CHAPTER 41: CHAPTER 41: STORY TELLER

’YES!’ He bellowed in thought, his pulse hammering against the inside of his skull like war drums.

His chest rose sharply, lungs dragging air with a hunger that was not just human. He felt the ripple of his power crawling down his veins, threading into his voice, into the air between them like an unseen fever.

"Wh..why did you stop?" Sabrina asked, her face a little flushed, her lips parted, breath warm, unsteady. Her golden hair clung faintly to the side of her temple, damp with the heat that had gathered in their little corner of the tea garden.

Aiden’s smile faltered for a second, though not from hesitation—no, this was precision. "...sorry... just." His tone carried a feigned restraint, as though he were holding back something dangerous.

The silence that followed was weighted, pressing down on them like the humid air before a storm.

Inside, Aiden tightened his command. ’Amplify emotion..... Excitement...Lust... To the maximum.’ He laced the thought with the cutting edge of his will, sending it like a whisper into the bloodstream of their hearts.

And then his voice shifted—bolder, darker.

"It’s her figure," he said slowly, savoring each syllable, "her curves that drive me insane. My mind turns numb every time I think about squeezing those buttocks... those round, plump ass cheeks of hers. Maybe she’s mature... beautifully mature... like you ladies." His gaze flicked from Catherine to Sabrina, deliberate, a predator’s flicker.

Both women stiffened, their cheeks flushed deeper, and though neither said it, both ’felt it.’ As if his words had brushed their own skin, they became acutely aware of the swell of their hips pressed against the cushioned seats, of the heaviness of their bodies in their gowns.

Their spines straightened subtly, thighs shifting in minute adjustments they pretended were casual.

"The way those voluptuous asses move when she walks... gods, I want to grab them both... Hard." His tone dropped to a husk. "And her chest... oh, her chest..." He paused, gaze hovering near the swell of their gowns, the subtle tremor of breath rising from them. He caught himself, exhaled sharply as though it had all gone too far. "....No. I can’t continue."

"No, continue, please, Aiden," Catherine whispered, her words betraying a tremor she tried to conceal.

"Yes, please," Sabrina echoed, her tone sharper, almost desperate, as her nails dug faintly into the embroidered tablecloth.

Their eyes were wide, hungry, their ears straining for the next drop of poison from his lips. Their cheeks flushed so dark they were nearly violet, their breaths thickened, heavier and heavier.

The silence between them was broken only by the faint chirping of cicadas in the hedges, as though the whole garden leaned closer to hear.

Aiden’s eyes glinted. "...Oh... I wish, gods how I wish, I could just pinch her pointy hard nipples," he murmured, his words rolling out smooth, deliberate. His gaze dropped lower, lingering on the taut fabric of their gowns where faint peaks betrayed what their bodies had given away.

Catherine shifted in her seat, her thighs pressing together, the gesture small but betraying need. Sabrina’s breath hitched audibly, her chest rising faster. The heat between them thickened, almost tangible.

"And just..." he let his breath ghost, "...tear it. Be the vulgar man I am. Grab her chest, those fine, big, soft tits of hers." His eyes lingered on Catherine, the eldest of the two, his tone trembling with faux restraint.

[Ember: 43% 30%]

"I want to squeeze them," he continued, slower now, stretching each word,

"squeeze them hard until she moans, until she begs me to stop. But no—I wouldn’t stop. Never. I’d grab her waist, force her to turn, press her against the wall..." He leaned in as though confiding a secret too forbidden to be said aloud.

"...She’d tell me to stop. To remember she’s married, to remember she didn’t belong to him, To remember duty, vows, honor..." His smile curved faintly, sharp as glass.

"But I’d know....I’d know she wanted it. That she was ready to cross the line with me.... And do you know how I’d know?"

Their voices broke at once:

"...How?" Catherine whispered.

"....How?" Sabrina gasped.

Aiden leaned back slightly, a predator reclining with ease. "...Because when my hands slid beneath her skirt, down to her panties... they’d be drenched. Utterly drenched. And a woman who burns that much, who aches that much—what do you think it means?"

Catherine’s lips parted, but no words came. Only the soft sound of breath, shaky, trembling.

Her hand brushed unconsciously against her own thigh beneath the table. Her mind betrayed her—Augustus. Her husband’s name flitted past her thoughts, only to dissolve into ash in the face of Aiden’s hypnotic tone. She was ’already drenched’. She ’already knew.’

Sabrina, on the other hand, gripped the table so hard the wood groaned faintly beneath her nails. Her entire body leaned forward, as if tethered to his voice by an invisible chain.

"Maybe," Aiden continued, his gaze cutting toward Catherine now, "her husband wasn’t satisfying her....Maybe she felt unfulfilled. Maybe she wanted to scream but never could." He said it like a dagger slipped between ribs. Catherine flinched visibly. He had struck the truth, and she knew it.

"...And help me god," he whispered lower, slower, almost to himself, "if I didn’t pull those panties down, lift her skirt, and then... and then..." He let the sentence fall, hanging jagged in the silence.

"...And then what!?" Sabrina’s voice broke, her whole body tightening, her face twisted in frustration and raw, burning need. Her body ’needed’ the words.

Catherine, cheeks red, had a trembling hand pressed between her thighs, pressing down against the aching wetness that soaked her undergarments. Her eyes had grown wild, lost.

Aiden smiled faintly, his trap complete. His tone shifted abruptly, sharp, as though reality had rushed in.

"Ah! I forgot. The lord asked me to visit him at this hour!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with feigned alarm. He stood abruptly, chair scraping back. "I—I must go at once!"

"Wa—wait!" Sabrina called out, her voice breaking in a half-plea. But by then Aiden’s back was already retreating, his figure melting into the hedges of the tea garden.

BAM!

Sabrina’s fist slammed against the table, the porcelain rattling. Her entire body trembled, not from rage alone, but from the violent edge of denial.

She had been ’so close’, hanging at the edge of something volcanic, and he had ripped it away.

"That... that servant of yours..." she hissed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "...is a great storyteller. A great story indeed."

"....Catherine," she snapped suddenly.

"Haa... yes, my lady duchess..." Catherine replied, her own voice airy, trembling, her body still flushed, thighs still clamped together.

"...I want to fuck him," Sabrina said plainly, her tone edged with raw hunger.

"Sabrina!" Catherine cried, scandalized. "You have a husband, for god’s sake!"

"...Yes," Sabrina said, her tone sharp, bitter. "...but old. He is old, Catherine. Not hulking and young like my cousin—your husband."

Catherine’s expression darkened, her lips tightening. She said nothing, but the silence was heavier than words. Sabrina’s sharp eyes caught it instantly.

"...What’s this? You’re having the same issue as me?" she pressed.

Catherine swallowed hard. Her lips quivered, but she only nodded—just slightly, barely a fraction of movement, yet enough.

Sabrina scoffed, exhaling sharply, frustration burning in her chest. "Haa... Augustus. What the fuck are you doing?" she muttered. Her gaze drifted, catching a folded scrap of paper by Catherine’s seat.

The very pocket slip she’d seen earlier in Aiden’s hand. Curiosity licked her. Even now, even while her thighs burned, Aiden lingered in her thoughts. She snatched the paper.

A budget for the military. Numbers, allocations, sums. Cold, rigid. She frowned.

"Haaa... here I thought it would be something entertaining." She passed it lazily toward Catherine.

Catherine took it, her fingers brushing the inked lines. But as her eyes moved, something shifted. Her chest rose sharply. Her lips parted in disbelief, then curled slowly.

’This... this is it. I can just let the military take the blame. I don’t need to explain the hundred platinum coins I lost. If I say it was corruption—yes, yes, this is perfect...’

"Yes!!" she breathed aloud, her joy spilling uncontrolled. She stood abruptly, nearly knocking the chair back.

"Sorry, my lady duchess—I must meet the lord as well!" She bowed quickly, almost too quickly, before striding away, her skirts swishing with melody-like haste.

Sabrina watched her with a faint smile. Younger, yes. But a sister, closer to her than Augustus ever was. She had come here for Catherine, to confide, to relax. And somehow... Aiden had made it into a battlefield of sweat and lust.

"Haaa..." Sabrina exhaled heavily, resting back in her seat. "That was some excellent tea time..."

Her gaze fell. The seat Catherine had left was damp. Darkened. Drenched. Sabrina blinked, staring, heat curling in her gut.

She looked at her own seat—and froze. The same. Drenched. Her heart spiked, her hand trembling faintly as she brushed her palm across her gown, scraping lightly at the soaked fabric between her thighs. Her breath caught. ’It had been years.’

Years since she’d seen herself undone by lust.

And yet—this boy. This servant. This storyteller.

Her lips parted, her palm pressed harder against herself.

’If I take him... secretly...’ The thought rose like smoke, curling, intoxicating.

And Aiden, far beyond the hedge, watching from shadow, smiled. He felt the ripple, the direct notification threading into his awareness, the moment she muttered those thoughts.

[Sabrina D. Merlin

Status: Charmed Possession

Bloodline: Mythical Lion Half (High Tier)

Mana: High

Grade: S-Class

Personality now: Extremely Excited / Extremely Horny / Tainted

Skills: Lion Vein (High), Myth Aura (High), Mana Heart (Mythical)

Beauty: Soft and Voluptuous (Very Very High)

Talent: ⭐⭐⭐⭐]

[High amount of Ember detected.]

Aiden’s lips curved wide, his smile sharp, hungry. His wounds still burned faintly on his arms, blood still drying under his sleeves. But none of it mattered.

Because Catherine’s ache was his to exploit. Sabrina’s hunger was now tethered to him. And tonight—the embers would burn hotter.