Just the specific, full pulse of his release directly into her throat, bypassing her mouth entirely — thick, hot ropes firing straight past her tongue in long, sustained bursts that she had no chanism to spit because there was nowhere for them to go except down.
Her eyes went wide.
Then wider.
Then rolled.
The seed filling her throat faster than her swallow reflex could manage, backing up, rising, her nose beginning to leak — thin, white, running from both nostrils down her upper lip in twin streams while her eyes kept rolling and her hands gripped his thighs with white knuckles.
Her consciousness began to narrow.
The edges of her vision going dark and soft at the sa ti.
His hand glowed briefly.
A warm pulse that moved from his palm through her skull and down her spine, the healing magic finding the oxygen deficit and correcting it cleanly, her body rebooting from the inside before she fully tipped over the edge.
She blinked.
Then coughed.
He released her head.
She pulled off his cock in one long, involuntary backward lurch, seed spilling from both the corners of her mouth and her nose as she coughed again, both hands on the seat, green hair hanging forward over her face, completely wrecked.
"You ’bastard’—" The words ca out between coughs. "Why did you— that was my ’throat’—why did you use—"
She pushed the hair from her face.
Looked at him.
His cock was limp now.
Fully.
Laying soft against his thigh, glistening, a slow thread of pre-cum drooling from the tip in a thin, lazy line that reached the seat before breaking.
He reached forward.
Found her hair.
Both hands gathering the green strands together behind her head, and he pressed the silky length of it against his cock — deliberately, slowly rubbing it along the shaft, using the fine, clean texture of her hair to wipe himself down the way a man uses a cloth.
Up and down.
The full length.
The seed transferring from his cock to her hair in slow, deliberate strokes until the shaft was clean and her green hair was sticky, several strands clumping together where the wet had saturated them.
Thalia watched this happen.
With her mouth open.
"You are cleaning your cock," she said flatly. "With my hair."
"It’s clean now."
"My ’hair’—"
"Also clean."
She closed her mouth.
Breathed in through her nose.
Breathed out.
He let the hair go.
Leaned his head back against the seat.
"She used to love ," he said to the ceiling.
Thalia looked at him.
"Sugar." A pause. "We had sothing. It ended."
"You cheated on her."
Not a question.
He looked at her sideways.
"Yes."
The honesty of it arrived without ornantation. No deflection, no justification. Just the flat acknowledgnt of a man who knows what he did and has filed it in the relevant category.
"Of course you did," Thalia said.
She was pulling at the sticky strands of her hair. Trying to separate them. Failing.
"However."
She looked at him.
"I need you to use her for sothing different." His voice shifted — still unhurried, but carrying the register of a man with an actual objective beneath all of it. "I need her to locate soone. Track her."
"Who."
"A woman nad Nano."
Thalia went still for a fraction.
"I need you to deploy Sugar to find her exact location." He paused. "Without Sugar knowing why."
Thalia looked at him for a long mont.
Her hair was a disaster.
Her blouse was open.
Both her thighs were still faintly damp at the inner surface and she had seed in her nose and his cock-cleaning residue in her hair and she was sitting naked in the back seat of a destroyed car in a corporate parking lot and she had a eting in approximately forty-five minutes.
She was quiet for exactly three seconds.
"What do I get," she said. "In exchange."
He breathed.
Long. Slow.
Let the exhale settle before he spoke.
"You already know."
She did.
She had known before she asked.
She clicked her tongue — a single, precise sound of a woman who has arrived at a conclusion she resents arriving at and is choosing to announce the resentnt rather than the conclusion.
"Why," she said.
Not to him.
To the car roof. To the general arrangent of circumstances that had deposited her here.
"Why do I keep—"
She stopped herself.
Pressed her lips together.
’Why do I keep falling for you specifically.’ ’Of all the people who could have deflowered and then left and then co back with soone else’s sll and then spent an entire morning destroying my back seat and then inford they need a favour.’ ’Why is it this particular man.’
She knew the answer.
She had always known the answer.
She was simply choosing not to say it out loud in a car that already contained enough honesty for one morning.
"Fine," she said.
She started to move.
Gathering her blouse, pulling it closed over both breasts — the buttons were gone but she crossed the fabric and held it with one hand — her other hand attempting to address the state of her hair with no real success.
She reached for the door handle.
"Now I have to take a bath," she said, "because of you."
He snapped his fingers.
The portal opened beside the car door.
Clean circle. Amber edges. Depth suggesting elsewhere.
He stepped out of the car.
She was still mid-exit, one leg out, dress sowhat adjusted, sticky hair mostly gathered over one shoulder.
He pushed her.
Flat hand between her shoulder blades.
Not hard.
Just present.
She stumbled forward and her foot cleared the car and then she was falling through the portal with his body directly behind her, both of them tipping through the amber edge together, her shriek cutting off as the parking lot disappeared around them.
"’NO’—my body will—you ’pervert’—I just got dressed—’Cruxius’—my ’BODY’—"
His arm ca around her waist from behind, his chest against her back, both of them tumbling through the amber nothing together.
"Why don’t we," he said into her ear, the chuckle completely audible even through the portal transition, "take a bath together?"
"I WILL ACTUALLY KILL YOU—"
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