My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 783: Centuries of Composure (r-18)

The shower lingered like some languorous, dripping sacrament of pure, dripping lust around the Young Dragon’s body; the scalding steam wreathing the mirror in thick, opulent veils of pearl and mist until the glass itself seemed to throb, breathe and fog with forbidden anticipation.

By the time Phei emerged, the air hung heavy with the sacred, heady musk of heated water, clean male skin and the thick animal undertone of masculine arousal — a potent virile scent that wrapped around the senses like warm honey on his raw sin.

There; framed within the doorway she had imperiously pushed ajar, stood Eira — arms were neatly and elegantly folded beneath the delicate swell of her generous ample bosom, wings held in perfect, imperious stillness while every inch of her diminutive, yet devastatingly voluptuous form was like a living blasphemy against restraint.

She was exquisite sin incarnate: her skin polished by the moonlight, luminous and impossibly smooth; pert, high breasts crowned with stiff, rose-petal nipples already tightening into aching, diamond-hard peaks in the cool air, begging to be pinched, sucked, and devoured.

Her waist was, as always, so slender it begged to be spanned by Phei’s hands each time he watched her and to bruised with his possessive fingerprints, down her hips flared with wicked invitation into the lush, heart-shaped perfection of her backside; and legs, slender and endless for her stature, ending in dainty feet that now tapped with veiled impatience.

Between those quivering thighs, the faintest glimmer of her already wet hairless pussy peeked, its puffy outer lips flushed and glistening with shameless dew, delicate inner folds a deep, wet rose, her erect clit peeking out like a throbbing pearl desperate for his hot tongue.

A secret, dew-kissed shrine that had known centuries of her immortality yet now clenched rhythmically, leaking viscous nectar in slow, obscene beads.

Her translucent wings shimmered with iridescent veins of sapphire and gold, trembling faintly at the edges despite her rigid poise.

Phei took a towel and wrapped it low about his hips, the fabric clinging indecently to the powerful lines of his body, outlining the thick, heavy bulge of his massive dragon rod as it twitched and thickened beneath the damp cloth.

He walked past her without a word, droplets tracing sinful glistening paths down the carved musculature of his chest and abdomen, sliding over his nipples and lower, teasing the dark trail leading to the root of his heavy veined erect shaft.

He was hungry for her too, but was there a need for him to spell it out for her?

Certainly not; Eira followed him with her wings whispering like whispered temptations she was about to wrap in him until he touched and reached every inch of her, Eira’s thighs rubbed together with every step and spreading her growing, sticky wetness.

"Master~"

"Mmm..."

"You have contemplated my request~"

"Mmm..."

"And?"

He settled upon the edge of the bed, the Cuckolding Stole symbols now ran allover his chest catching the moonlight in slow, draconic shimmering symbols of obsidian and flame. His hair remained damp, dark strands curling against his temples; his gaze, unhurried, almost ancient and unbearably knowing belying his young age.

"Eira..."

"Yes, Master~"

"Are you certain you desire this?"

A pause — delicate, dangerous.

"I beg your pardon."

"I merely inquire. You have one final opportunity to retract and recall the prior request. One final —"

"Master."

"— off-ramp."

For the briefest eternity she was rendered speechless, the cool, flawless architecture of her face performing something perilously close to a flutter — the recalibration of an immortal being suddenly, politely, asked whether she could withstand divinity itself.

"Master."

"Yes, Eira."

"Are you — are you, Master — in earnest — inquiring whether I can endure your skills?"

"I am."

"Me?" She almost bust out laughing, all the previous hunger disappearing into thin air.

"Yes."

"Master — Master, the audacity."

"Eira... do you have —"

"The colossal, the unprecedented, the veritably historic audacity, Master."

He leaned back upon his palms, the motion pulling the towel dangerously lower, exposing the thick base of his cock, and allowed her to blaze.

"You have witnessed, these past weeks, Master, how I have upheld the shadowed architecture of every endeavour upon this wretched sphere. You have seen me bear your unconscious form from that hollowed cathedral this very afternoon. You have, with your own eyes, catalogued on innumerable occasions the reach of my competence, power, endurance, you know how powerful I am and the stamina that you can never match. And yet now you turn to me, with that small, civil tilt of your damp arrogance, and inquire whether I, an ancient Elemental Fairy, I can handle a mere taste of you?"

"Aha..."

"The audacity, Master."

"Mmm."

"As though I were some fragile mortal, Master, doomed to unravel at the graze of a fingertip. As though I were — what, pray tell — Cassiopeia?"

"You’re—" she cut him off again.

"Or that soft-kneed Victoria, Master, whose human thighs quiver like aspic the instant you deign to enter a room."

"That is unkind, Eira."

"Master."

"Victoria’s knees possess agency, Eira."

"Master, Vic’s knees possess opinions, and those opinions are irrevocably yours."

A short laughter rumbled from his chest.

She, however, had ascended into that incandescent realm of indignation reserved solely for ancient, vain creatures who had never been denied by their own treacherous flesh.

"Master, behold my whole presence," she said voice ringing like struck on polished marble, cool and imperious even as her luminous body betrayed her. "Do I appear before you as some trembling mortal wisp, destined to shatter at the lightest touch of divinity?"

"I am, Eira."

"And whimper from a mere finger, Master? Do I seem the manner of eternal being who would fracture and beg?"

Her words dripped with ancient pride yet her breath had already grown shallower her celestial poise straining against the rising heat.

"Eira."

"It is all beneath me — beneath what I am — to even entertain such an implication. I, who can still oceans and rewrite the bones of continents with a thought, reduce to speculation that I might unravel like ephemeral flesh."

He smiled like a god who had just been handed every instrument required to orchestrate her exquisite, screaming, cunt-soaking ruin.

"Eira."

"Master."

"Sit on the bed."

She paused: "Master, I do not believe —"

"Sit, Eira."

She sat but with the pristine, defiant dignity of one who had decided dignity was the final weapon in her arsenal. Her wings slowly folded primly behind her, ankles crossed, her hands rested with feigned serenity in her lap.

The very portrait of immortal composure.

Phei regarded her, that slow, devastating smile deepening before he then reached out to her.

But when he did it was not merely a fingertip — though the fingertip would come, divine and merciless.

His entire hand descended first, broad and warm from the shower, palm settled along the exquisite slope of her shoulder with the casual, proprietary weight as he claimed what had always been his.

The heat of him seeped into her luminous skin like molten a temptive sin.

She made a small sound that was not a word, but the fractured, needy prelude to one, the audible scaffolding upon which language itself collapsed when the body it inhabited had been ambushed by godhood and raw, throbbing lust of his pleasure giving hands.

Her wings snapped open wide that very instant, the iridescent membranes flaring in helpless display, then snapped shut, then flared again in useless, fluttering betrayal.

The cool perfection of her back arched off on its own volition beneath his palm, pushing her aching tits higher.

Phei smiled, then ever so slightly, his thumb traced the delicate ridge of her shoulder blade — one slow, reverent stroke.

"Anha~~"

And the centuries of composure shattered in a flood of wet, moan of pleasure and helplessness.

A high, pretty, utterly slutty whimper then escaped her wet throat; small, trembling, impossibly pretty, and soaked in centuries of denied, dripping lust.

Her sweet trembled in the air like a forbidden hymn of pure submission as it reached in Phei’s ears. He closed his eyes, his ears savoring her moan.

As he opened them her pert breasts had rose sharply with the sudden, ragged intake of breath, her rosy nipples became so painfully tight they throbbed visibly, they were begging for his teeth and tongue.

Between her spread thighs, her wet cunt clenched hard and visibly, a thick, glistening line of silvery nectar was spilling from her twitching hole in a long single line and sliding obscenely down the inside of her thigh in a slow, sinful trail of pure, viscous arousal between her translucent dress.

He brew hot hair on her nipple making her hips roll once, involuntarily, grinding her soaked, fluttering pussy against nothing but air as another helpless, wet, mewling sound spilled from her lips — already sounding like a creature ready to be fucked senseless, ruined, and claimed until her immortal voice broke in ecstasy; her nipples grew sharper.

Phei’s hand glided lower, his elegant long finger mapping the elegant dip of her spine with the unhurried precision of a god who had ruined galaxies of lovers before her.

His touch was slow, deliberate, devastating — until the pad of his thumb found the secret hollow just above where her wings rooted.

He pressed gently at first with his fingers, then with slow, circling pressure, devotionally grinding the pad in tight, knowing spirals that sent deep, vibrating pulses straight into the hypersensitive nerve clusters hidden beneath her wings.

Eira’s head fell back with a shattered, broken cry so a melodic, it sounded like a celestial’s moan as it torn from the depths of her immortal throat, rich and involuntary, drenched in centuries of denied, dripping hunger.