Chapter 40
What he was doing now was probably no different from that flower pot to Roarna.
An incidental pleasure gained from the process of granting a favor to a friend she had known for a long time.
A reward she found so agreeable that she willingly engaged in “etiquette lessons” because it felt good and allowed her to study a rare curse on the pretext of this act.
He already knew that, and it didn’t matter.
‘…Well, it’s not like it completely doesn’t matter.’
Anyway, it didn’t matter that this act, which was eating away at his daily life, wasn’t all that significant to Roarna.
But what frightened him was that it could all be erased, as if it never happened.
Roarna hadn’t even remembered that man, the author of a thesis that had piqued her interest enough to offer advice.
The thought that Roarna could just as easily forget everything they had done together drove him mad.
‘Of course, since it’s me, she’ll probably remember to some extent.’
Thinking that far, Celesto grabbed Roarna’s waist with both hands.
He then lifted her up in one swift motion.
“Heuk, mmph… mmm… milk?”
Startled, Roarna clung tightly to him.
He set Roarna back down on the window ledge and took hold of his pants button.
No matter how he thought about it, that was the more miserable option. Being remembered only because they were friends.
Celesto unfastened his pants button.
He knew full well that he wasn’t thinking clearly right now. He was also aware that he had no proper objective or even reason for any of this.
But he couldn’t stop.
The anxiety—without cause, without reason, without even knowing the root of the problem—kept him from suppressing this impulse.
“Mmhmm…!”
Roarna, realizing his intent, struggled. But against a man twice her size, especially one who was half out of his mind, it was pointless.
The moment he pulled down his pants, his manhood stood straight up, vertical. Heat seethed from his glans, covered in moisture.
But the curse mark at the base was relatively intact. Of course, black lines were clearly etched there, as several days had passed since their last contact, but it didn’t have the feverish glow it once did.
But neither Roarna, nor even Celesto himself, the one afflicted by the curse, noticed.
Celesto hooked his fingers into the front of Roarna’s pants. The fabric, so soft it had seemed frightening to touch, now clung to his fingertips.
He gripped it tightly.
Rip. With a rough sound, the seam of her pants tore. Beneath the torn fabric, her mound, thoroughly soaked with her fluids, was exposed.
As Celesto applied more force to his hands, the pants tore further along the stitching with a tearing sound. Soon, Roarna’s lower body was left defenseless.
Still holding onto Roarna’s clothes, he rubbed his manhood against her. His pre-c*m began to smear stickily onto her nearly hairless white skin.
His large hand gripped his shaft. With momentum, his glans pressed against his target more precisely than before.
“Euuhng!”
Roarna’s hips jerked.
Celesto rubbed his glans over her protruding c******s a few more times. Then, as if remembering something, he traced circles around the bump.
“Heuhh…!”
He swallowed the cry that escaped Roarna’s lips as if he had been waiting for it.
His thick tongue roughly plundered the inside of Roarna’s mouth. He explored her flesh relentlessly, as if trying to steal even her every breath.
Beneath, his glans continuously tormented her c******s. Roarna sobbed at the movement that alternated between pressing down firmly and circling around.
Celesto drove Roarna relentlessly until she finally reached her peak.
A pair of green eyes, stained with dark lust, observed Roarna’s form floundering in the waves of pleasure.
Until this woman lost her way and clung to him, pleading.
Celesto, intoxicated with desire, moved his hips deeply.
Then he noticed something he hadn’t been particularly conscious of before—something that kept catching against his glans with a tap, tap.
It was a small opening, gaping and releasing fluids.
“Haah…”
Celesto groaned, his body trembling.
Even he, who hadn’t even known how to m********e, let alone kiss, knew what that small opening was. He was old enough to know that the ‘hole’ celibate Holy Knights joked about wasn’t just a metaphor.
Come to think of it, until now, he hadn’t been conscious of this place because of their positions… because of their posture. At most, he had rubbed his manhood against her labia, crushed by his glans, and the c******s that Roarna liked.
Celesto moved his hand. His rigidly swollen glans rubbed deeply against the moistened entrance.
A terrifyingly ecstatic pleasure surged up through his lower body.
If he miscalculated his strength even slightly, or if he lost his way, something irreversible would happen.
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