasped, voice low and strained. "Fuck… don't stop."
Clarissa hummed around him in acknowledgment, the vibration sending another jolt through his core. She pulled back just enough to let Specter take the head again, then both women leaned in closer—tongues sliding together along the shaft, lips brushing, sharing the slick heat. Their faces were inches apart now, cheeks flushed (Clarissa's from arousal and effort, Specter's from simulated flush protocols) eyes locked on Julian's.
The tension snapped.
