Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 68: Nothing Else Matters **

"Ah—mmm, wait...!"

Perhaps taunting three apex predators into a state of collective rut had not been her most strategically sound decision. Especially when one of them still required a gacha roll to officially join the roster.

’Ten rolls...!’ she screamed internally, her body already a live wire under their combined attention.

"Do I need to... do anything...?" Eastiel murmured against her skin, before his mouth found her nipple once more. His tongue was a wicked thing, teasing and rolling and circling right through the thin fabric of her desert tunic, the damp spot he left feeling obscenely vivid.

’Ten rolls...!!’

Oathran, as was becoming his usual role in these chaotic trysts, sat behind her, propping her up against his chest. His large hands were busy kneading her breasts, presenting them more fully for Eastiel’s tongue, thumbs brushing over pebbled peaks.

Arkai, meanwhile, was focused lower. His deft, calloused fingers tracing the slick, swollen folds of her and deeper, coaxing more moisture, preparing the breach, circling around her hymen with a gentle thoroughness that made her thighs tremble.

"Sit still," Arkai answered Eastiel’s earlier question, his voice a husky growl of concentration. "She will handle the bond."

’Ten rolls...!!’

Eastiel lifted his head, a droplet of moisture on his lower lip. He smiled, a flash of wicked curiosity amidst the haze of desire. "I wonder how this divine power of yours actually works..."

"Ah! Ah! Arkai—"

Her protest, or plea, was cut off as Oathran’s hand slid from her breast to cup her chin, tilting her head back. He descended, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss that muffled her voice entirely.

"Love, be quiet..." he breathed against her lips before sealing them again. "Hmm... mmph..."

’TEN ROLLS, PLEASE...!!’

Her internal shriek was a desperate prayer to the capitalistic god of her system, as her physical world dissolved.

DI-DI-DING!

[Five-Star Love Interest: Eastiel Edengold obtained!]

DI-DI-DING!

[Five-Star Love Interest: Eastiel Edengold obtained!]

[Resonating Bond Copy...]

Double...? Her mind reeled, even as her body sang with sensation. That’s... statistically insane...

A new, terrifying realization dawned. ’Wait... the second rank copy means he gets Sense Sharing with me too... right now?!’

[Correct, Cecilia!]

[Rank 1: Bond, unlocked!]

[Rank 2: Sense Sharing, unlocked!]

"Mm... mmhhh..." She gasped, the dual onslaught of physical touch and sudden sensory overload making her head spin. ’Pull out Arkai’s banner too. I need an advantage...!’

[Are you attempting to rank up Arkai Dawnoro’s bond at this moment, Cecilia...?]

’Yes. Ten rolls.’ she seethed through clenched teeth. If she was going to be drowning in the amplified sensations from all three of them, then fairness, or perhaps sheer spite, demanded they all drown together.

As the bond settled onto Eastiel’s chest, its second-rank effect flaring to life, he froze. His hands stilled on her hips, his breath catching. His mind was suddenly, violently flooded. Not with thoughts, but with feeling.

The dual-pronged stimulation of Oathran’s expert fingers and palms on her nipples and breasts. The possessive pressure of the dragon’s lips moving against hers. And most vividly, the slick, deliberate circling and stirring of Arkai’s fingers inside her, a precise map of her own arousal mirrored directly into his nerves.

"What... is this...?" Eastiel’s voice was a strangled whisper. His eyes rolled back slightly as he was swamped by the pleasure coiling in her core, the ache in her peaked breasts, the taste of Oathran in her mouth, and beneath it all, the strange, hollow ache of the heartless void in her chest. "Cecilia... what in the seven hells did you just do to me...?"

DI-DI-DING!

[Five-Star Love Interest: Arkai Dawnoro obtained!]

[Resonating Bond Copy...]

[Rank 2: Sense Sharing, unlocked!]

"Mmmhh...!" Arkai grunted, his body jerking as if struck. His own bond rank surged, the Sense Sharing connection finally wiring itself into him as a two-way street. He could now feel her feeling the other two, a dizzying feedback loop.

"Oho," Oathran observed, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched the other two men shudder and gasp with the new connection. "I see. So this... overwhelming sensation I’ve been drowning in since the inn... finally happens to you two as well."

The dragon tightened his grip on Cecilia’s jaw, forcing her to meet his amused eyes. "You finally decided to share the burden, my love? Or was it the pleasure?"

Cecilia blushed furiously, trying to turn her face away, only to be held firm. Oathran’s mischievous chuckle vibrated through his chest and into her back. "Slut."

"Our little Saintess is a raging... slut."

Burning, consumed by the red haze of need and the white-hot feedback from three separate bonds, Cecilia stopped caring about strategy, about fairness, about anything but the desperate pressure building inside her. "Oathran... please... fuck me. Have me. I love you... just... now."

She managed to look up, meeting the eyes of her first and most complicated true love. The Dragon Lord’s gaze was a storm of conflict. Ancient desire warring with a self-imposed, noble restraint.

His eyes, usually so sharp and knowing, were helpless, soft. He looked at her, at the mess of want and connection she’d made, and a slow, resigned, tender smile touched his lips.

"I love you too, Cecilia," he murmured. "I will bear the burden... and the honor."

His large, warm hand settled low on her stomach. A shimmer of golden light spilled from his fingertips, and intricate, glowing glyphs and sigils bloomed across her skin, weaving a complex enchantment that settled just below her navel.

"What... is this...?" Cecilia whispered, her eyes wide. The strange magic was cold, a contrast to the heat everywhere else.

"It will fade in a few days," Oathran whispered against her temple, his breath warm. "A... precaution. To prevent... conception."

The words were a bucket of icy water dashed over the fire, but it only made the flames sizzle and burn differently. She looked up at him, her vision beginning to glass over with a grief that had nothing to do with physical pleasure.

This man, even in this moment, was still meticulously planning his exit. He was ensuring no lasting, living tether remained.

"Your legs now, Saintess..." he instructed gently, his voice thick with an emotion too vast to name, as he guided her into position.

Eastiel frowned. The jealousy was there, but beneath it was a different pain. Whatever darkness drove Oathran to cling to his own demise was something not even a dragon’s power could fix. It was a prison of the soul. But still... couldn’t he just...

"It’s not the time for thinking now."

Eastiel flinched, turning to see Arkai’s dark eyes fixed on him. The Black Wolf King’s gaze held no judgement, just clarity. "Tonight," Arkai stated, the words leaving no room for argument, "our only duty is to serve the Saintess."

It was absurd. It reduced kings and princes and ancient oaths to a single, base purpose. It stripped away the political scheming, the grief, the looming specter of death, and left only the woman trembling between them.

It was stupid. It was reductive. It was beneath them.

And Arkai was right.

Tonight, nothing else mattered.