My Husband Has A Weird System.

Victor remained rooted to the spot, his breath shallow and uneven. The fire crackled softly, but the only real sound in the cave was the faint, wet rhythm of Bella’s body still recovering.

She lay facedown on the cold stone floor, legs splayed wide apart in an exhausted, unthinking sprawl. Her thighs trembled faintly, muscles twitching in irregular little spasms that traveled up to her hips. Each tiny jerk made her round ass cheeks quiver, parting just enough to keep everything exposed: the flushed cleft between them, the glistening slit of her pussy still leaking slow, clear threads of arousal, and the wide, unclosed ring of her asshole.

It hadn’t snapped shut.

Even now, minutes after he’d yanked his consciousness free, the stretched muscle refused to fully contract. The rim remained a soft, rosy oval, glistening with a thin sheen of her own slick and the faint residue of cave air. Every few seconds a warm puff of internal heat escaped from the open tunnel, meeting the frigid draft creeping in from the cave mouth. Each exhale of her body produced a delicate, ghostly wisp of white vapor—like the slow, shallow breathing of some hidden creature. The sight was hypnotic: her asshole quite literally respiring, pulsing open and closed in tiny, helpless flutters that never quite sealed.

Inside, the walls were still on shameless display. Glossy pink mucosa, slick and swollen from overstimulation, rippled faintly with aftershocks. The delicate ridges and folds he’d mapped so ruthlessly with his gaze remained partially everted, glistening wetly in the firelight. Deeper still, the tunnel curved away into warm shadow, but even there the tissue looked pliant, inviting, as though it remembered the shape of his intrusion and hadn’t yet forgotten how to yield.

Victor’s throat worked. He wanted—god help him—he wanted to reach out. To trace that trembling rim with calloused fingertips. To press his tongue flat against those slick inner walls and taste the forbidden heat he’d already violated with his mind.

The thought struck like a blade. He crushed it instantly, horrified, fists clenching until his knuckles bleached white.

No.

Never.

But his eyes refused to obey. They stayed locked on that gaping, breathing little well of flesh—his daughter-in-law’s most secret place, still ruined and open because of him.

Bella braced her palms against the cold stone, pushing herself up just enough to twist her upper body around. She stayed on her belly, legs still splayed wide, ass tilted high and shamelessly toward Victor.

Victor’s gaze was still locked there.

Bella felt the weight of it instantly. Her cheeks burned. Almost without thinking, her right hand slipped back between her legs. Trembling fingertips brushed the outer edge of the stretched ring—still puffy, still fever-hot from overstimulation.

The lightest touch sent a jolt through her.

“Ah… nnh…”

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped as her fingers circled the sensitive rim. The contact made her hole flutter weakly, the muscle trying to clench around nothing and failing. She bit her lip harder, gathered her strength, and bore down.

“Mmmn… mnnn…”

She squeezed with everything she had. For a heartbeat the oval narrowed, rosy edges drawing inward like a shy flower trying to close… only to relax again almost immediately, blooming back open with a helpless little quiver. Not even halfway shut.

The failed effort ended in a longer, breathier moan—“Ah… ahnn…”—her hips twitching once as fresh slickness leaked from her pussy.

The small, futile motion was finally enough to snap Victor out of his daze.

“I’m sorry, Bella,” he rasped, voice rough and cracked.

She shook her head quickly, hair falling across her flushed face. “It’s… it’s okay, Dad,” she murmured, voice small and trembling. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

Her fingers hovered uncertainly near the rim, as though wanting to cover herself—but instead they drifted closer, tracing the slick inner edge almost curiously. The accidental caress made her whole body jerk faintly, a tiny spasm rippling up her spine.

Victor squeezed his eyes shut. “I lost focus. I shouldn’t have looked at you like that. I’m sorry.”

Bella’s cheeks burned hotter. She spoke softly, hesitantly, eyes fixed somewhere on the stone floor. “I… I understand. I know sometimes Hunters can’t help it when they concentrate too hard. And… and it’s because I’m dressed like this. It’s not your fault, Dad.”

“Even so,” he said through clenched teeth, “I still shouldn’t have stared. Not at you. Not like that.”

She paused, biting her lower lip until it turned white. Then, in an even quieter voice: “I really do understand. I know how hard it is… not to look. No matter what you see me as… it’s not something you can just control. I don’t blame you, Dad. Really.”

She noticed his head dipping again, just a fraction. Her teeth caught her lip once more. Softly, almost pleading: “I’m not mad. I’m not scared. I just… I just want you to know it’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

Victor opened his eyes.

He tried—god, he tried—to hold her gaze, to meet the forgiveness in her sapphire eyes.

But his attention slid downward again, helplessly drawn back to the still-gaping entrance between her cheeks.

Their eyes met for a split second. Bella saw exactly where his had drifted.

Victor snapped his lids shut again, mortified. “I’m sorry. It’s… really hard to control.”

Bella stared at him for a long moment—half embarrassed, half strangely charmed by how lost and guilty he looked. Her face was scarlet. After what felt like an eternity of silence, she swallowed hard and whispered,

“…You can look, Dad.”

Victor’s eyes flew open. He blinked, as though he hadn’t heard right.

Bella’s blush deepened to crimson. She forced the words out, barely audible. “If… if it keeps catching your eye… you can just look. I… I don’t mind. If it’s you… then I’m okay with it.”

Victor’s throat worked. No sound came out. His daughter-in-law was giving him permission to stare at her ruined, still-open asshole.

Bella couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. She ducked her head, voice trembling. “You don’t have to keep looking away. Anyway… anyway, I’m already like this. Wherever you look… it’s all exposed. So… so you might as well just… look.”

She stole a quick glance at him.

He was looking.

Not at her face.

At the place she’d just offered.

Bella’s breath hitched. Slowly, almost unconsciously, she shifted her hips—just a little. One cheek tilted higher, parting her cleft wider so the gaping pink tunnel was presented even more clearly: rim still quivering, inner walls slick and breathing, the faint curl of vapor rising with each warm exhale from inside her.

At the same time her left thigh drew up slightly, knee bending, which lifted her dripping pussy into plain view as well—swollen lips parted, clit peeking out, fresh arousal glistening along the folds.

It was an invitation. Not spoken. Not demanded. Just… offered. Quietly. Shyly.

Bella slowly pushed herself up from the stone floor, limbs still shaky but steadier now. She glanced at the wet patch beneath her, cheeks burning hot despite the freezing air. Without a word she scooped handfuls of fresh snow, pressing the cold powder over the puddle of her own pee and slick arousal until it vanished under white. The chill bit instantly into her skin, but she kept going, rubbing snow across her lower belly, then lower still.

She parted her thighs just enough, fingers trembling as she packed snow gently against her swollen folds. The icy contact made her gasp softly, a tiny helpless sound slipping out before she could stop it. Her clit throbbed under the sudden freeze, sensitive and needy from what had happened moments ago. She wiped carefully along her slit, snow melting fast against fever-hot flesh, turning to thin trickles that ran down the insides of her thighs. Every careful stroke sent fresh sparks through her core, pleasure twisting painfully with the cold until her breath came in shallow pants.

Victor watched, unable to look away. Her back was still mostly turned, yet the angle let him see everything, the soft curve of her ass, the way her fingers moved between pink glistening lips, the slight quiver in her legs each time she pressed harder. Shame and raw hunger warred inside him, because she looked so small and vulnerable yet so impossibly inviting. He hated himself for staring, but his body refused to obey.

Bella felt his gaze like a physical touch. Heat crawled up her neck again, but she did not hide or turn away this time. She simply kept cleaning herself, slower now, almost deliberate. The snow had mostly melted against her heat, leaving her skin damp and flushed. She dragged two fingers along her entrance one last time, gathering the last traces of slick mixed with meltwater, then wiped them on her thigh. A quiet whimper escaped when her fingertip brushed her clit by accident. The sound hung in the dim cave, fragile and honest.

Victor cleared his throat, voice rough. "I'm sorry, Bella.."

She shook her head quickly, still facing mostly away. "It's really okay, Dad." Her voice stayed soft, respectful, the same tone she had always used with him since she was small. Yet now it carried a faint tremor, because his eyes were still on her exposed sex and the knowledge made fresh warmth pool low in her belly.

She straightened, snow still clinging to her inner thighs, and flexed the fingers of the Quantum Gauntlet. One by one the digits curled in precise sequence, blue light flickering along the seams. A low hum answered, then a blade of pure quantum energy snapped into existence from her palm, thin and blindingly bright. She focused, willing the saber shorter, narrower, until it shrank to the size and shape of a fine carving knife, steady and silent in her grip.

Victor raised an eyebrow despite the pain in his ribs. When he first woke, he had watched her fumble with the device and struggled not to set the cave ablaze while lighting kindling. Now she handled it with calm precision, as if the weapon made to kill monsters had always been a sculpting tool in her hands.

She knelt beside a pile of loose stone, blade humming faintly. In minutes she had hollowed a deep pot from one large boulder, smoothed the inside until it would hold water without leaking. Two smaller bowls followed, then a flat ladle with a short handle. Each cut was clean, almost surgical, chips falling away in neat curls.

When the ladle was finished she set it aside. The stone pot already sat over the low flames, water inside beginning to steam. No salt, no herbs, nothing but what the mountain offered. Still she worked calmly, trusting instinct and memory.

She selected the thickest wolf femur, bone heavy in her small hands. The gauntlet purred again. A needle-thin thread of blue energy extended, sharper than any steel. One smooth pass and the bone split perfectly down the center.

Shhk.

Rich pale marrow lay exposed, gleaming in the firelight. She rotated the halves near the flames, careful not to scorch the outside. A warm, buttery scent drifted up, subtle and comforting in the cold. The marrow softened, began to weep golden droplets.

She tilted the bone over the pot, letting the melting fat slide into the simmering water in slow, heavy threads. When the marrow was spent she scraped the last clinging bits with a flat pebble, mashed them into a creamy paste, then stirred everything back into the broth. Strips of wolf meat went in next, cooking gently until they turned tender and pale.

She lifted the ladle, blew softly across the surface, and took the smallest sip. Warmth spread through her chest. The marrow carried a deep sweet richness that bloomed on her tongue, rounding out the wild gamey flavor of the meat. Simple, but good. Really good.

All the while, Victor’s gaze rested on her.

His gaze no longer darted away in frantic guilt. The stolen glances were slower now, more lingering. A quick flick to her face, then down to the cleft between her cheeks. When she bent especially low to adjust the pot, the motion spread her ass fully, pussy lips swollen and parted, glistening with fresh arousal; asshole still not quite closed, the rosy oval rim quivering faintly, inner walls catching firelight in soft, wet gleams. Each time she held that pose for more than a second or two, his eyes stayed. Not rushing. Not hiding.

Bella was used to being looked at.

She’d always been beautiful—sharp features softened by full lips and sapphire eyes, body curved in ways that turned heads without effort. Men stared on the street, in markets. She’d learned early to carry herself with quiet confidence under those gazes.

And after she started dating Daniel officially, the staring became something far more intimate.

It wasn’t kisses he craved most in those early days. It was exposure. He’d tug her panties aside while she was curled up reading, holding the fabric out of the way so he could simply look at her pussy for long minutes—tracing the folds with his eyes, watching her clit swell under the attention without touching. In his office he’d make her perch naked on the edge of his desk, legs spread wide beside his laptop while he worked, occasionally glancing over to admire how her lips glistened or how her hole fluttered when she shifted. On their private beach he’d strip her bare, push her thighs apart on the warm sand, and spend lazy afternoons staring straight into her open cunt and asshole while the waves rolled in.

He even built a small endoscopic device himself—thin, flexible, camera-tipped—and guided it slowly inside both her holes, narrating every detail he saw on the tiny screen: the slick pink walls, the gentle ripples of muscle, the way her cervix looked when she clenched around the intrusion. He’d watch for hours sometimes, mesmerized.

Ethan was no different. He’d crawl under tables to hook her panties aside and bury his face between her thighs, licking and sucking while staring up into her dripping slit. He’d flip her skirts up without warning, spread her cheeks wide, and press his nose right against her asshole—inhaling deeply, groaning at the scent before licking long, slow stripes from pussy to rim. He loved making her squat over his face, pussy grinding against his mouth, asshole hovering just above his nose so he could breathe her in while she rode his tongue.

Her holes had been stared at, licked, sucked, fucked, toyed with, displayed—whenever, wherever the mood struck. Being an object of raw, hungry visual fixation was simply part of her sex life.

So when Victor’s eyes lingered now—longer each time she bent, tracing the still-gaping rim of her asshole, the slick trail of arousal dripping from her pussy—it shouldn’t have felt new.

But it did.

Because this was Victor. Dad. The man who’d patiently taught her how to braid her own hair when her fingers were still too clumsy, who’d stayed up late helping her study for school exams even though he barely understood the civilian subjects, who’d quietly sat beside her on the porch swing every evening she felt lonely. The steady, protective figure she’d once harbored a secret, childish crush on—the innocent flutter in her chest whenever he smiled at her drawings or praised her cooking, the way her heart skipped when his big hand rested gently on her head.

Now that same man was staring at her spread cunt and ruined asshole with the same quiet intensity he once used to study gate patterns or monster weak points. And the realization sent a fresh, shameful heat curling low in her belly.

Her asshole twitched—still loose, still sensitive—every time she felt his gaze settle there. It remembered. Remembered the thick, unyielding pressure of his concentrated stare sliding deep inside, stretching her open from the inside out, mapping every fold until she’d shattered around it. Each flutter felt like an echo of that violation, warm and involuntary.

Her pussy responded in kind. Another slow bead of slick gathered at her entrance, stretched into a thin, glistening thread that hung between her thighs—swaying gently with her movements, never quite breaking. She could feel it: cool air kissing the wet string, the faint tug when she shifted. She knew he could see it too.

She was wet. Achingly, obviously wet.

And he knew.

Bella’s face burned with fresh heat, but she didn’t snap her thighs shut. Didn’t reach down to wipe the evidence away. She simply kept working—slicing the meat into thinner strips, feeding another branch to the fire, stirring the pot in slow, deliberate circles—as though the thin, glistening rope of arousal hanging between her legs was nothing out of the ordinary. As though her father-in-law wasn’t quietly watching it stretch longer, sway with her movements, and finally break free in slow, humiliating drops that pattered softly onto the stone floor.

Bella didn’t blame Victor. Men looked. They stared. They got hard. It was simple, animal instinct. Just like the way her pussy clenched and leaked, throbbing with shameless heat the moment she felt eyes on it—even when those eyes belonged to the man she’d always seen as Dad.

Bella stirred the soup one final time, then carefully ladled the steaming broth into one of the stone bowls. The marrow-enriched liquid shimmered faintly in the firelight, rich and golden.

She turned and saw Victor struggling to sit up straighter, face tight with pain as he braced against the stone wall. His breath came short, ribs protesting every small shift.

"Dad, please lie still," she said softly, voice gentle but firm. "Don't move. Let me bring it to you."

She carried the bowl over, knees pressing into the cold floor as she knelt close beside him. Steam rose in lazy curls against her bare arms. She blew across the surface several times until the heat felt safe, then leaned forward, spoon in hand.

Gravity pulled at her heavy breasts immediately. The thin black babydoll offered almost no resistance, fabric stretching taut as her chest dipped toward him. Soft, warm weight settled against his cotton shirt, pressing firmly into his chest through the layers. Even with the barrier he felt the impossible plushness, the way her flesh yielded and molded to his body like warm silk poured over muscle. Her nipples, already stiff from cold and lingering arousal and the constant weight of his gaze, dragged slowly across him with every careful movement. The friction sent tiny jolts through her, drawing a faint, involuntary whimper from her throat.

She straightened quickly, cheeks flaming. "I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes dropping.

She tried again, adjusting her angle, leaning from the side instead of directly above. But her breasts were too full, too heavy. No matter how she shifted they still drooped forward, brushing and settling against him. After two more failed attempts she gave up, face scarlet. Without another word she scooted closer until her bare thigh pressed warmly against his arm, then leaned in fully, letting the full soft mass of her chest flow across his torso.

The sensation hit Victor like a slow tide. Her breasts were impossibly soft, almost liquid in their weight, spreading and conforming to every contour of his chest. Each breath she took made them shift, ripple gently against him, the creamy flesh spilling outward then drawing back with hypnotic heaviness. Warmth radiated from her skin, carrying the faint sweet scent of her body, clean sweat and something deeper, more intimate. It filled his lungs, clouded his thoughts. He tried to focus on the spoon she lifted to his lips, but his body answered anyway, heat pooling low despite the pain and the cold.

He ate slowly, eyes tracing her face first, the delicate flush on her cheeks, the way her lips parted slightly each time she blew on the next spoonful. Then his gaze drifted lower, helpless, drawn to the deep shadowed valley between her breasts, the faint outline of her areolas visible through the sheer fabric, the hard peaks pressing insistently against his shirt. He swallowed broth and desire in the same motion.

Bella felt every second of his attention. Her nipples tightened further, aching points that throbbed with each heartbeat. Fresh wetness gathered between her thighs, slick and warm against the chill air. Her rear clenched instinctively, a tiny helpless flutter deep inside. Shame burned through her, yet she stayed silent, kept feeding him, spoon after careful spoon. The heat from his body seeped upward into her chest, soothing and inflaming at once. She pretended not to notice how her breasts slid and dragged with every lean, pretended the friction did not make her breath hitch.

One strap of the babydoll slipped suddenly, silk sliding off her shoulder. The right cup fell away completely. A pale, perfect breast spilled free, nipple dark and erect against snowy skin. The firelight caught the gentle curve, the faint blue veins beneath translucence, the way the heavy globe trembled slightly with her breathing.

Bella froze for half a heartbeat, spoon hovering near his mouth. She felt the air kiss her bare skin, felt his stare lock onto the exposed flesh. Heat roared through her face, down her neck, into her core. Yet she did not reach to fix the strap. She simply lowered the spoon again, trembling just enough that a drop of broth fell onto his shirt.

Victor stared, openly now, unable to pull away. The sight of her bare breast resting against him, soft and vulnerable and impossibly full, burned into his mind. He accepted the next spoonful without tasting it, throat tight, pulse loud in his ears.

She kept going, slow and steady, one bare breast swaying gently with each motion, the other still half-covered but no less obscene in its outline. Neither of them spoke of it. The cave stayed quiet except for the crackle of the fire, the soft wet sounds of the spoon, and the shallow rhythm of their breathing.

Bella finished feeding Victor the last spoonful, then took a small portion for herself. She ate quietly, sitting cross-legged near the fire, the warm broth spreading gentle heat through her chest and belly. Each swallow helped chase away some of the lingering chill.

When the bowl was empty she set it aside and turned to the two wolf pelts. She dragged them closer to the flames, spreading them flat so the inner sides faced the heat. The hides needed curing, at least a little, before they could serve as proper bedding or blankets. She worked in silence, using a flat stone to scrape away any remaining bits of fat and membrane, careful not to tear the thin leather.

After a while she gave up on perfect results for now and simply let the pelts hang near the fire to dry slowly. Exhaustion settled deep into her bones. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her shins, and rested her cheek on one thigh. Her gaze drifted to the dancing flames, unfocused and distant.

Victor watched her from across the small blaze. He wondered what thoughts moved behind those soft eyes, what memories or fears kept her so still. His attention slipped downward almost against his will. Her sex still glistened faintly in the firelight, lips slightly parted and slick from earlier. The tiny ring of her rear had closed again, yet it twitched now and then in tiny involuntary spasms, as though her body still remembered the pressure that had stretched it open.

He noticed the fine tremors running through her limbs. Even with a body refined far beyond normal human limits she felt cold the same way anyone would. Reinforcement granted endurance, not immunity to sensation. The instinct to seek warmth remained sharp, primal, unchanged.

"Bella," he said quietly. "Come lie closer to me."

She blinked, surprised, but asked no questions. She crawled over on hands and knees, breasts swaying heavily beneath the thin babydoll with each movement. The sight no longer shocked her as much. Victor had already seen everything there was to see. She settled beside him, small and delicate next to his broad frame, then turned onto her side so she could look at him, curious and trusting.

Victor exhaled slowly. A faint silver glow rose from his skin, soft and warm, spreading outward until it enveloped her too. The aura wrapped around Bella like heated silk, sudden and complete.

She let out a small, involuntary sound. "Mmm."

Every muscle in her body loosened at once. The bone-deep cold that had clung to her for hours melted away, replaced by liquid comfort so intense it bordered on pleasure. Her spine arched slightly, a fine shiver racing through her as warmth flooded places she had not realized were still clenched tight. The sensation pushed her close to the edge again, thighs pressing together on instinct.

Her eyes widened with sudden worry. "Dad, pull the aura back. You need to focus on healing. I can handle the cold, really. I'm fine."

He shook his head. "No. You were out in that storm for hours. If you get sick too, we're both finished. Sleep. This barely uses any mana."

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She searched his face for a long moment, thoughts flickering behind her gaze. Color climbed into her cheeks again, sudden and bright. Slowly she inched closer until her small hand rested on his forearm. Her breasts settled heavily against his upper arm, soft weight spilling over muscle. Her flat stomach pressed warmly to his forearm, rising and falling with each breath.

She hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. "Dad... you can pull the aura back. Like this I can still feel your warmth. It won't cost you anything extra."

Victor's entire body tensed. He felt every tremble in her frame, the plush glide of her breasts molding to his arm, the smooth heat of her lower belly shifting against his skin. Her sex hovered only inches from his hand. One small flex of his fingers and he could touch her there, trace the slick folds of his daughter-in-law's most intimate place.

Reason clawed its way back. He eased his arm free, careful not to startle her. Their eyes met. Hers were wide, vulnerable. He cleared his throat softly, then lifted that same arm and slid it beneath her head.

"Use this as a pillow," he said. "Sleep."

She started to protest, but he cut her off gently. "I'm not that weak. It's fine."

Bella lifted her head just enough for him to settle his arm properly, then lowered herself again. She shifted nearer, curling in until her body aligned with his side. After a brief hesitation she draped one arm across his chest, fingers splaying lightly over his heart. One leg drew up, thigh resting warmly on his. She pressed closer still, a quiet whimper escaping as fresh heat soaked into her skin.

The sound carried an edge of raw need. Embarrassment flared instantly. She tensed, ready to pull away. But his arm tightened around her shoulders, drawing her firmly against him. The sudden closeness pulled another soft moan from her throat.

She froze for a second, then relaxed. Tiny adjustments followed, hips wiggling once or twice until she found the perfect fit. Finally she went limp against him, breathing out a long, contented sigh.

Her whole body draped over his like warm silk. She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze. He looked down at her.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

She smiled, small and shy. "Yes. Thank you, Dad."

From the time she was little she had dreamed of being held like this, safe and warm in strong arms while she slept. Now it was real. The circumstances were far from perfect, the air thick with something unspoken and heated, but the comfort remained true. She closed her eyes, cheek resting on his chest, and let herself drift toward sleep in the circle of his embrace.

Victor woke slowly the next morning, a calm energy humming through him like he had slept deeply for the first time in years. No nightmares. No restless turning. Just peaceful, unbroken rest.

His body should have ached. Cracked ribs, claw marks, deep bruises, the bone-deep fatigue from the fight and the cold should still have weighed him down like lead. Yet the pain had dulled to a faint echo, as though he had undergone a full session of high-grade healing from a dedicated support hunter. Even for an S-rank like him such rapid recovery felt impossible without external aid.

He opened his eyes gradually.

Bella lay curled entirely within his embrace, her small frame draped across his chest like she belonged there. Her sapphire eyes were already open, watching him with a soft, shy glow. A faint blush colored her cheeks. Golden hair spilled messily over his arm, strands catching the weak morning light that filtered through the cave mouth.

“Morning… Dad,” she whispered, voice tiny and hesitant.

“Morning, Bella,” he murmured back, voice rough from sleep.

Then he felt it.

His broad arm had wrapped fully around her hips during the night. His large hand cupped one soft globe of her ass, fingers sunk deep into plush flesh.

One thick digit had slipped between her cheeks, buried to the second knuckle inside the tight, warm ring of her rear. Heat surrounded him there, silky walls gently pulsing around the intrusion.

He felt every detail in excruciating clarity. The silky heat of her rear enveloped his digit completely, smooth walls rippling and clinging like warm velvet. Each tiny contraction squeezed him in slow, rhythmic pulses, the muscle drawing tight then fluttering loose, milking him with greedy little flutters that sent heat straight to his groin. The texture was impossibly soft yet firm, slick from her earlier arousal, every ridge and fold dragging against his skin as her body tried to hold him deeper.

Instinct moved his hand before thought could catch up. The fingers still outside squeezed, kneading the creamy mounds until they spread wider under his grip. The finger inside twitched, curling slightly, brushing sensitive inner walls.

“Ahh… ahhn~… Dad…”

Bella’s voice broke into a helpless moan. Her hips jerked in tiny spasms. The tight muscle clamped down hard, milking his finger in rhythmic pulses. Her whole body arched, then bowed outward. Toes curled tight. Nails dug into his chest through his shirt. Breath came in short, sobbing gasps of pleasure.

The climax rolled through her far longer than a single touch should have triggered—twenty seconds, maybe thirty—waves of trembling release until finally her muscles gave out. She collapsed limp against him, panting softly, cheeks wet with unshed tears.

Victor froze. His mind caught up in a cold rush. He had been groping her in his sleep. Maybe all night. Maybe he never stopped.

He did not dare pull out. Not yet. She was still so sensitive, every small shift would hurt her or push her over again. But beneath the excuse a darker truth lingered. He was reluctant to leave the exquisite heat, the way her walls fluttered and hugged him like they never wanted to let go. The slow, wet squeeze around his knuckle felt addictive, intimate in a way nothing else had ever been.

“Bella—I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Her body still twitched with fading aftershocks. Small shivers ran down her spine. She did not pull away. Instead she kept her gaze lowered, lashes dark and damp, cheeks burning scarlet. “It’s… it’s okay, Dad,” she whispered, voice shaky but impossibly gentle. “Really. It’s okay.”

Silence stretched between them. Bella said nothing more, only breathed against his chest in slow, uneven pulls. Yet the tiny contractions around his finger reminded him constantly—his hand still cradled her ass, his digit still nestled deep inside his daughter-in-law’s most private place.

Guilt burned hot in his chest. Shame clawed at him. And beneath it all something darker stirred, hungry and unbidden.

He could not stop himself. Two slow, deliberate hooks curled inside her. The motion dragged along slick inner flesh, pressing against sensitive spots.

Her hips bucked hard this time. A broken, needy whimper spilled from her lips. “Nnn… ahhh~… Dad…” Her voice cracked into something raw and sweet, high and trembling. Her walls spasmed wildly, fluttering in frantic little waves that clamped and released in quick succession. Her thighs quivered against his sides.

Fresh slickness leaked from her front, dripping warm against his wrist. She buried her face in his neck, muffling another long, shuddering moan that vibrated through his skin.

Victor swallowed hard. Reason screamed at him to stop.

Very slowly he began to withdraw. His finger slid out inch by careful inch. Bella’s voice followed every millimeter.

“Ahh… ahnn… ahh… ohh... ughh”

The tight ring gripped him fiercely the entire way, as though desperate to keep him inside. Each time he pulled back the muscle clenched harder, rippling down his length in slow, possessive squeezes. The slick walls dragged against him, reluctant to release, fluttering and pulsing like a living thing that refused to be empty.

Halfway out the rim caught on his knuckle, tightening so strongly he felt the pulse of her heartbeat through the thin membrane. The sudden vise-like squeeze made her hips jerk forward involuntarily.

“Ahhn~… ahn... ahnn” she whimpered, the words dissolving into a long, quivering moan that vibrated against his throat.

Another soft, wet contraction milked him one last time, greedy and rhythmic, drawing every last bit of sensation from the slow retreat.

“Mmm… ahh… ahnnn…” Her cries grew higher, more desperate, each one spilling out in tiny, needy bursts as the pressure built and released inside her.

Only when the tip finally slipped free did the ring snap shut with a tiny, audible quiver. Bella’s thighs trembled hard. “Ahhh~!” The final sound escaped her in a sharp, helpless cry, raw and sweet, as her body registered the sudden emptiness.

The wet sound of release was soft, obscene in the quiet cave. Her hole gaped for a single heartbeat, pink and slick, before it clenched tight again, still trembling from the loss. A fine shiver raced down her spine.

She hid her face against his neck, breath hot and ragged, small aftershocks making her lips brush his skin with every uneven exhale. “Haa… haah… Dad…” she whispered once more, the word barely audible, thick with lingering pleasure and quiet shame.

Victor’s hand remained on her ass, palm warm against the soft curve, fingers no longer inside but still curved possessively over the trembling flesh. Bella stayed draped over him, small and trembling, yet making no attempt to create distance.

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