Our magics hummed beneath everything—portal, illusion, death—three frequencies braiding together through her body, through mine, enhancing each touch, each connection.
I’d used magic during sex before. Performance enhancement. Calculated pleasure.
This was different. This was magic responding to genuine emotion and amplifying what was already real.
Keane’s breathing roughened. His grip on her hips tightened. Mari…
He thrust inside her with a groan that was pure and unguarded, and watching him lose control made something in my chest crack open.
She moaned around my cock and the vibration nearly undid me.
Mari, I’m… My hips jerked forward as I came, the pleasure tearing through me so intensely I couldn’t think, couldn’t perform, couldn’t do anything but feel.
She swallowed around me, accepting all of it, accepting me, and my head fell back with a sound I’d never made before.
Raw. Genuine. Completely beyond my control.
Real.
I was real.
Not the performance. Not the mask.
Just me.
And she wanted that.
The world went still.
When I could move again, when thought returned in fragments, I found myself curled on the rug beside her. Keane was on her other side, his arm finding her automatically. My fingers traced slow spirals on her hip—not writing strategy into her skin, just… touching because I wanted to stay connected.
Echo’s scales had shifted to soft blue-green on the desk where she’d retreated with Scout and Wisp.
The glass ceiling showed afternoon clouds drifting past, peaceful and safe. The world was temporarily held at bay.
That was… Marigold began, breathless against Keane’s chest.
Necessary, Keane said, his voice low and satisfied.
I kissed her bare shoulder. Yeah.
She shifted to look at each of us, and I braced for her to see through me. To recognize the performer underneath. To realize I’d just been playing a role.
But she just looked… content. Trusting.
My throat tightened.
She believed this was real. Because it was. The realization landed like a stage light finally finding its mark.
Thank you, she said quietly.
Don’t thank us for wanting you, I murmured and meant it, every word. This is real, darling. Whatever else happens, this is real.
Keane’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. We’re real. The three of us. That doesn’t change.
For now, lying here with her warmth against my side and Keane’s steady presence anchoring us both, I let myself just… be.
No script. No performance. No mask.
