[This is the last one….promise 😂]
Meanwhile….In the serene quiet of her own chamber, Robin was anything but serene. The thick stone walls of the palace were a marvel of construction, but they were no match for the sounds that had been emanating from Ragnar's room for what felt like an eternity.
First, the rhythmic, primal pounding and Isabella's escalating cries, then the wet, desperate sounds of a deep-throated blowjob, and finally, the distinct, sharper, more visceral slaps and screams of anal taking.
Each sound was a brand, searing itself into her mind, stoking a fire in her belly that she could no longer ignore. She lay in her own bed, her body coiled tight with a restless, aching need. Her scholarly composure had shattered.
Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as her hand slid beneath her silk nightgown, her fingers finding her clit already swollen and slick with her own arousal.
She was not just listening; she was watching.
High on the wall of Ragnar's chamber, nestled in the shadow of a carved cloud near the domed ceiling, a single, beautiful eye had blossomed from the stone. Below it, a pair of full, sensual lips had manifested.
It was a profound and intimate use of her Devil Fruit power, a violation of privacy she would never have dared with anyone else.
But with him, it felt like a natural extension of her obsession, her desperate need to be a part of his world, in any way she could.
Through that eye, she saw everything. She saw Ragnar, a god of sweat-sheened muscle, fucking Isabella with a divine fury.
She saw Isabella's body, so similar to her own in its voluptuousness, being used and claimed in ways that made Robin's core clench with envy and desire.
Her fingers worked furiously between her own legs, mimicking the pace she witnessed, imagining it was her on that massive bed, her body being taken with such brutal ownership.
Her own muted moans were lost in the sounds coming from the other room, her hips bucking against her hand as she brought herself to a shuddering, silent climax, her eyes glued to the scene through her own psychic spyhole.
Back in his room, Ragnar lay with Isabella sprawled across his chest, both of them breathing heavily in the aftermath. His senses, however, were far from dulled. His Observation Haki, a finely tuned web of awareness, had pinged the moment the foreign sensory organs had bloomed in his chamber.
He hadn't acknowledged it during the act, the intrusion only adding a layer of dark, voyeuristic pleasure to his own experience. But now, in the lull, he turned his head.
His golden eyes, sharp and knowing, locked directly onto the single eye watching him from the wall. A smile spread across his lips. He gently disentangled himself from the sleeping Isabella and rose from the bed, his naked form moving with a silent, powerful grace.
He walked directly to the spot on the wall where Robin's manifested lips quivered slightly, a testament to her nervousness at being discovered. He could feel her presence through them, a palpable wave of shock, shame, and frantic, unquenched arousal.
"You've been a very naughty archaeologist, Robin," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate whisper that vibrated through the stone and directly into her perception.
In her own room, Robin froze, her fingers stilling. A gasp caught in her throat. He knew.
Before she could even think to dissolve the clones, Ragnar reached out. He didn't touch the wall. He touched her.
His thumb stroked over the manifested lips, feeling their soft, plush texture, identical to the real ones. They parted under his touch with a tiny, involuntary sigh that echoed faintly in both rooms.
"Since you're so invested in the proceedings," he said, his tone dripping with amusement and command, "you might as well have a taste."
He positioned his cock, still slick and heavy from his previous exertions, directly in front of the mouth on the wall. The head, broad and ruddy, nudged against the lips.
In her chamber, Robin cried out, the sensation utterly overwhelming. It wasn't a memory or a fantasy. It was real.
She could feel the heat of him, the smooth, hard texture of his skin, the musky, masculine scent of sex that clung to him, all transmitted through her psychic connection. It was as if her own mouth was there, pressed against him.
"Open," he commanded.
And she did. The lips on the wall opened willingly, and Ragnar pushed the head of his erection inside. The sensation for Robin was explosive.
Her mouth, her real mouth, flooded with the taste of him, salt, skin, and the lingering essence of Isabella. It was depraved. It was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced.
He began to move, fucking the mouth on the wall with slow, deliberate thrusts. Each push sent a corresponding jolt of pleasure through Robin's entire nervous system.
She could feel him sliding over her tongue, hitting the back of her phantom throat. Her body in her own room arched off the bed, a low, continuous moan tearing from her as she frantically resumed touching herself, this time with a newfound, shocking clarity of sensation.
Ragnar watched the eye on the wall, seeing it flutter and roll back in ecstasy. He gripped the base of his shaft and pumped harder, faster into the willing, supernatural mouth.
He was fucking two women at once, one asleep and spent beside him, the other spying from the next room, connected to him through her own power, being pleasured by proxy.
"Cum for me, Robin," he growled, his voice a vibration that she felt in her very bones. "Cum while you taste me."
The command, coupled with the relentless, phantom penetration, was too much. A scream, loud and uninhibited, ripped from Robin's throat in her solitary room as a cataclysmic orgasm seized her.
Her body convulsed, her back bowing violently, her senses completely overwhelmed by the dual reality of her own touch and the feeling of Ragnar claiming the mouth that was hers.
Feeling the lips around him convulse and suckle with renewed, desperate intensity, Ragnar followed her over the edge.
With a final, deep thrust into the stone wall, he groaned and released another hot, salty torrent, filling the manifested mouth, the sensation of his release flooding Robin's perception completely.
He pulled back, and the lips, now glistening and spent, slowly faded from the wall, followed by the watching eye. The connection was severed.
In the sudden silence of his room, Ragnar turned and looked towards the wall that separated him from Robin. He could almost feel her panting, trembling, and utterly ruined on the other side. He smiled, a dark, satisfied curve of his lips.
She had sought a glimpse of his power, and he had given her a full-body, soul-deep experience of it. The game had changed. The quiet archaeologist had invited the storm into her own sanctuary, and he had no intention of leaving.