Nami stirred, consciousness returning slowly, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and an overwhelming sense of safety. The scent, musky, masculine, with hints of sex and clean linen filled her nostrils.
She was nestled against a solid, expansive chest, one powerful arm draped possessively over her waist. Her cheek rested on the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Ragnar's breathing.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips as memories of the night flooded back, the tenderness, the shocking intensity, the feeling of being utterly claimed and cherished.
She stretched slightly, wincing at the delicious pull in her muscles, and opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw, directly in her line of sight just above the plane of Ragnar's hip, was Isabella.
The dark-haired woman was still asleep, curled on her side facing Ragnar.
Her face, usually bearing an expression of sly confidence, was serene in slumber. But the positioning was what made Nami's breath catch.
Isabella's head was pillowed not far from Ragnar's groin. More notably, one of her hands lay curled loosely around the base of his flaccid, but still impressively sized, morning erection, her fingers resting against his skin as if she'd fallen asleep mid-caress.
Nami's eyes widened. She slowly, carefully, turned her head to look over Ragnar's other shoulder.
There, equally naked and tangled in the silken sheets, lay Robin. The archaeologist slept with her back partially to Ragnar, but one of her hands was splayed on his chest.
A small, profoundly contented smile graced her lips, an expression of pure, unguarded satisfaction Nami had rarely seen on her friend's composed face.
A tidal wave of heat rushed to Nami's face, turning her cheeks and neck a brilliant, mortified beet red. 'Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.'They were here. They had come. They had seen… everything.
Her mind raced, hoping against hope they'd arrived after she'd passed out, that they hadn't witnessed her desperate cries, her complete surrender, the undignified but ecstatic way she'd lost consciousness.
Unfortunately for her, the universe was feeling particularly mischievous.
Ragnar's breathing changed. His arm tightened around her, and she felt him stir. His eyes opened.
They found hers immediately, clear and alert, holding a warmth that made her stomach flutter despite her embarrassment.
"Good morning, my little cat," he murmured, his voice sleep-roughened and intimate.
Before she could stammer a reply, he dipped his head and captured her lips in a deep, claiming morning kiss.
It tasted of sleep and him, and it instantly stoked the embers of desire that always smoldered within her for him. She melted into it, her embarrassment momentarily forgotten.
As he kissed her, his free hand, the one not holding her, drifted down his own body. His fingers gently brushed through Isabella's loose hair, then came to rest on the crown of her head. He gave a soft, patting caress.
Isabella's response was instantaneous and instinctual. Even in the fog of sleep, her body was trained to his touch. Her dark lashes fluttered open. Her gaze, still hazy, locked onto his face, then drifted down to where her hand rested.
Without a word, without even fully sitting up, she shifted. Leaning in, she parted her lips and took the head of his cock into her mouth.
Nami, breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, shifted her eyes to watch, her own arousal warring with her shock.
Isabella began with a languid, wet swirl of her tongue around the sensitive crown, coaxing him to full, rigid attention.
The sound was obscenely intimate in the quiet room: a soft, slick shlurp as her lips sealed around him, followed by a low, humming vibration from her throat.
As he grew harder, she took him deeper, her head beginning to bob with a slow, practiced rhythm.
The noises grew more pronounced: wet, sucking pulls, the gentle pop as she released him to lick along the thick vein on the underside, then the deep, gulping sound as she took him back into the heat of her mouth and throat.
Nami watched, transfixed. Isabella's technique was breathtakingly expert, but it was the raw, unfiltered devotion that was shocking.
Tears began to well in the corners of Isabella's tightly closed eyes, not from sadness, but from the sheer physical strain of taking him so deep, so consistently.
A thin strand of saliva escaped her lips, glistening as it trailed down his shaft to her hand.
Yet she didn't stop. If anything, the tears seemed to spur her on, her movements growing more fervent, her sucking more desperate. Schlllp-gulp-shluck. The sounds were a lewd, captivating melody.
"Mmm, good girl," Ragnar breathed, his hand now fisted gently in her ponytail.
Nami was about to speak, to ask the question burning in her mind, when movement on Ragnar's other side distracted her. Robin awoke.
She stretched like a contented feline, her back arching, before turning towards Ragnar.
Her eyes, sharp and intelligent even fresh from sleep, took in the scene, Nami blushing fiercely in Ragnar's arms, Isabella diligently working between his legs.
A faint, knowing smile touched Robin's lips. She leaned up, cupped Ragnar's face, and drew him into a soft, thorough morning kiss of her own, her tongue briefly tangling with his.
After the kiss, she simply settled back against his side, one hand resting on his abdomen, watching Isabella with a calm, appreciative gaze.
The casual intimacy of it all left Nami reeling.
"W-when…" Nami finally managed to whisper, her voice hoarse. "When did you guys come in?"
Robin didn't look away from Isabella's performance. "When you were passed out," she said matter-of-factly, her tone scholarly, as if describing an archaeological find. "With his cum leaking out of you like a fountain. It was quite a sight."
Fwoosh.
Nami felt the heat in her face intensify to nuclear levels. She was sure she was glowing. She opened her mouth to protest, to die of shame, but the sounds from Isabella cut her off.
The slurping had become faster, wetter. Shlurp-shlurp-shlurp. Gagging sounds now punctuated the rhythm, deep, throaty glrk noises as Ragnar's considerable length hit the back of her throat repeatedly.
Isabella's tears flowed freely now, tracing paths through her light makeup (somehow still partially intact).
Her body trembled with the effort, her free hand scrabbling weakly against the sheets for purchase as Ragnar's grip in her hair tightened.