Chapter 6: The Artist’s Mastery

The third night belonged to Victor Lang.

He had won the dawn sample by a razor-thin margin—his motility numbers spiking higher than either Kane man could match, his volume a creamy, elegant flood that made Victoria’s mouth water when she swirled the cup.

Now, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the master suite in deep amber, Victor stood at the foot of the bed in a loose black silk robe, dark eyes gleaming with the quiet confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was capable of.

Richard and Edward sat in the shadowed sitting room again, bound by her rules—hands restrained loosely with silk ties this time, to ensure they only watched.

Victoria lay naked on the bed, propped on pillows, legs parted just enough to tease. She beckoned Victor with one finger.

“Come here, Nonno,” she purred. “Show these Kane brutes what real pleasure looks like.”

Victor shed the robe slowly, revealing his lean, olive-toned body—still elegant at seventy, muscles defined from decades of disciplined living. His cock stood proud, uncut, the foreskin already retracted to reveal the glossy head.

He didn’t rush.

He started at her ankles—kissing, licking, tracing patterns with his tongue up the inside of each calf, behind each knee. Every touch was deliberate, feather-light, then firm, then light again. By the time he reached her thighs, Victoria was breathing in soft, involuntary gasps.

Richard shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Edward’s ice-blue eyes narrowed.