Chapter 192: Breakfast
The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind Bruce. The sudden shift from the humid, echoing marble sanctuary to the bright, fragrant warmth of the breakfast room was jarring. Sunlight streamed through the expansive sliding glass doors, painting stripes of gold across the polished teak floor and the long table laden with platters of tropical fruit, pastries, eggs, and steaming carafes of coffee and tea. The air hummed with the low thrum of conversation and the sharp, bright notes of female laughter.
All nine of his wives were there. Erika, tall and statuesque with her cascade of pale blonde hair and startling blue eyes, sat regally, sipping from a delicate china cup. Mystique, the stunning black model, leaned back in her chair, her long limbs stretched out, radiating effortless elegance. Jasmine, vibrant and fierce with those captivating green eyes, was animatedly describing something, her hands waving. Lena was nestled beside her, trying to sit gingerly on a plush cushion, a slight wince crossing her face as she shifted. Ketut, still looking pale and drained, was carefully lowering herself into her chair with Sophia’s help. The Spanish trainer moved with her usual grace, but a profound weariness showed in the tightness around her eyes. Priya, the Indian doctor, watched it all with her intelligent, observant gaze, while Elara Petrova, the newest addition with her cool Russian beauty and sharp grey eyes, seemed to be assessing the room’s dynamic.
The lively chatter dipped slightly as Bruce entered, barefoot, dressed only in low-slung linen pants, his hair damp, his massive chest and arms still gleaming faintly from the shower. He’d scoured the marble floor until only the scent of jasmine remained. A wave of affectionate greetings washed over him – "Morning, husband," "Coffee, Bruce?", "Sleep well?" – but his attention instantly snagged on Lena, Ketut, and Sophia. The way Lena perched precariously on the cushion, the deep exhaustion etched into Ketut’s features, the subtle stiffness in Sophia’s powerful frame as she finally sat. They looked thoroughly used, wrecked in the most literal sense.
Bruce paused near the head of the table, a slow grin spreading. "Do I have something on my face?" he rumbled, his husky voice cutting through the renewed chatter. "Or did someone hide Alfonso’s dead mouse in my papaya again?" Alfonso was the villa’s perpetually unimpressed ginger tomcat.
Erika’s laugh was a bright chime. "No, not funny, husband," she said, her Icelandic accent softening the words. She gestured elegantly with her cup towards the three women. "Though laughter is definitely involved. Our wives," she nodded at Camille, Mystique, Jasmine, Priya, and Elara, "were just being regaled with a most... vivid account of this morning’s shower activities." Her startling blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Poor girls look like they’ve run a marathon backwards through a jungle. Barely able to walk, they say."
A fresh wave of giggles erupted, especially from Jasmine and Mystique. Lena flushed a deep rose but grinned, shifting again on her cushion. "Fucking worth it," she muttered, reaching for a croissant with a slightly trembling hand.
Ketut managed a weak smile, her dark eyes meeting Bruce’s. The swirling hazel in his own softened with affection, seeing the lingering ghost of the intense connection they’d shared against the shower wall. Sophia just grunted, pouring herself a large mug of black coffee. "Tell them about the volume, Lena," she rasped. "The sheer, impossible fucking volume."
Camille, seated at the other end, watched Bruce with that familiar, possessive pride. "They were quite impressed by your... surge capacity, darling," she purred. "Eighteen inches seems to leave an impression. Among other things leaking out."
Bruce chuckled, moving to the empty chair beside Camille. He grabbed a piece of mango, the juice dripping down his fingers. "Just ensuring thorough cleaning," he said lightly, though his gaze swept over his three exhausted lovers again, pride mixing with a primal satisfaction. "Had to test the drain."
"Test the drain?" Mystique arched a perfect eyebrow, her voice smooth as velvet. "Looked more like you were trying to create a new one. Repeatedly. In multiple locations."
The laughter swelled again, warm and easy. Bruce felt the familiar, grounding comfort of it, the sense of belonging within this chaotic, beautiful family he’d built. He leaned back, popping the mango into his mouth, savoring the sweetness. As the conversation resumed its easy flow – Jasmine debating the merits of Balinese coffee versus Ethiopian with Elara, Lena groaning as she tried to reach for the butter, Sophia methodically devouring eggs – Bruce noticed Priya. The doctor wasn’t laughing. Her dark eyes were fixed on Lena, then Ketut, then Sophia, her expression thoughtful, almost clinically concerned, a slight frown creasing her brow. It was the look she got when puzzling over complex bloodwork.
He caught her eye. "Penny for your thoughts, Doc?" he asked softly, his voice cutting under the general chatter. "Or do we need to schedule some post-coital physio?"
Priya startled slightly, then offered a small, professional smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just... observing the physiological responses, Bruce. The sheer physical impact is... remarkable." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Beyond the obvious muscular strain and tissue distension Lena and Sophia are exhibiting, Ketut’s pallor and fatigue suggest a significant systemic response. Your sperm..." She trailed off, glancing around at the others who were now listening with interest. She lowered her voice slightly. "The cellular density, the unique proteins I isolated... it’s not just genetic anomaly. It’s bioactive on a level I’ve never encountered. It interacts aggressively with their systems. Causes intense inflammatory responses followed by accelerated healing and... frankly, addictive neurological feedback loops. Ketut isn’t just tired from exertion. Her entire endocrine system is recalibrating after that... exposure."
A hush fell over the table. Lena stopped trying to reach the butter. Sophia lowered her coffee mug. Ketut looked down at her hands. The playful atmosphere shifted, replaced by a sudden undercurrent of seriousness. Bruce felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. Governments coveting his properties. Priya joining for protection. Now this. His seed wasn't just potent; it was potentially dangerous. Weaponizable.
Camille’s hand found his thigh under the table, her grip firm and reassuring. Her dark eyes met his, fierce and unwavering. "Ours," she murmured, the single word carrying the weight of their entire shared life, their defiance.
Bruce covered her hand with his own, the warmth of her skin a counterpoint to the cold knot forming in his gut. He forced a grin, trying to reclaim the lighter mood. "Well, Doc, as long as the ‘addictive neurological feedback loops’ translate to mind-blowing orgasms, I guess we’ll call it a feature, not a bug." He winked at Ketut. "Right, flower?"
Ketut managed a genuine, if weary, smile. "Always, Bruce."
The tension eased slightly. Conversation tentatively restarted. Jasmine launched into a story about Alfonso’s latest standoff with a gecko. But Bruce felt the shift. The knowledge Priya had shared settled over the table like a fine dust. His gaze lingered on Camille’s profile as she listened to Jasmine, the determined set of her jaw, the fierce loyalty radiating from her. The primal satisfaction he’d felt moments ago curdled into a protective ferocity. His wives. His family. His burden.
Camille felt his stare. She turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto his swirling hazel. Not gold, not blue, but a deep, stormy green tinged with that familiar, possessive fire. She didn’t need words. Under the table, her hand slid higher up his thigh, her fingertips brushing the growing bulge tenting his linen pants. Her lips curved in a slow, dangerous smile that promised absolute possession and oblivion.
"Finished your papaya, husband?" she asked, her voice a low purr that vibrated straight down his spine, momentarily eclipsing Priya’s chilling revelation. Her fingers pressed down deliberately on the hard ridge of his cock, already thickening rapidly under her touch. "Because I find I suddenly have an appetite for something... substantial."
The heat ignited instantly, burning away the cold fear. The raw need in her eyes, the blatant challenge, was a siren call he couldn't ignore. His wives. His sanctuary. His responsibility. But right now, the most immediate demand was the one pressing insistently against his fly, commanded by the woman whose devotion was his bedrock.
Bruce pushed his chair back, the legs scraping softly on the teak. He stood, towering over the table. The chatter died again, all eyes turning to him and Camille. He saw Lena’s knowing grin, Sophia’s appreciative eyebrow raise, Jasmine’s playful smirk, Mystique’s slow, assessing smile, Erika’s cool observation, Ketut’s tired but fond look, Priya’s faintly alarmed curiosity, Elara’s analytical gaze.
"A sudden craving, mi amor?" Bruce rumbled, his voice thick with building arousal. He held out his hand. "Let’s find you something satisfying."
Camille placed her hand in his, standing with feline grace. She didn't lead him towards the bedrooms. Instead, she pulled him towards the wide-open sliding glass doors leading to the sun-drenched garden terrace, fragrant with plumeria and the distant sea air. The others watched, a mix of amusement and intense interest.
"Right here, Bruce," Camille commanded, her voice dropping to a husky whisper meant only for him. She stopped just outside on the warm stone, pulling him close, her free hand going to the tie of his linen pants. "Against the glass. I want them to see. I want you to remind them who I am." Her eyes blazed. "Who we are."
Her fingers were deft, pulling the knot free. The pants slid down his powerful thighs, pooling around his ankles. His cock sprang free, already fully erect, thick and heavy, the veins prominent, the head swollen and dark. Fifteen inches of rigid flesh, throbbing with the surge of blood and the look in Camille’s eyes. Sunlight glinted off the dewy bead of pre-cum already welling at the tip.
Camille didn't hesitate. She turned, bending forward sharply at the waist, bracing her hands against the cool glass door. Her loose silk robe fell open, revealing the smooth, coffee-brown skin of her back, the thick, glorious curve of her ass, the dark cleft between her cheeks framing her exposed pussy. It was already glistening, swollen and wet, the neatly trimmed dark curls clinging damply. She kicked her legs wider apart, planting her feet firmly on the stone. "Fuck me, Bruce," she growled, pushing her ass back towards him, presenting herself. "Fuck me hard. Claim me. Right fucking now."
The sight, the raw demand, sent a jolt of pure lust through him. He stepped forward, his massive frame dwarfing her bent form. He gripped his cock at the base, the girth immense in his fist. His other hand landed heavily on the swell of her ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh. He positioned the thick, purple head at her dripping entrance, rubbing it roughly through her slick folds, coating it, feeling the hot, eager clench of her opening.
"See this, Camille?" he growled, leaning close, his breath hot on her neck. He thrust his hips forward sharply, burying just the broad head inside her with a wet schlop. She cried out, a sharp gasp as her walls stretched instantly around the intrusion. "See who owns this pussy?" He pulled back slightly, then slammed forward again, sinking another thick inch into her wet heat. Her cry turned into a choked moan. Her hands pressed harder against the glass, knuckles white. Inside the breakfast room, Bruce saw Lena bite her lip, Jasmine lean forward intently, Sophia watching with fierce concentration. Ketut’s eyes were wide. Priya looked away, then back, fascinated despite herself. Elara’s gaze was clinically observant. Mystique and Erika watched, unblinking.
He fucked her with slow, brutal, deliberate strokes. Each thrust buried more of his monstrous length into her tight channel, stretching her obscenely wide, the thick base spreading her outer lips with each powerful drive. Her pussy made wet, sucking sounds with every withdrawal, squelching obscenely on every inward plunge. He set a relentless pace, his hips pistoning, his balls slapping rhythmically against her clit with each deep invasion. The glass door vibrated faintly under her palms.
"Whose pussy is this?" Bruce demanded, his voice guttural. He reached around her hip, his thumb finding her swollen clit, rubbing hard, fast circles.
"Yours!" Camille gasped, her voice ragged, her body rocking forward with each thrust. "Fuck! Yours, Bruce! Always yours!"
"Tell them!" He slammed into her hilt-deep, grinding his pelvis against her ass, making her cry out. "Tell them who fucks you!"
"YOU DO!" she screamed, her body shuddering. "My husband! Bruce! Fills me! Owns me! FUCK!" Her inner muscles were clamping down, fluttering wildly, gripping his shaft with desperate strength.
The friction, the tightness, the primal display, the sheer possessiveness – it was overwhelming. Bruce felt his control fraying. "Gonna cum in you, Camille," he grunted, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more erratic. "Gonna flood that greedy cunt. Mark you inside."
"Yes! Fucking YES! Breed me! Fill me! NOW!" she shrieked, pushing back hard against him, meeting every pounding thrust.
He roared, a sound ripped from his core. One final, brutal slam, burying himself to the root, grinding deep. He held there, his body rigid, and erupted. Thick, hot jets of cum blasted into her depths, pulsing with volcanic force. Camille screamed, her own orgasm detonating as the scalding flood hit her cervix. Her body convulsed wildly, her pussy clamping and milking his spurting cock with violent intensity. Streams of her own release gushed out around the thick base of his shaft, splattering onto the warm stone beneath them, mixing with the sweat glistening on their skin.
He pumped into her through the convulsions, filling her until he was utterly spent, his cock pulsing weakly inside her spasming channel. He collapsed forward slightly, bracing one hand on the glass beside hers, his broad chest heaving against her back. He could feel her trembling violently, hear her ragged, sobbing breaths. Cum overflowed steadily, dripping thickly down her inner thighs and onto the patio stones.
Inside the breakfast room, the silence was profound. No laughter now. Just heavy breathing and the distant sound of waves. Bruce lifted his head, his swirling eyes – a deep, sated green – meeting the gazes of his wives through the glass. Possessive. Primal. Unapologetic. He saw understanding, arousal, awe, and that fierce, shared loyalty reflected back.
Camille slowly straightened, wincing but holding herself tall. She turned within the circle of his arms, facing him and the room beyond. Her dark eyes were fierce, triumphant. She reached down, scooping a thick glob of mixed cum and slick from her thigh. Without breaking eye contact with Bruce, she brought her fingers to her mouth and slowly, deliberately, licked them clean.
A low murmur ran through the wives inside. Bruce cupped her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "Sanctuary," he murmured, the word heavy with meaning. Camille leaned into his touch, her gaze never leaving his, the taste of their joining still on her tongue. The garden air, thick with sex and plumeria, wrapped around them, a defiant shield against the unseen threats Priya’s words had conjured. Breakfast was forgotten. The reckoning could wait. For now, they were his. All of them. And he was theirs.
The thick scent of sex and plumeria hung heavy in the air, clinging to Bruce’s skin as Camille leaned into his touch, her defiant gaze locked with his. Inside, the wives remained silent, a tableau of arousal and apprehension etched onto their faces. The overflow of Bruce’s release dripped slowly down Camille’s inner thigh, a visceral counterpoint to Priya’s chilling words about bioactive properties and addictive feedback loops. Sanctuary felt fragile.
Erika’s voice cut through the charged stillness, cool and deliberate like Icelandic ice. "My turn." She rose from the table, her movements fluid and unhurried, a stark contrast to Camille’s fiery intensity. Her pale blonde hair caught the sunlight streaming through the doors as she stepped onto the terrace, her startling blue eyes fixed on Bruce with unnerving calm. She didn’t glance at Camille; her focus was absolute. "You’re still hard, husband," she observed, her gaze dropping to his cock, glistening with Camille’s slick and his own spend, still thick and pulsing despite his recent climax. "Good."
Bruce felt a fresh surge of heat coil in his gut. Erika’s quiet command held a different power. Lena’s grin widened inside. "Go on, Ice Queen, show him how Vikings ride!" Lena called out, shifting gingerly on her cushion. Ketut watched, her dark eyes still heavy-lidded but curious. Priya’s analytical gaze sharpened, observing the physiological response.
Erika stopped before Bruce, her height nearly matching his. She reached out, her long, pale fingers wrapping firmly around the base of his slick cock. Her touch was cool, purposeful. She squeezed, testing the impossible girth, feeling the thick veins throb against her palm. "This," she murmured, almost to herself, "is truly monstrous." She pumped him slowly, deliberately, coating her hand in the mixed fluids. "Camille took it like a champion against the wall." Her eyes lifted to Bruce’s swirling hazel. "I want it inside me while I look into your eyes. All of it."
She didn’t wait for permission. Releasing his cock, Erika grasped the loose silk of her robe and shrugged it off. It pooled around her feet, revealing her tall, statuesque form – long, pale legs, full, heavy breasts tipped with dusky pink nipples, the smooth curve of her hips leading to a surprisingly lush, pale ass. The sun kissed her flawless skin. She stepped closer, her scent a clean blend of morning air and something faintly herbal. "Hold me," she commanded softly.
Bruce’s hands settled on her narrow waist, lifting her effortlessly. Erika wrapped her long legs around his hips, her ankles locking behind his back. Her pussy, a neat triangle of pale blonde curls, was already slick, glistening against her fair skin. She positioned herself, guiding the swollen, purple head of his cock to her entrance. She was tight, incredibly tight. Bruce felt the resistance immediately as the broad tip pressed against her delicate folds.
"Slowly," Erika breathed, her blue eyes locked onto his, unwavering. "I want to feel every fucking inch stretch me open." She lowered herself, inch by agonizing inch. Her inner walls clenched fiercely around the invading thickness, a hot, silken vise. Her breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as the massive head breached her, stretching her entrance obscenely wide. "Oh fuck... Bruce..." Her knuckles whitened where she gripped his shoulders.
He held her steady, feeling her body tremble with the strain of accommodating him. Her pussy yielded reluctantly, burning hot and impossibly tight around the first few inches. He watched her face, the slight flare of her nostrils, the intense concentration in her eyes as she focused solely on taking him, on maintaining that eye contact. Inside, Sophia muttered, "Christ, look at her stretch." Jasmine leaned forward, captivated. Mystique’s expression was unreadable, but her gaze was fixed.
Erika sank lower, a low moan vibrating in her throat as another thick segment of his cock disappeared inside her. Her cunt made a wet, sucking sound, stretched taut around the invading girth. "So full..." she gasped, her hips grinding down minutely, trying to force more. "Feels like you’re splitting me in half... fuck..." Sweat beaded on her forehead. She paused, breathing heavily, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around the shaft buried halfway within her. "Your eyes... the gold is swirling... so intense..."
"Take it all, Erika," Bruce growled, his voice rough. His hands tightened on her waist, helping her sink further. She cried out, a sharp sound of pleasure-pain as the thickest part of his cock stretched her entrance to its absolute limit. Her body arched, her breasts pressing against his chest. "Yes! There! Oh god, YES!" She bottomed out, her ass cheeks pressing against his pelvis, her pussy lips stretched wide around the base. She was fully impaled, her tight channel stuffed impossibly full. Her eyes, wide and slightly unfocused, never left his. "All of you... inside me... looking at me..."
She began to move. Not frantic, not wild like Camille, but with a deliberate, grinding rhythm. She lifted herself slowly, the thick shaft dragging against her sensitized walls, then sank back down, taking him deep with a wet squelch. Her movements were controlled, emphasizing the depth, the stretch. Her hips rolled, grinding her clit against the hard ridge of his pubic bone with each descent. "Feel you... everywhere..." she moaned, her voice thick with arousal. "So deep... hitting places... fuck..."
Bruce met her movements, thrusting upwards in time with her descent, driving himself even deeper on each plunge. The sensation was overwhelming – her incredible tightness, the intense friction, the visual of her pale body moving on him, her blue eyes locked onto his with fierce possession. Her inner muscles clenched rhythmically, milking his cock. Pre-cum mixed with her copious slick, dripping down his shaft onto his balls.
"Whose cock is this?" Bruce demanded, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, spurred by her tightness and her unwavering gaze.
"Mine!" Erika gasped, grinding down hard, taking him hilt-deep again. "Filling me... claiming me... look at me, Bruce! See me take it!" Her control began to fracture. Her movements grew more urgent, her hips pistoning faster. Her moans turned into sharp cries. "Oh god! I’m gonna... cum! Fuck! Cum with me! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!"
Her orgasm hit like a wave. Her body locked, her back arching sharply, a guttural scream tearing from her throat. Her pussy clamped down with crushing force, spasming violently around his buried cock. The intense rhythmic clenching, combined with her desperate plea and the visual of her ecstasy, shattered Bruce’s control. He roared, driving up into her convulsing depths as deep as physically possible. His cock pulsed violently, thick ropes of cum blasting into her depths, flooding her already stuffed channel. He felt the hot jets hitting her cervix, the overflow immediately seeping out around the thick base where they were joined.
Erika shuddered violently through her climax, milking every spurt, her eyes glazed but still fixed on his face. "Yes... fill me... mark me..." she whimpered, collapsing forward against his chest, her body trembling uncontrollably. Bruce held her tight, his own body shuddering with the last pulses of his release, buried deep inside her impossibly tight, cum-flooded cunt. The overflow ran in thick rivulets down hisBruce stepped into the breakfast room, water still glistening on his skin, his towel slung low around his hips. The wives were sprawled around the table, their laughter sharp and bright, but Lena, Ketut, and Sophia sat with a certain weariness, their legs slightly parted, their movements sluggish. He raised an eyebrow, his voice rough but teasing. “What’s so funny? Did I miss the punchline?”
Erika leaned back in her chair, her icy blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Not funny, husband,” she said, her Icelandic accent curling around the words. “They were just telling us how you surged even bigger and wrecked them. Poor girls can barely walk.” She gestured to the trio, who exchanged sheepish glances but couldn’t hide the faint smiles tugging at their lips.
Bruce chuckled, the sound low and warm, as he moved toward the table. “Well, someone had to clean up the mess,” he said, his tone playful but laced with a hint of pride. His gaze swept over them, lingering on the way Lena shifted uncomfortably in her seat, Ketut’s legs trembling slightly, and Sophia’s flushed cheeks. “You three look like you’ve been through a war.”
“We have,” Lena muttered, her voice hoarse but amused. She stretched her arms above her head, her thick thighs shifting under the table. “You’re a monster, Bruce. A beautiful, terrifying monster.”
Ketut nodded, her dark eyes meeting his, a mix of exhaustion and admiration in her gaze. “You’re impossible to keep up with,” she said softly, her Balinese accent softening the words. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Sophia smirked, her sculpted body leaning back in her chair, her toned legs crossed but still trembling faintly. “You’re lucky we love you,” she said, her Spanish lilt adding a playful edge. “Otherwise, we’d have to stage an intervention.”
Bruce laughed again, the sound filling the room as he reached for a cup of coffee. “You’re all welcome to try,” he said, his tone light but firm. “But I don’t think you’d win.”
The room erupted into laughter again, the sound mingling with the soft clink of silverware and the distant chirp of birds outside. Erika stood, her tall, statuesque frame moving with a deliberate grace as she crossed the room to him. Her pale blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her startling blue eyes locked onto his. “You think you’re invincible, don’t you?” she said, her voice low and teasing.
Bruce smirked, his hazel eyes swirling with a mix of green and gold as he met her gaze. “I don’t think. I know,” he said, his tone confident but playful.
Erika stepped closer, her body pressing against his, her big breasts brushing against his chest. “Prove it,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.
Before he could respond, she pushed him back onto the nearest chair, her hands firm and insistent. “Erika—” he started, but she cut him off, her lips crashing into his in a kiss that was all hunger and fire. Her tongue swept into his mouth, claiming him with a fierceness that left him breathless.
The other wives watched, their laughter fading into a charged silence as Erika straddled him, her long legs framing his hips. She tugged at the towel around his waist, letting it fall to the floor, and Bruce’s cock sprang free, thick and already hardening under her touch. “Fuck,” she murmured, her voice a mix of awe and desire as she wrapped her hand around him. “You’re so big.”
Bruce groaned, his hands gripping her hips as she positioned herself above him. “You’re not exactly small talk, Erika,” he said, his voice rough with need.
She smirked, her blue eyes blazing as she lowered herself onto him, inch by agonizing inch. “God, you feel so good,” she moaned, her head tipping back as she took him fully, her body stretching to accommodate his size. She began to move, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles, her nails digging into his shoulders.
The room was filled with the sound of their breathing, heavy and ragged, as Erika rode him with a relentless intensity. Bruce’s hands moved to her ass, gripping her firm cheeks as he thrust up into her, their bodies slamming together with a force that made the chair creak. “Fuck, Erika,” he growled, his voice strained. “You’re so tight.”
She moaned, her hips moving faster, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. “I can’t get enough of you,” she panted, her voice breaking as she leaned down to kiss him again, her tongue tangling with his.
The other wives watched, their eyes wide and their breaths shallow, as Erika took everything Bruce had to give. Her body moved with a wild, untamed energy, her moans growing louder as she neared the edge. “Bruce, I’m so close,” she gasped, her nails raking down his chest.
He groaned, his hands tightening on her hips as he thrust up into her one last time, his cock swelling inside her as he came with a guttural roar. Erika cried out, her body shuddering as she climaxed with him, her muscles clenching around him in waves of ecstasy.
They collapsed together, their bodies trembling and slick with sweat, as the other wives watched in awe. “Well,” Lena said, her voice breaking the silence. “That was… something.”
Bruce laughed, the sound low and satisfied, as Erika leaned against him, her breath still ragged. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough but warm. “It was.”