Chapter 38
IV.
“May I never act on emotions that lead… to regret… Amen.”
A few days prior, at the High Priest’s residence in the Holy Kingdom’s palace—
Seo-ah had visited him late at night, claiming to feel a sudden, overwhelming loneliness. She had begged him to hold her, leaning into him, her body seeking comfort.
Without hesitation, he had swept her into his arms and returned her to her chambers. Then, retreating to his own room, he opened the drawer of the bedside table.
From it, he retrieved a neatly folded garment—a nightgown tailored for her smaller frame.
As he unfolded it, a faint, lingering scent wafted out. The memory of that intoxicating, alluring, and embarrassingly intimate aroma struck him instantly. Though much of the original scent had faded, the days he’d spent burying his nose in the fabric had imprinted the memory so deeply that even the faintest trace could bring it back to life.
How could he forget the essence of her body—her vulnerability, the liquid evidence of her arousal that had once soaked this garment?
The nightgown was a symbol of his shameful desires. That night, Seo-ah had come to him, her body feverish and overwhelmed, driven by an aphrodisiac she hadn’t even realized she’d consumed. Seeking solace, she had leaned on him, only for him to give in to the temptation to touch her, to explore the most private parts of her.
Ultimately, he had indulged in her sweetness, letting her body’s nectar drench the fabric of her nightgown.
For that sin, he had been sentenced to an invisible torment. Ephelinus was utterly addicted to the scent—a curse that left him unable to sleep peacefully without inhaling it at least once each night.
And yet, that wasn’t the extent of his torment.
“Ah…”
One hand clutching the edge of her nightgown, he brought it to his face, burying his nose in it. With the other, he pushed his tunic upward, unfastening his trousers to free himself.
The sight was vulgar—an erxct pillar of flesh that seemed grotesque in its size and the intensity of his desire.
“Seo-ah…”
He breathed, drawing deeply from the fabric as if to pull every last hint of her fragrance into himself.
Slowly, his hand began to move, sliding over the thick shxft. His senses filled with the faint tang of her lingering scent—a mixture of musky sweetness and the sour undertones of spent desire.
The memories came flooding back: Seo-ah writhing in pleasure as her body spilled over with need, her flushed cheeks and teary eyes, her desperate pleas for relief as she kneaded her own chest.
“Seo-ah… Seo-ah…”
His grip tightened instinctively as he replayed that night in his mind. His hand moved faster, and the rhythm of his strokes became more insistent.
With his eyes closed, his imagination ran wild. Though he had held back in reality, he allowed himself to indulge in fantasies that made even his sacred vows feel fragile.
In his mind, he kissed the sensitive folds between her thighs, teased her with his tongue, and lapped up every drop of her essence as if it were holy nectar.
And then, in his deepest, most shameful thoughts, he envisioned thrusting into her, hips grinding against hers in a primal rhythm.
“Touch me… please… Do anything you want with me…”
He imagined her whispering, her voice trembling with need. In his fantasy, he abandoned restraint, devouring her soft curves with his hands and tongue, gripping her supple brxxsts until he was intoxicated by their pliant warmth.
Ah.
The lewdness of his own desires struck him like a blow.
Gripping himself tightly, he squeezed until it was almost painful, increasing the intensity of his strokes. The memory of her entrance—tight and gripping his fingers like a vice—fueled his shameful indulgence.
“Seo-ah… mmmh, Seo-ah…”
The sound of his hand moving roughly along his length filled the room, rhythmic and relentless. Each stroke sent a jarring echo of flesh against flesh, and his shxft pulsed visibly with each movement. The tip glistened as pre-cxm gathered and smeared across its surface.
His fantasy spiraled deeper. Though he had never seen her fully bare, his imagination filled in the gaps. He pictured Seo-ah trembling under him, her body quaking with pleasure and surrender, just as he had seen that night. He imagined her reacting to his thrusts, her body arching uncontrollably with every movement, just as she had when he had overstimulated her sensitive core.
Every time he thrust into her in his mind, he envisioned her inner walls clenching and pulling at him, far tighter and more welcoming than his hand could ever replicate.
“Seo-ah… Seo-ah…”
His strokes quickened. He chased the climax that had been building since the night he first touched her, that impossible high he could only imagine but never truly know.
As the tension mounted, his breath hitched, and he pressed the fabric harder against his face, as though seeking absolution in the scent that was both his punishment and his ecstasy.
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