CHAPTER 40: THE CELESTIAL HUNGER [PART-2]

The Celestial Hunger [Part-2]

Victor’s breath suspended. She was the Violet Great Spirit of Lust, and she had arrived to claim him. The press of her presence weighed upon his mind, thick with promise, power, and passion. All his nerve endings wailed with the knowledge that this meeting would alter him, that nothing could ever be the same again.

"Darling..." Her voice stroked him like silk infused with flames, tantalizing, yet gentle, enfolding his senses in a manner that made his chest constrict. "What are you thinking?"

Victor hardened for an instant, even though he didn’t move away. He didn’t respond immediately. Years of isolation had schooled him in discipline, had sharpened a patience that now mixed awkwardly with the heat she induced. Slowly, almost unwittingly, he allowed his lips to stretch into a gentle, silent smile. His hands wrapped around her waist behind him, holding her but holding back, as if the world beyond didn’t matter. She was soft under his fingers, delicate in the heat that radiated through her, but the presence she bore was overwhelming, fierce—he could feel it pouring into him, unwinding and anchoring him simultaneously.

He leaned his chin against her shoulder, breathing in her, allowing her scent to soothe him, rouse him, and fill him with a soft yearning. "Nothing, sweetheart," he said softly, his voice almost reverent. "Just... thinking about how I ended up in this world, how I finally have a family, a woman who loves me for real. That I... have everything I’ve ever wanted."

He stayed there, inches from where he could sense the rise and fall of her breathing, the shape of her back against his and, for a long time, the past seemed far away, irrelevant. All that existed was this—her heat, her heartbeat against his, and the silent, unspoken vow of home.

Her violet eyes grasped him, gleaming like polished gemstones as she sized him up with piercing intensity. "And is that all you think about?" she teased, her voice dancing, but underlaid with a thin thread of challenge that gave him a shiver.

Victor shook his head slowly, deliberately, as if every motion had its weight. "Yes... just that. I... I never had anything like this before. Never anyone who cared for more than mere survival, for more than sheer lust... and now I do." His admission quivered on the lip of his mouth, delicate but heavy.

A subtle curve brushed her lips, and she cocked her head ever so slightly. "You believe that," she whispered, voice low and husky, "and yet your body betrays you." Softly, a sigh escaped her chest, near involuntary. "Even so... I comprehend, Victor. Even if you conceal your desires day by day, I can sense them building, like fire under ice."

His fingers cinched infinitesimally tight around her waist, pressure firm, insistent. "Yes," he conceded, voice rasping. "I... I cannot lie." The words were bitter with truth, with confession, with hunger he had struggled to suppress.

She settled back into him, the curves of her body gently leaning against his chest, warm and unyielding. "Your bloodline of Celestial Black Lion," she breathed, the voice gentle yet commanding, full of weight and the wisdom of the ages, "is primal. The earliest of the earliest. You were born to inherit greatness, to propagate the lineage, to nurture strength... and desire in like measure."

Victor halted; each word she uttered pounding against his heart. The seriousness of duty, the draw of heritage, the raw, heady power of her being—it all conflicted within him, a maelstrom of pride, desire, and need he could not contain, could not stop.

"I know," she breathed, her fingers tracing lightly over the harsh planes of his chest, outlining the lines of muscle with slow, tantalizing intimacy. "Even when you try to keep it hidden, Victor... that hunger of yours only intensifies. And that hunger," she continued, her voice falling, almost worshipful, "it is not to be ashamed of. It is a gift—a gift of lust, of life, of creation. It can mold fates, forge legacies that span across the stars. You should not be afraid of it; you should master it."

Victor drew in a breath, relief and wonder washing over him. He had never imagined desire could be anything other than temporary indulgence, but here, in front of her, it took on a life, a palpable presence, something mystical, strong, and unquestionable.

"So... what do you propose?" He spoke quietly, sounding almost tentative, with both curiosity and a slight quiver of vulnerability.

There was a low, soft laugh from her, a musical, teasing sound that curled around him like silk. "Victor," she told him, her tone with a playful lilt, "are you really that stupid? Or is this naivety... just an act?"

His eyebrows rose, a glint of humor dancing across his mouth. He took in her eyes, pouring in the richness of their violet depths, limitless and devouring. The sight took his breath away for an instant. Each curve of her form, each subtle movement of her energy, exuded brute strength and crippling loveliness. It squeezed the breath out of his lungs, made his head spin, and still it brought him an incredible sense of stability he had never known with anything before.

"Victor," she breathed once more, quieter this time, her lips caressing the rim of his ear, making him shiver, "if you are to claim your destiny, you have to claim it in its entirety. Fear nothing. Create a harem if it beckons you. Be the Celestial Black Lion of myth—strong, unbending, with a genealogy forged by desire itself. And when you are, I will be there.". Guiding you, shaping you, ensuring that every gift you wield... is yours to command."

He took a hard breath, the pressure of her words, her proximity, bearing down on him. It was earthy and suffocating at the same time. His chest swelled, then fell, heart beating in a cadence he could feel to his very marrow. "I... I get it," he breathed softly, the words trembling, awed, close to being drowned out by the tempest of feeling she brought with her.

Violet eyes scoured his, keen, piercing, full of concern and something unsaid that yanked at his very soul. "You really comprehend?" she whispered, her voice gentle now, touched with anxiety, soft enough to make him sense the bareness of her concern.