The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 346: Threesome with the milfs

Then Cleora got up and moved towards Jolthar as he gave the boar to Marcus.

She told Marcus to bring out Jolthar’s clothes while she was done preparing water to clean his face.

Jolthar just stared at her; his expression was thoughtful.

Meanwhile, Raayani simply stood there watching them.

They had just fucked, but she felt like she was just a bystander, watching a couple. Cleora’s actions showed her care and attentiveness towards Jolthar, while Raayani’s feelings of detachment and observation added a layer of complexity to the situation. The tension between them continued to simmer beneath the surface, adding an intriguing dynamic to their interactions.

-

A while later, they all sat around the fire. The silence was heavy enough to crush a lesser man. The flames hissed softly, spitting embers that rose and died before anyone spoke.

The meat roasted, the wine cups sat untouched.

Even the night seemed to hold its breath.

Gunter sat a little apart, pretending to clean his dagger. His expression was the perfect mask of discipline—except for the small, traitorous grin tugging at his mouth. He had seen plenty of love triangles in his time, but none quite like this.

Jolthar leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the firelight dancing across his face. He looked between the two women—Cleora with her proud, wounded eyes; Raayani, beautiful and unrepentant, tracing her finger idly on her cup’s rim.

Finally, Jolthar exhaled and said, his voice calm and deep,

"Alright. Enough with the silence and the glares."

Both women turned toward him, slow and sharp, like predators scenting motion.

He smiled faintly, knowing what was coming.

"Cleora," he began carefully, "I just had sex with Raayani."

The admission struck like a stone dropped into still water.

Cleora’s eyes narrowed to slits.

Raayani looked away, pretending to be unconcerned, but her shoulders stiffened.

Gunter’s grin widened slightly. Gods, this is better than any play at the tavern.

He left his shame in his tent and was watching them to see them burst at each other.

Cleora’s voice was low and dangerous.

"You think saying it so plainly makes it noble?"

Jolthar met her gaze steadily.

"No," he said.

"But it makes it honest."

He rose, his shadow stretching tall against the tents, and spoke softly—the way he did before battles, when every man felt ready to die for him.

"I won’t lie to either of you," he said.

"You both know what we’ve shared. You both know what you mean to me. Cleora, you’ve been my shield, my counsel, and the only one who can tame my temper. Raayani, you’ve been my fire, the spark that keeps me alive."

The two women looked at him, neither willing to yield ground, yet neither turning away.

"I don’t ask you to like each other," he went on, pacing slowly before them, "but I ask you to understand this—I’m not a man of halves. My heart... it burns for both of you. And I would rather be honest about that fire than hide it in shame."

Cleora’s voice softened, laced with restrained hurt. "And what do you expect from us, Jolthar? To smile while you share your love like spoils of war?"

He smiled gently—not mocking, but weary and sincere.

"No. I expect you to trust me."

He knelt before them, resting one hand on each of theirs. His touch was light but sure, his eyes unwavering.

"When I fight, I draw strength from you both. You’re my storm and my calm. Without either, I fall apart."

Raayani bit her lip, looking down.

Cleora blinked, her anger faltering, caught between fury and affection.

"Let the world call it madness if it wants," Jolthar said softly.

"But you two—you’re the only truths I have left. So don’t ask me to choose between my heartbeats."

The fire crackled, sending sparks spiraling into the dark.

Cleora looked away first.

Raayani gave a faint, reluctant smile.

And though no one said it aloud, the camp seemed to breathe again—as if the night itself had decided to let them be.

Gunter smirked, shaking his head.

Damn the boy, he thought. He talks his way out of sword fights and love wars alike.

Jolthar’s voice cut through the charged silence of the campfire. "Though I can’t say I will stop with you two here."

The words were half-joke, half-challenge, tossed like a spark into the dry tinder of tension already simmering. Raayani’s head snapped toward him, dark eyes flashing with a warning that looked dangerously close to invitation, while Cleora’s jaw tightened, her breath catching sharply through her teeth.

Jolthar’s grin didn’t fade. He slipped an arm around each of them—brazen, steady, as though he was daring them to push him away. The air itself seemed to thrum around that touch, heat and defiance curling in invisible threads.

Raayani’s glare softened first. Her fingers came up, catching his chin, pulling him toward her before either of them could think better of it. Her lips met his with a force that made the sound of it—smk-ch—cut through the air, all hunger and fury. Cleora’s eyes widened; she froze for half a heartbeat before her expression hardened into something fierce, possessive.

Her glare wasn’t just anger anymore. It was fire barely contained.

Jolthar broke the kiss only long enough to murmur something low against Raayani’s mouth—something that made her laugh, husky and unrestrained. Cleora’s gaze darted between them, jealousy twisting tight in her chest until she stepped closer, almost without realizing it, caught between wanting to strike him and wanting that same attention turned her way.

In the flicker of torchlight, the three of them looked like figures painted in ember and shadow—tension, desire, and defiance tangled together, just one breath away from chaos.

Behind them, Gunter lingered in the half-dark, watching long enough for his stomach to knot. Whatever game Jolthar was playing wasn’t his to witness. With a muttered curse, he turned away, boots crunching over gravel as he retreated to his tent, the canvas walls closing around him like a sigh.

The night held its breath around them.