The next day unfolded like the others had in this grim stretch of their journey—endless stone, ceaseless mist, and monsters that crept through the ashen landscape and the harrowing forgotten shore. The trio moved like a unit, even when the terrain split them apart, their cohesion born of necessity and honed in the crucible of survival. Nephis led most of the engagements, her blade flashing silver and brutal through caraplace beasts that screeched with lungs full or whatever organ they used to screem. Cassie trailed behind riding on Steve, her visions guiding them from deathtraps and abominations alike. Sunny followed in silence, the fire in his gut constant now, a low simmer made hotter by the glances he kept stealing—by the memory of the night before.
They ate like animals when the fighting was done, stripping the charred meat from the monsters they'd slain, cooking it over a tight coil of magical fire in a pit of broken stone. Cassie chattered, face bright despite the darkness around them, but Sunny barely heard her. His attention was stretched taut between what had happened last night and what might happen again tonight.
Nephis didn't speak much, as always. But when she looked at him—when their eyes locked for just a second too long—he knew. She remembered.
And she wanted more.
Night fell like a shroud.
Cassie slept first, her cloak curled up around her like a cocoon, lost in another prophetic dream or deadened to exhaustion. The fire had burned low, embers pulsing like heartbeats. Nephis had laid down earlier, her back again turned toward the wall, white hair fanned like fallen snow. She wore the same tattered underclothes—nothing else. As though she didn't fear the cold, didn't care if he saw.
Sunny lay still until he couldn't.
He rose, slower this time. The approach wasn't cautious—it was deliberate.
He lowered himself beside her once more, body inches from hers. No words. No breath to disturb the air. Just the heat between them building by the second. He didn't hesitate this time. His hand came to rest lightly on her hip, then tightened. And when she didn't flinch—didn't pull away—he moved.
Grinding harder now. His cock, already stiff, pressed aggressively against the cleft of her ass through the thin layers of cloth. She shifted—just subtly—letting him press deeper. The friction sent fire down his spine, and he couldn't stop the hiss that left him, breath rushing past clenched teeth as he rutted against her.
Nephis made no sound. But she moved, so slightly. Her back arched enough that her ass ground harder into him, matching the motion. Accepting it.
Sunny's hand slid under her blanket, fingers ghosting along the edge of her shirt, then lower—just over the swell of her ass. He gripped it as he rocked into her, the friction sending shudders through him, heat pooling low and molten in his belly. His hips moved faster now, breath coming louder. He couldn't help it. She was soft and warm and she let him. Every thrust made it worse—better. He was losing it. Right there. Right fucking there.
His hand clenched, breath caught—and then he came.
A guttural, low groan slipped from his throat, and his cock jerked violently against her. The release was messy and hot, soaking into the fabric between them, painting the cleft of her ass with thick, wet warmth. His hips twitched through it, grinding slower, letting it smear. He pressed hard once more, grinding the tip against the mess, smearing it deeper into her skin and cloth.
She didn't move.
Not a sound. Not a word.
When he finally rolled away, breath ragged, chest heaving, he didn't look at her.
But Nephis didn't sleep.
After several long minutes, when the silence had swallowed everything again, she reached back. Her fingers slid beneath the waistband of her pants, touched the sticky trail he'd left across her skin. Her hand came back up slow, fingers glistening faintly in the low firelight.
She brought them to her mouth. Tasted.
And her eyelids fluttered.
The flavor was salt and smoke and the raw edge of need. She didn't just like it—she craved it. Her tongue swept along her finger again, slower this time, and her thighs squeezed tight beneath the blanket. Not from shame. From desire.
No one would have believed it—Lady Nephis, pure flame and judgment, cold steel made flesh. But in the darkest depths of the Dream Realm, where only ghosts and gods watched, she let her mind wander to darker places. Violent places. Fantasies she never spoke aloud. She imagined his hand around her throat, imagined herself pinned and used and gasping under him, under all of them. She imagined not resisting. Letting herself be claimed, again and again.
Her breath trembled. Her fingers slid lower.
And still, she never made a sound.