Chapter 26: Five-Star Skill **
"Mm—"
The room was... a bit dark. Walls of smooth, dark-polished wood curved seamlessly into a ceiling of living, fragrant mahogany, its branches artfully framing a circular opening to the star-dusted sky.
"Mmhh... mph..."
A soft, perpetual breeze, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine and damp earth, whispered through the space, rustling the sheer moss-green curtains that draped the arched windows.
"Saintess... stop... just for a minute..."
The centerpiece was a bed, a vast expanse piled with pillows and woven blankets in the deep, vibrant colors of the jungle—erald, burnt orange, and the rich brown of fertile soil.
And a tall, majestic figure was currently ruining its beautiful arrangent.
The man had to catch his breath. He didn’t know how, but sohow, Cecilia had... leveled up. Her kissing was different from the last ti they... they...
Her tongue...
Her... suction...
It was as if she’d downloaded a five-star manual directly into her nervous system.
"Cecilia, lay down. Let
take the lead, my lady..." Oathran’s voice was strained, husky, as he tried to pull her arm, to guide her onto the soft expanse of the bed.
She shook her head, refusing to be moved. "Like you said," she murmured against his lips, "perhaps I’m just imagining things. I need to... make sure..."
"Cecilia...!" Oathran suddenly snarled, the beast within rattling its cage. His patience, already thin, finally snapped. "Do what I say, woman."
"I don’t wanna," she retorted, flicking his hand off her arm. She sneered up at him, "You tease but you won’t bite. You order but you won’t eat."
Having his own words thrown back at him like a gauntlet, he growled.
A single, luminous orchid, glowing with a faint bioluminescence, sat in a niche in the wall, its soft light the only witness to the blasphemy unfolding between a saintess and her self-proclaid god.
Her hands were still hesitant, unsure where to settle, but her mouth... her mouth was a quick study. And while she wasn’t using it for its intended purpose just yet, she was rapidly discovering that his entire body was a worthy landscape for her tongue to explore.
"Saintess—ahh..." Oathran’s breath hitched, his head falling back as her lips traced a searing path along his neck. "You keep pushing your lu—mmm..."
The rest of his protest dissolved into a helpless moan as her tongue swirled over the sensitive hollow at the center of his clavicle.
In that mont, tasting the salt of his skin and feeling the thunderous pulse beneath her lips, Cecilia wondered if he, too, secretly wished this one last ride of his life would never, ever end.
Pulling back just enough to et his stormy, dazed gaze, she whispered.
"Your Majesty... can I have your belt?"
Instantly, a phantom sensation, vivid, wet, and skillful, struck the man’s brain. The newfound dexterity of her tongue, combined with that specific question... it painted a picture so explicit his mind short-circuited. To have that sa worshipful attention applied there—
"No." The word ca out strangled, a raw denial. "You can’t have my belt, Cecilia. Stay away from my bel—"
His own body betrayed him mid-sentence, the evidence of his lie already pressing insistently against the very fabric she was so intent on removing. The command was useless, the war was already lost.
I’m a fucking monster—
"Let ...?"
Her whispered pleas were a sledgehamr to his resolve, shattering the last of his defenses.
"I want to have it... I really need to find out, Oathran... Let
find out. I know I’m not imagining things..."
"Cecilia..." Oathran’s voice was a ragged, helpless sigh, the sound of a dam about to burst. His restraint hung by a single, fraying thread. "Fine... but..." he warned, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly tremor. "...don’t... scream..."
Whuh...?
The warning was so bizarre it cut through her own single-minded focus. Indeed, she had never seen one before. Not in person. But why in the world would she screa—
One ca out... and another one—
Cecilia’s hands flew to her own mouth, but it was too late. The gasp was audible, tearing through the room.
"Sssshh... calm down..." the man’s voice was gentle, deceptively soothing. "Listen... we dragons sotis have... two of them..."
Sotis have two of them.
...At least he had the self-awareness to know this would be... unusual... for a human?
Now, even Cecilia, ard with her illicit five-star expertise, felt completely out of her depth.
No.
Was this what the system had anticipated? Had its bizarre, lewd reward been a... a preparatory asure? Had it seen the future and known she would need... advanced... technical knowledge for... this?!
"Don’t. Don’t do it. You know you shouldn’t," Oathran warned. Every muscle in his body was rigid with the effort of holding back. "Surely now you’ve... found out. You’re... just imagining things..."
But Cecilia was past the point of no return. Her hands, planted firmly on either side of his thighs, curled their fingers into the fabric of his pants. "How about," she whispered, "just a... sip...?"
Oathran suddenly beca dizzy.
A sip?
Like it was a fine wine? A morning coffee? A glass of warm... milk...?
Yes. He had always known, he had decided from the mont she promised to bear the burden of his death seventeen years ago, that this woman would be the end of him one day.
He just hadn’t known it would be like this.
In this specific... divine form of torture.
Dazedly, he embraced that specific, sweet kind of death and gave a slow, surrendering nod. "Just... a sip..."
Finally!
Lick.
"Aaaaaahhhh... sssshhhh..."
A helpless cry was torn from his throat as a gush of clear, pearly liquid imdiately rushed out from both tips. The twin, nine-inch lengths swelled further, pulsing, growing impossibly denser and harder.
Grasping them gently, one in each hand, the five-star lesson downloaded into her brain instantly guided her movents. And the mont she took one into the warm, wet heat of her mouth, the Sense Sharing between them ignited, their sensations overlapping into a single, overwhelming circuit.
She, too, felt it, the thunderbolt of pure, electric pleasure that coursed through his body, a shockwave of sensation so intense it was almost painful.
"Mmmmmmmhhhh—aaahhhhh..."
The shared moan—his a ragged cry of surrender, hers a muffled, vibrating hum of awe and discovery. So this was what it felt like... to have two cocks, one buried in soone’s mouth.
Her hand began to move, exploring the texture of him. Her fingers traced the subtle, ridged bumps of exquisitely sensitive nodes along the underside. A unique anatomy, perhaps only a dragon would possess.
Pale blue veins, like rivers of power, snaked prominently across the surface, pulsing with a life of their own.
The shared sensation flooding into her was too much. Her own core started to clench in the sa rhythm of her tongue, a deep, aching throb answering the pleasure coursing through him.
Deeper. Her tongue began to swirl inside, a practiced motion from the knowledge etched into her mind.
And the man started to flinch, his entire body seizing with uncontrollable, shuddering tremors, completely at the rcy of the storm she was so skillfully conducting.
"Mmmmm... Cecilia... Cecilia... Cecilia... take
deeper..."
But instead of doing what he said, Cecilia pulled away instead, her breath coming in soft pants. Before he could process the loss, she switched her attention to the other length, taking it deep into her throat in a single, devastating motion.
"Ohhhh you woma—mmmmm... stop...!" he gasped, his back arching off the bed. "Take the top one instead. Take the top one—my love, please take the top on—ooohhhh—!"
Oathran’s body jerked upwards in a violent, helpless spasm. His hand flew to clasp the tip of the top length, a desperate, last-ditch attempt to control the eruption, but he was too late.
A hot, dense burst of liquid poured into her mouth from the length she was focused on. Simultaneously, the top one, despite his shielding hand, imdiately showered her hair and face with a second, powerful wave.
And through their bond, the shocking, liquid heat of his release flooded her senses as if it were her own.
"Oh—mmmmmmmm—CECILIA...!" he snarled, eyes full of agonizing pleasure and furious rage. For the noble dragon lord to drench his mate’s hair and face—
She—broke him. His dignity—his honor—gone. Gone!
Gulp.
Cecilia pulled away, facing his glaring, inferno of eyes squarely. "It’ll be the sa even if I took the top one. You’ll only drench my breasts instead," she glared back. "Or was that what you wanted? Your lower tip... between my..."
Oathran’s face exploded in red.
"You little we—"
Knock, knock, knock—
The sound was a bucket of ice water, violently yanking them from their private, heated world back to reality.
"Saintess Araceli! Lord Alicei! Please, let
in! An urgent ssage from the north has just arrived!"
Oathran swore under his breath, magically willing his clothing back into perfect, immaculate order with a sharp gesture, the evidence of his loss of control vanishing from his person, if not from his furious, flushed face.
Cecilia was less graceful, panic making her fingers clumsy as she used the edge of a blanket to desperately scrub at her hair and face, wiping away the sticky proof of their activities. She smoothed her robes with frantic pats, trying to erase the wrinkles and the scent of sweat and sex.
Taking a final, bracing breath, they opened the door.
Chief Hettor stood there, his expression grim. He pointedly ignored the thick, primal mating scent in the air between them and cleared his throat, his golden eyes filled with dire urgency.
"A disaster, my lady," he stated. "It’s Mount Saede."
Reviews
All reviews (0)