Chapter 7

Nina lay on the massage table, her body trembling, shining with sweat, slick, and love. Tears clung to her lashes — not from pain — but from overwhelming, shattering joy.

Linda leaned over her, eyes gleaming with pride and love, and kissed her damp forehead tenderly.

Gently, Linda and Jon helped her sit up — Nina gasping, trembling, the world spinning around her. Her legs slid off the side of the table, bare feet finding the cool floor, but when she tried to stand, her knees buckled immediately. Jon caught her effortlessly, strong arms wrapping around her waist. Linda slipped under her other arm, holding her steady.

“Easy,” Jon murmured, kissing her temple. “You don’t have to do anything alone anymore,” Linda whispered against her ear.

They walked her slowly out of the massage room, supporting her weight between them, her arms around their shoulders. Nina stumbled a little, wobbly as a newborn deer — legs slick with their combined love, thighs still trembling from aftershocks. The villa was dim and warm, the rain still hissing softly against the windows, distant thunder rumbling low. They moved through the quiet house, through the golden light, toward the master bedroom.

The bedroom was a sanctuary — soft lamps casting a low, golden glow. The huge bed was turned down — thick white sheets, heavy blankets. Fluffy towels lay ready at the foot of the bed.

Jon guided Nina to the edge of the mattress, helping her sit down, then lowering her gently onto the sheets. Linda knelt by the bed, grabbing a thick, warm towel, and handed it to Jon with a soft smile.

Jon kissed Nina’s knee, then began to dry her tenderly, reverently. Slow strokes — soaking up the sweat, the cum, the slick. Every inch of her body was worshiped under his careful hands — belly, thighs, calves, arms, breasts. Between each pass of the towel, Jon pressed soft kisses against her skin — her kneecap, her bellybutton, the soft inner slope of her hip.

Nina whimpered softly, floating, drifting — soaked not in sex anymore, but in love.

When she was dry, Linda slipped onto the bed beside her, gathering Nina gently into her arms, cradling her against her bare chest. Nina folded against her naturally — small, trusting. Linda stroked her hair — long, slow sweeps — whispering soft nothings into her ear. “My sweet girl...” “My brave, beautiful love...” “You’re perfect.”

Slowly, Linda shifted, guiding Nina’s flushed, tear-streaked face against her chest. Her hand cupped the heavy weight of her own breast, lowering it carefully, until her stiff, sensitive nipple brushed against Nina’s parted lips.

Nina whimpered — without thinking, without hesitation — and latched on. Her mouth closed over Linda’s nipple, suckling softly, soothingly — seeking comfort, seeking love, seeking something primal and endless. Linda moaned softly, rocking Nina gently against her body, stroking her hair, her shoulders. “There you go, baby,” Linda whispered, voice thick with tears. “Let Mommy take care of you.”

Jon and Fab moved closer, settling on either side of the bed, their bodies warm and strong and silent. They watched, smiling, proud, as Nina suckled Linda’s nipple like a starving thing finally fed.

Soft noises filled the room — the slow, wet sounds of her mouth, the rustle of sheets, the low hum of Linda’s voice. The storm outside softened to a gentle whisper, the villa holding them in a cocoon of heat, safety, love.

Nina’s breathing slowed, her body relaxing fully, melting into Linda’s arms. Linda kissed the crown of her head, then her temple, then whispered against her hair: “You’re reborn now, my sweet girl.”

Nina whimpered around Linda’s nipple, eyes fluttering closed, a small, broken sob escaping her chest.

“I know honey,” Linda purred softly. “Mommy knows. She loves you. Go to sleep if you want.”

In her sleep, Nina dreamed of joy.

Of beauty.

Of love.