Ordering out to eat

Several hours later, with the children safely tucked away in bundles on their shared bed back home, they were sound asleep. The two women stepped out of a Krakoa portal into the pulsing heart of Manhattan after dark. They moved like twin storms. Raven wore black leather that clung like a second skin, low-cut enough to draw every eye on the street, hips swaying with deliberate menace that made more than one driver late at night squeal the brakes for leering too long.

Irene had chosen crimson silk-thin straps, a cocktail dress with a plunging neckline so deep it exposed her firm abdomen, and a slit high enough to flash bare thigh with every step. Both had gone the same route, disguising themselves as beauties from someplace exotic and tropical: deep-olive skin, dark, full-bodied hair, sharp emerald eyes. And the disguises worked. Everywhere they looked, several men gawked like deer in the headlights at the two supermodels who showed as much shame as a pair of Succubi.

Let them stare. Let them want. It was why they were out here this late after all. Fresh meat. They chose a high-end rooftop club in Manhattan, known for discretion and deep pockets. The bouncer took one look at the two buxom beauties who tilted their heels and fluttered their eyes back at him with coy seduction and waved them through without a word. Inside, the music throbbed like a heartbeat. Bodies pressed close. Money and desire hung thick in the air.

They didn’t bother with subtlety. Raven slid onto a barstool first, crossing her legs so the leather rode up her thigh. Irene pressed in behind her, one arm draped possessively around her waist, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Pick your targets,” Irene whispered. Raven scanned the room with lazy hunger. Her gaze settled on a group of suited men in the VIP section—young, rich, already half-drunk, laughing too loudly. Easy. Delicious.

“There,” she said, nodding toward them. “The one in the charcoal suit keeps staring. And his friends aren’t much better.” Irene smiled against her neck. “Then let’s give them something to stare at.”

They moved together, cutting through the crowd like sharks through water. When they reached the velvet rope, the security guard hesitated, then stepped aside at the flash of Raven’s innocent smile and a subtle jolt in her step that caused her chest to wobble just the right way to catch everyone’s eye.

“Oh! Is this a PRIVATE party?”

The men looked up as the two curvaceous goddesses, trading looks and murmurs, before one of them nodded to the security and waved for the two women to join them. slid into their booth without invitation.

“Evening, girls,” Chuckled one of the well-dressed men at the table. Raven settled between two of them while Irene claimed the spot opposite, legs crossed high. “We’re in the mood to celebrate. Care to help?”

The charcoal-suit man swallowed hard, eyes darting between cleavage and sun-kissed skin. “Celebrate… what?” Irene leaned forward, letting the silk slip just enough.

“Getting lucky and shit-faced on a wild night.” He and the other men at the table cheered as they ordered more drinks.

Under the table, Raven’s hand found a thigh. Irene’s fingers brushed a wrist. Within minutes, the conversation had devolved into heavy breathing, wandering hands, and half-coherent offers of private rooms upstairs. They didn’t need to ask twice. The private suite was all mirrors and low lights. Clothes hit the floor in seconds. Raven took the lead, straddling one man while Irene claimed another, their bodies moving in perfect, predatory sync. The remaining two watched, mesmerized, aroused, helpless until the women beckoned them closer.

It was a blur of skin and heat and slick sounds. Raven rode hard, laughing as orgasms rolled through her in waves. Irene directed with quiet commands, voice like velvet over steel, until every man was spent and trembling. By the time they finished, both women were glowing. Bellies already beginning to swell again with impossible speed, skin flushed, hair wild. They left the suite without a backward glance, the men sprawled **** behind them. Outside on the rooftop, dawn just touching the skyline, Raven pressed Irene against the railing and kissed her deeply.

“Again tomorrow?” she murmured against swollen lips. Irene’s hand slid over the new, gentle curve of Raven’s abdomen, feeling the first faint kicks.

“Every night,” she answered. “Damn, I’ve never felt this alive in centuries!”

Raven grinned, sharp and satisfied. “Then let's live it up every night.”