"Told you to keep still, schatz. Braves mädchen." It’s your only warning before König's tongue glides up your spit-slick core. Your hips writhe, earning a squeeze from Ghost's hand on your hip. "Not very good with directions, are you?" He rasps. He watches you as his own tongue flicks out to taste your thigh. He pulls you open wider, your other thigh already on König's shoulder. The two men are between your legs, vying for dominance. Proving who was better with tongue, they said.