CHAPTER 176: RAISED

When she raised her face, her eyes locked onto his—bright, terrible, smiling.

Her lips glistened, pink and slick, as if soaked in nectar that belonged only to him.

She licked them slowly, erotically, the motion a silent promise before she dipped back down, swallowing him whole.

The cool-wet suction returned with force, wrenching a cry from his throat, raw and unbidden.

Lor clutched at the void floor, fingers grasping at nothing, knuckles whitening in the empty air.

His cock throbbed inside her impossible mouth, squeezed and stroked as if she were draining him on purpose, each pull of her tongue syncing with the frantic beat of his heart.

Her eyes never left his, that wicked smile gleaming through the haze, even as she sucked harder, faster, the wet sounds echoing in the dream’s endless space.

Pleasure surged, sharp and hot, clashing with the cool phantom sensations, building a fever that had nowhere to go but forward.

His toes curled, his hips arched, a moan slipping past his lips, raw and helpless.

The spirit purred around him, a vibration that sent sparks up his spine.

Her fingers—light, cold, merciless—squeezed the base of his shaft as her mouth worked his tip, her tongue flicking with devastating precision.

His stomach clenched, fire racing through his veins, his body betraying every shred of caution.

He was spiraling, the edge rushing up too fast, too sharp.

And then she slowed.

Her lips slid back, releasing him with a wet pop, a thread of pink light clinging to the tip of his cock before dissolving into the haze.

She didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stared—her gaze a weight that pinned him as surely as her touch.

That smile curved wider, knowing, wicked, a promise of more torment to come.

Lor shivered, caught in the heart of the dream, his body aching, his mind reeling.

She winked, seductively.

Her touch—her ethereal hand—stroked him with relentless precision, each pull tighter, faster, a cruel kindness that eroded his control.

The dream granted her the patience of tides grinding stone, but she wielded it with a vicious edge, wringing every twitch from his body.

Lor tried to speak, to plead stop or wait or even yes, but the dream had stolen his voice, leaving only silent moans as his chest heaved against an air that wasn’t air, heavy with pink haze.

The spirit leaned closer, her lips—formed of glowing pink and wet shadow—closing over him again.

The suction was unbearable, cold yet searing, perfect in its torment.

She swallowed around him, her throat humming with a vibration that sent sparks up his spine, her burning eyes never leaving his.

His body convulsed, surrendering without his consent, his hips jerking into her impossible mouth.

Release crashed through him like fire flooding a dry field.

His hips arched helplessly, cum spurting in thick ropes into her glowing maw, vanishing into the ethereal light as if it were hers alone.

She drank greedily, gulping each pulse with a hunger that felt like it could unravel him entirely.

When he thought he was empty, her tongue swept across the head, coaxing a final, shuddering spasm that left him gasping.

She pulled back slowly, her lips shimmering with his spill, licking them clean with a slow, deliberate swipe.

Satisfaction spread across her face, radiant as dawn breaking over dark water.

She smiled, wicked and knowing, her eyes pinning him in the dream’s endless void.

Lor’s chest shuddered, his lungs burning as if he’d forgotten how to breathe.

He tried to speak, to curse, to demand answers, but his voice was gone, his body trapped in the haze.

His vision snapped—

—and he woke with a ragged yell, lurching upright, chest heaving.

Sweat clung cold to his skin, matting his hair to his temples.

His eyes darted wildly, grasping for reality.

Nellie’s room, soft cream walls, bookshelves neatly lined, the faint scent of parchment and lavender ink grounding him.

The rug beneath the bed was still there, but the world felt unsteady, like it might tilt again.

"Lor?"

Her voice cut through, startled but sweet, unmistakably Nellie’s.

She sat at her study table, gray eyes wide behind her round glasses, a quill pen hovering over a half-filled page.

Her braid had slipped over one shoulder, her freckled cheeks flushed with concern. "You—you’re awake. Was it a nightmare?"

His throat worked, dry as ash.

"Yeah," he managed, forcing a chuckle that came out rough, jagged. "Just a nightmare."

Nellie tilted her head, her glasses catching the soft light.

"You were sleeping on the rug when I came in. You looked... exhausted. And, well, cute." Her cheeks pinked at the word, but she pressed on, her voice gentle.

"So I moved you to the bed. I thought you needed the rest." She adjusted her glasses, almost apologetic. "I didn’t want to disturb you. I was just studying until you woke up."

Lor blinked, the heat of the dream still crawling under his skin, his cock twitching traitorously at the memory of that glowing mouth, her insatiable swallow.

He hated how his body clung to the sensation, even as his mind recoiled.

He forced a smile, rubbing the back of his neck to mask the tremor in his hands.

"Thanks, Nellie. Really. You saved me from a stiff neck. Guess I... got a bit carried away with your hospitality."

Her lips curved, shy but warm. "It’s nothing. I’m glad you’re better."

His gaze flicked to the table, the memory of the apple sharp and sudden—the sweet juice, the heavy fall.

He froze, his stomach twisting. "Hey," he said, his voice careful, edged with a sharpness he couldn’t quite hide, "about that apple earlier..."

"Apple?" Nellie repeated, her brow furrowing, genuine confusion in her eyes.

Lor stood, too quickly, crossing to the brass pedal bin where he’d tossed the core.

He lifted the lid, heart pounding.

Empty. Clean.

No trace of it.

His stomach sank deeper, a cold knot tightening.

"You don’t... you didn’t leave an apple for me?" he asked, his voice sharper than intended.

She shook her head, her braid swaying. "No? I don’t even keep apples in the house."