CHAPTER 147: THE MIDNIGHT BLOOM - 3

She felt it.

Her fingers paused, then pressed—right against the swollen ridge under Lor’s silk robe, slow and firm, like testing the heat of a blade, her glossy lips curling in approval.

"Mmh," she purred, stroking down his length through the fabric, her nails teasing along the edge, sending a jolt through his body, his cock pulsing with pent-up tension.

"Not bad for a little noble pretending to play with the big ones."

Lor’s mouth was dry, his hazel eyes blazing behind the mask, his cock aching under her touch, a slow, torturous throb.

He tilted his head slightly, leaning into the role the mask gave him, his voice low and steady. "I’m not pretending."

She smiled, her cat-shaped mask glinting, her full breasts swaying faintly in her open robe. "Good."

Her hand dropped, fingers sliding beneath his robe, skin to skin—

Hot, firm, her palm wrapping around his cock with ease, tugging slow and upward, her thumb teasing the slick head, smearing pre-cum as she leaned in close, her heavy breasts brushing his chest, nipples hardening faintly through her lace.

"I like the quiet ones," she murmured, her breath warm against his throat, her scent—rosewater, amber, and raw arousal—flooding his senses. "They always break the hardest."

Lor groaned low, his hips twitching into her hand, his cock throbbing painfully, pre-cum dripping down her fingers.

She pushed him back, step by step, toward a marble column where a cushioned bench waited, half-shadowed in flickering lanternlight.

The moans and wet slaps of the Atrium’s worshippers echoed around them—bodies grinding, lips sucking, flesh yielding—but this moment, the press of her body, the heat of her hand, the ache in his cock, was all his world.

"Sit," she commanded, her voice a low purr.

He obeyed, sinking onto the bench, his robe parting as he sat, the silk falling open to reveal his lean chest and throbbing cock, twitching violently in the cool air, glistening with pre-cum.

She knelt immediately, her full breasts swaying, spilling from her lace as she pulled the robe wide, freeing him completely.

Her glossy lips parted, her tongue flicking over them.

"Fuck, you’re pretty," she whispered, her voice rich and hungry, her eyes locked on his cock. "You’ve been holding this in all night, haven’t you?"

Lor nodded once, his hazel eyes dark with need, his breath quickening.

"Good."

She leaned forward and swallowed him, her mouth sliding down his shaft in one smooth, practiced motion—hot, wet, tight, her lips wrapping around him, her tongue curling under the crown, teasing the sensitive ridge.

Lor hissed through his teeth, hands gripping the edge of the bench, every muscle tensing as pleasure shot up his spine, his cock throbbing in her mouth.

She bobbed her head slowly, rhythmically, her moans vibrating through his length, her mascaraed eyes watching him through the slits of her cat-shaped mask, her hands stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach, wet sounds echoing beneath the columns as she sucked him, worshipped him like an altar of flesh.

Lor’s head fell back, the sight, the scent, the sounds overwhelming—her lips stretched around him, her tongue swirling, the slick heat of her mouth driving him to the edge.

"Fuck," he gasped, his hips bucking slightly, his cock pulsing in her throat.

She grinned around his shaft, taking him deeper, her lips brushing his base, her throat tightening around him.

Slurp. Suck. Moan.

Then she pulled off with a wet pop, her mouth slick, a thick string of spit and pre-cum stretching from her glossy lips to the flushed head of his cock before snapping and dripping down her chin, glistening against her skin.

She stood, her eyes dark and hungry, her breath ragged, reaching for the tie at her waist.

The robe slid open with a whisper, parting like a curtain of sin, revealing no panties—just bare, glistening heat, her pussy soaked, folds flushed and shining, slick threaded between her thighs like molten nectar, her lips parted slightly, pink and swollen, begging to be filled.

She stepped forward, her thighs flexing, her robe spilling off her shoulders in a lazy drop that bared everything—her full breasts bouncing lightly, nipples hard and rosy, her curvy hips swaying with predatory grace.

Her scent—ripe, wet, raw—wrapped around him like a drug, making his cock twitch upward, pre-cum dripping down the shaft.

"No more watching," she whispered, her voice low and feral, the heat in her eyes making his cock pulse like it could answer her on its own.

She grabbed his shaft, rubbing it against her pussy, coating him in her wetness, her folds parting around his head as she teased him—up and down, slow, the soft suck of her wet lips against his cockhead making his abs twitch, his breath hitching.

Then she sank, her body lowering, her pussy stretching around him with maddening pressure, tight and hot and soaking.

Lor’s jaw snapped tight, a low groan torn from his throat as her walls parted for him, clenching, dragging him in deeper, her cunt swallowing him whole like it was carved to fit his cock and nothing else.

"Fuck," he gasped, his head falling back, every nerve lit up, his hands gripping her hips as she bottomed out, her thighs pressing tight to his, locking him in.

Her pussy squeezed him like it wanted to milk every drop from his balls, her hands braced against his chest as she started to move—rolling her hips in slow, grinding circles, her clit grinding against the base of his shaft, her full breasts bouncing with every sway, nipples brushing his skin.

She fucked him like she was claiming him, her pussy sucking at him with each thrust, wet and loud, her moans climbing higher with every bounce.

Lor grabbed her ass, fingers digging into her plush cheeks, thrusting up to meet her, matching her rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of her dripping pussy, the wet sounds filling the Atrium, mingling with the moans of other worshippers.

Her pussy clung to him with each withdrawal, refusing to let go, as if trying to keep him buried inside forever.