The Ritual — Part Three

"Time," Vic said.

Marcus pulled back first. His lips were wet. His breathing was slightly heavier than before, though his face revealed nothing. He nodded at her — once, respectful, professional — and returned to his seat.

The broad-shouldered man followed a moment later, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Good," he said. That was all. Just good.

"Beard. Hicks. You're up."

Beard was on his knees before Vic finished the sentence. Hicks followed slower, almost ****, but his eyes were hungry in a way that made Kayla's stomach flip.

They knelt together.

Beard took her left breast without preamble, latching on hard and deep, his nose pressed against her sternum. He groaned against her skin — a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through her chest and straight down to her pelvis.

Hicks was gentler. His hands shook slightly as he cupped her right breast, and Kayla realized — with a strange little jolt of empathy — that this might be his first time feeding from a live asset.

"You good?" she whispered.

Hicks nodded, not meeting her eyes, and closed his mouth around her nipple.

She felt his hesitation. His uncertainty. The way his tongue moved like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Then the milk let down again — she had stopped counting how many times, her body just giving now, a machine performing its function — and his whole body relaxed against hers.

"Oh," he breathed against her skin. "Oh."

"Yeah," Kayla whispered. "That's it. Just breathe."

Beard pulled off for a second, his chin wet and glistening. "She's sweet," he said to no one in particular. "Like — actually sweet. Like honey."

"Honey," Dom said from the bench, his voice distant now, the cognitive enhancement settling into his bloodstream. "That's the A5. Tastes like honey to some people. Depends on your palate."

Beard looked at Kayla like she'd just performed a miracle.

Then he went back to drinking.