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Chapter 508- If Only Sabrina got Power
The moan was genuine.
The satisfaction was not.
Her lips slid down the shaft, the cockhead pressing back against her throat, and she swallowed it with practiced ease and absolutely zero enthusiasm, her jaw working, her throat working, the sounds of it filling the cold mountain air.
"’Slurrp—’"
She pulled back to the head.
Rested it on her tongue.
Looked at the empty sky where he had been.
"If only," she said, around the cock in her mouth, which did interesting things to the pronunciation, "it was ’that’ man’s dick."
She breathed in.
Not Arvij’s smell.
The memory of the other.
The scent that had been in the air when he’d been there — the particular cultivation pressure of a body that operated at a level that made even her pulse ’acknowledge’ it — and her finger crooked inside herself and she moaned, genuinely this time, the sound climbing the mountain and scattering the last of the birds.
"’Mnh~—’"
Her hand tightened on Arvij’s thigh.
Her eyes stayed on the empty sky.
The blizzard palace was significantly colder than the pleasure palace.
Not unpleasantly — the cold was cultivated, the kind that came from a specific resource rather than simple altitude, and it carried the particular clarity of high-cultivation environments: air that felt more ’real’ than regular air, that registered in the lungs with a clean authority.
The garden level was warmer, carrying residual warmth from the evening.
Carrying other things, too.
Sabrina landed on her knees on the silk.
Both knees.
She had not expected the transition — had not been given time to prepare for it, had been picked up mid-recovery and delivered here in the time it took the mountain air to close behind them — and her knees took the landing and her hands caught the edge of the nearest cushion and she stayed there, breathing, for a moment.
Then she looked up.
The women were everywhere.
Catkin women on silk cushions, ears and tails doing that low-and-satisfied thing. Kaia the tribal warrior sitting against a garden stone with her head tipped back and her thighs still glistening in the lantern light. Two women near the fountain curled against each other. A young white-tipped catkin sitting on her heels with an expression of recent completion and quiet pride.
Every single one of them, in some state of active arousal.
’Preparing.’
The Amazon woman had both hands between her own thighs, fingers working slowly, her eyes half-closed.
The catkins nearest the center were doing similar things, tails swaying, ears forward.
And Yuna — Yuna was standing at the far end of the garden in the red latex suit, one hand pressing flat against the front of it, trying physically to hold in what was determined to come out, the seed pressing between her fingers in a slow and unstoppable advance.
She looked at Sabrina.
Assessed her.
Pulled her hand away from herself, let the suit close, smoothed it down.
Stood up straight.
Her expression said: ’I am completely composed and that did not just happen.’
Her thighs said: ’it absolutely just happened.’
Sabrina looked at all of them.
Then looked at Tianlong.
He had his back to her, facing the center garden, apparently consulting something only he could see.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.
"Why the hell," she said, to the garden, to the silk, to the situation she had somehow arrived in, "do all these women ’flock’ for you?"
He turned toward his pants.
Which were on the garden stone where he’d left them — specifically, the outer robe, the belt, the lower garment — before the system alert had pulled him up through the sky.
He reached for them.
Sabrina’s eyes went to the bulge of his cock against the lighter inner layer.
’Twelve inches.’ She knew. She’d been told. The catkins talked.
’Thick as a—’
She looked up.
He was already looking at her.
The expression on his face was composed.
Mostly.
There was something underneath the composure that knew exactly where she’d been looking and had noted it in a private ledger.
"I can tell you," he said, "if you let me fuck you."
The garden seemed to collectively ’tilt’ toward this conversation.
Several catkin ears rotated forward. Kaia opened one eye.
Sabrina’s jaw set.
Every tiger clan tournament victory, every broken meridian and reset and blood-cost, every year of accumulated pride stood up in her chest and arranged itself into a straight line.
"You bastard," she said, with perfect clarity. "Even if I die—"
She stopped.
The word ’die’ landed with the particular resonance of a word that has been recently demonstrated to mean something immediate and specific rather than abstract and eventual.
Her skin still remembered the wrinkling.
Her meridians still remembered the hollow.
She looked down.
Her canines found the inside of her lower lip.
"Thanks," she said.
Low. Almost below the garden’s ambient sound.
"For saving me."
Tianlong’s expression didn’t change.
"What?"
"’You bastard,’" she said, significantly louder, "’I told you — thanks — for saving—’"
His hand came forward and took her silver hair in a grip that was not rough and left absolutely no room for interpretation.
He guided her face — not aggressively, not quickly, with the easy certainty of someone who has identified exactly where something belongs and is placing it there — until her cheek was pressed flat against the front of his inner garment.
Against the bulge.
She stopped talking.
The warmth of him came through the fabric immediately.
Then the ’weight’ of it — the actual physical presence of twelve inches at rest, against her cheek, the pressure of it both less and more than she had imagined, less because imagination tends toward impossible and more because real things have specific temperatures and specific pressures and a specific quality of ’there’ that imagination cannot replicate.
Her eyes went slightly unfocused.
The ’smell’ was the part that did it.
Not unclean. The opposite — the specific smell of high cultivation and intensive use, the smell of his body and the women of this palace and the evening behind them, layered into something that hit the tiger clan’s olfactory cultivation pathways with a directness that bypassed all rational filtration.
Her pupils dilated.
She felt it happen.
She was furious about it.
"Thanks," Tianlong said, looking down at the top of her silver head with her cheek against him, "to this little one."
His free hand gestured in the direction of his own crotch with the magnanimous tone of a man making introductions.
"It sacrificed to save you."
Sabrina’s cheek puffed.
Still against the bulge.
The image she made — silver hair in his fist, face pressed against him, cheeks puffed in outrage, eyes hazy despite themselves — crossed the garden and landed on every woman in it and was noted.
"’Not here,’" she said, through pressed lips.
Muffled by proximity.
"Somewhere—"
She stopped.
Swallowed.
Her nose was three inches from him and her beast cultivation was doing things she hadn’t authorized.
"Somewhere ’private,’" she finished, with the specific emphasis of a woman stating a condition she has already compromised by stating it.
Tianlong tilted his head.
"What?"
Pleasantly.
The tone of a man who has heard perfectly and is requesting repetition for reasons.
"What did you say?"
Sabrina showed her canines.
The tiger clan’s upper canines were longer than a human’s, and in combat they meant something specific, and Tianlong knew this.
He also knew that the thing she did next was not combat.
She turned her head.
Just enough.
And bit.
Teeth through fabric, finding the shape of him, the bite of a woman who has decided that if she is going to be humiliated she is going to contribute something to the occasion.
"’SOMEWHERE PRIVATE, YOU BASTARD.’"
Muffled by his cock in her teeth.
Still entirely clear.
Tianlong made a sound.
"’Urgh—’"
Low. Private. The sound of someone whose body has registered something before their composure could intercept it.
Then the chuckle came after — quieter, genuine, the chuckle of a man who is finding something he did not expect to find.
His hand in her hair turned her head.
Just slightly.
Just enough to change the angle — upward, until she was looking at him from below, his cock still in her teeth, the posture she was in approximately identical to a dog with a bone — and he looked down at her.
The gold-red eyes, the slight tilt of the head, the expression that was doing something she couldn’t fully classify at this angle.
"You really want to eat it, huh?"
From somewhere in the garden, a catkin made a sound that was ’mostly’ not a laugh.
Kaia had both eyes open now.
Yuna was studying the garden wall with intense focus.
Sabrina growled.
It was not a human growl.
It was the tiger clan’s low-register warning, the one that carried resonant frequency in it, the one that in the wild would have sent prey animals in a half-kilometer radius into immediate directional commitment.
Tianlong’s cock, against her teeth, was significantly less deterred than prey animals.
"Fine," he said.
He reached down.
His free hand found her jaw and ’gently’ — with the patient care of someone removing something delicate from a situation — extracted his cock from between her teeth.
He did not let go of her hair.
He tilted her face upward until their eyes were fully aligned.
His expression: composed. Warm at the edges.
The look of someone who has made a decision and found it satisfactory.
"But I want you to use the other mouth."
A pause.
"The one between your legs."
Sabrina said nothing.
Her canines were still showing.
Her pupils were still dilated.
Her tail — silver-tipped, independent, honest — had come up.
"Let’s see," he said, "how strong ’that’ mouth is."