Chapter 122: Baptism by Fire and Feather(Threesome – Angel Dust × Angel Salvadore × Ryan)(Heavy NSFW • Erotica • Submission • Intimacy • Female Bonding)
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The rooftop was quiet now.
Only the wind stirred, carrying the fading scent of sweat and ozone from the earlier spar. Angel Salvadore stood near the edge, her bare feet pressed against warm concrete, chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. She'd passed her trial. She hadn't won—but she had endured. Earned her place.
Behind her, Angel Dust stepped forward, her gait lazy but powerful, like a lioness after a long hunt. She was breathing heavier too—more from restraint than exhaustion. A slight bruise bloomed on her cheekbone, and a smear of blood traced the corner of her lip.
Ryan stood in silence, his silver-lensed gaze passing between the two women. The contrast was striking—Salvadore's smaller, toned frame still radiating divine light, while Dust's taller, hardened body carried earthy, violent pride.
There was something primal in the air.
Not violence now.
But something else.
Heat.
"Take a knee," Ryan said quietly.
Angel Salvadore obeyed first. She dropped with grace, her divine wings shimmering briefly before folding into tattoos along her spine.
Angel Dust hesitated—but only for a second. She met Ryan's eyes, then smirked as she knelt beside the younger woman, one knee down, one fist pressed to her thigh like a soldier reporting in.
Ryan walked to them slowly. Every step echoed. His boots scraped the rooftop tiles. He stopped directly in front of them, towering, silent.
His fingers brushed beneath Angel Salvadore's chin, lifting her gaze.
"You impressed me," he said.
Salvadore trembled.
"Thank you, sir," she breathed, her voice hoarse with fatigue and something deeper. Need.
He turned to Angel Dust.
"You were great holding back."
"Wouldn't want her to have a bad first start, creating psychological fear or scar by doing that," Dust said. "She earned every bruise."
Ryan nodded, then reached down and cupped the side of Dust's face—thumb dragging across her bruised lip.
Dust's smirk vanished—not from fear, but from something deeper. Reverence.
Ryan's other hand moved to Salvadore's hair, gripping the thick coils gently but with possessive dominance, tilting her head so that both women faced him—bare, bruised, and breathless. One divine, one forged in steel. Both now fully claimed.
"Both of you. Mine."
They answered in unison, the words not just spoken but exhaled from deep within.
"Yes, sir."
Ryan's eyes burned with pride—and power.
A golden aura shimmered faintly around his body, invisible to all but the system-linked. He shifted his focus to Angel Dust, who met his gaze steadily, chest rising and falling with controlled anticipation. He didn't ask for consent. He didn't need to. Dust had already given it in blood, bone, and restraint.
"Gift for the good soldier," he murmured.
He reached out and pressed two fingers to the center of Dust's chest—right between her breasts. A pulse of evolutionary energy surged forward like a spear of light, flooding her body in an instant.
Angel Dust's back arched violently, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips.
She didn't scream.
She growled.
Her body glowed from within, as if liquid sunlight had been poured into her veins. Muscles flexed and tightened as her physique began to shift—not bulkier, but sharper, sleeker, more efficient. Her bones strengthened. Her cellular structure rewrote itself with Kryptonian architecture. Every ligament reknit. Every weakness purged.
Beneath her skin, new power took root.
Faora-level strength. Speed. Precision.
She grunted and slammed her fist into the rooftop beside her, shattering the tile like it was chalk. Her breathing hitched. Then evened out.
When the glow faded, she rose to one knee again, sweat sliding down her temples.
Dust opened her eyes.
They gleamed—silver streaks dancing in her irises. A new predator had been born.
"I feel… fast," she muttered, flexing her fingers, feeling the air push differently against her skin.
Ryan smiled faintly. "You are."
Salvadore, still kneeling beside her, looked up at Dust with wide, awed eyes. "You're glowing…"
Dust smirked again, slower this time. Controlled. Lethal.
"Guess that makes two of us."
Ryan extended his hands—one to each.
"Come with me."
Without hesitation, they took them.
He led them inside, the rooftop behind them scarred from the battle and baptism. But the real storm was only just beginning.
What had started as a rivalry was evolving—into sisterhood… and soon, into something far more intimate.
The Descent into Fire
He guided them with light touches—downstairs, through silent halls, into the cool sanctum of the private suite. No words were needed.
The bed was massive. Black silk sheets gleamed under low lighting. The windows displayed the city skyline, a view fit for gods.
Ryan stood in the center of the room and turned.
"Strip."
Angel Salvadore rose first. Her training suit clung to her sweat-slicked skin, revealing more than it hid. She peeled it off slowly, revealing the shimmer of her divine body beneath—muscles taut, breasts full and pert, skin kissed by celestial light.
Angel Dust didn't play coy.
She yanked off her top in a single move, exposing the thick bands of muscle in her shoulders and abs. Her sports bra followed, unleashing heavy, firm breasts dusted with sweat. Her leggings came next, revealing long, powerful thighs, and the pink folds of her sex glistening between them.
Ryan didn't move.
Just watched.
Possessive. A king surveying his loyal warriors before their final surrender.
He undressed with deliberate grace—coat, shirt, pants—all peeled away until his sculpted body stood exposed, his cock already heavy and thick, rising with each heartbeat.
"On the bed," he ordered.
Feather and Steel
The women crawled onto the bed, one from either side, their eyes flicking toward each other. A nod passed between them.
Ryan followed—kneeling between them, his hand sinking into Salvadore's hair as he pulled her in for a kiss.
It was hungry. Messy. Tongues tangled.
Angel Dust moved behind him, pressing her firm breasts against his back, hands sliding around to stroke his abs, his shaft.
"I want her first," Dust whispered, her voice low and gravelly.
Ryan broke the kiss and nodded.
Angel Salvadore didn't resist.
Dust pushed her gently onto her back, crawling over her like a predator savoring its prize. Their bodies aligned—muscle against softness, sweat mixing with divine scent.
Dust kissed her.
Hard.
Salvadore gasped, her hands sliding along Dust's arms, thighs parting instinctively.
"Relax," Dust whispered. "Let me taste you."
She slid down her body, licking a trail between breasts, down the stomach, until she reached Salvadore's wet slit.
With a groan, Dust buried her tongue between the folds.
Salvadore cried out, hips jerking.
Ryan stroked himself slowly at the sight—two of his women, flesh to flesh, lost in each other.
Dust lapped at her with experience—short flicks, slow swirls, then a suck on the clit that made Salvadore writhe.
Salvadore's wings burst free in orgasmic reflex—blinding white and gold spreading across the sheets as she moaned her name.
Ryan moved then—kneeling behind Dust, gripping her hips.
He aligned himself with her soaked entrance.
And slammed into her.
Dust gasped, mouth pulling away from Salvadore's pussy as Ryan bottomed out in a single thrust.
"Fuck," she growled.
Ryan gripped her hips tighter and began thrusting—deep, hard, relentless.
Dust rocked between him and Salvadore, her moans muffled against the younger girl's thigh as she tried to continue licking.
Salvadore pulled her up—kissed her, tasting herself on Dust's lips.
Their moans merged.
The Spiral
Ryan switched.
He pulled out of Dust and flipped Salvadore onto her hands and knees.
She was still glowing.
He entered her from behind, slowly, letting her feel every inch.
She whimpered, her wings fluttering.
Dust kissed her from the front, squeezing her breasts, whispering praise and filth.
Ryan picked up speed, one hand gripping a wing, the other tangling in her hair.
Salvadore came again—shuddering, eyes rolling back.
Dust leaned forward and whispered, "Now it's my turn."
Ryan withdrew.
Dust lay on her back.
Ryan entered her again while Salvadore straddled her face.
The bed shook.
Salvadore screamed as Dust devoured her pussy.
Ryan slammed into Dust faster, harder, deeper—his hand wrapped around Salvadore's throat, pulling her backward.
She moaned against it.
Dust bucked beneath them both, reaching her own peak.
Ryan didn't stop until all three were shaking, panting, soaked in sweat.
He pulled Salvadore off.
Laid her beside Dust.
Then finished himself between them—his cock pulsing as he sprayed both of their chests with thick, hot seed.
They watched, gasping, glowing.
Owned.
Marked.
His.
The Afterglow
He collapsed between them.
Dust curled against his right, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.
Salvadore curled left, her wings folded, face buried against his neck.
The three of them breathed in sync.
No more words.
Just skin.
Satisfaction.
And the hum of power still vibrating between their bodies.