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Again, I'm sorry for the lack of chapters, but I still hope you enjoy, much love.
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Chapter 333: Foxfire Confessions
The temple's inner chamber was quiet now, the last flickers of foxfire guttering against the crystalline walls like candles winding down to sleep.
Inariko stood before him, tails fanned in their full glory—nine luminous streams of white-gold fur, each tip blazing with divine fire. Then, slowly, she gathered them. Folding, curling, braiding them into one elegant coil behind her, a single massive tail, sleek and heavy with power. The fire dimmed at her command, the flames at the tip fluttering once before she leaned forward and blew softly.
The light extinguished.
The room dimmed to a more intimate glow, shadows hugging the corners while only a handful of foxfire lanterns kept the chamber alive with warmth.
Malik arched an eyebrow. "You always this dramatic, or is it just because I'm here?"
Inariko smirked. "Both."
With a fluid snap of her wrist, a heap of pillows shimmered into existence. Silken, plush, embroidered with fox runes and smelling faintly of frost-sweet incense, they cascaded across the floor in a deliberately uneven pile. She bent low to pat and fluff them, hips swaying, her robes loosening ever so slightly at the collar so that Malik—despite his best efforts—was rewarded with angled glimpses of her cleavage.
Smaller, yes. Modest by comparison to Kamira's scandalous curves or Ranke's dramatic thunderstorm bust. But Inariko's bosom carried a different kind of allure. Subtle. Teasing. The kind that worked because she knew he was trying not to notice.
And she made it worse. Every movement of hers lingered just enough to pull his eyes. When she bent over, her silk gown clung to her waist and hips like liquid. When she tossed her hair over one shoulder, her ears twitched playfully, catching his gaze like a lure.
Malik cleared his throat and pressed his palms together. "...Give me strength."
"Praying already?" Inariko teased. She flopped down into the pillows and patted the space beside her, tails wrapping like a blanket. "Come, little incubus. Rest with me. You've earned it."
He hesitated—just long enough to make a point—then sighed and let himself fall onto the pillows beside her. She immediately hooked an arm around his waist and pulled him into a snuggle, her smaller frame deceptively strong, her tails fluffing around him like a cocoon.
"You like this," she said simply, eyes glinting.
"I like naps," Malik replied dryly.
"No," she whispered, brushing her nose near his temple. "I mean this. Kissing. Snuggling. Closeness."
Malik exhaled through his nose. "…Fair."
Inariko smiled, sharp and knowing. "You like clothes too. You act like undressing someone is the prize, but you love when they stay dressed. Outfits. Styles. Silk. Boots. Stockings. You want to admire them first. Slowly. The wrapping excites you more than the unwrapping."
He tilted his head toward her, lips twitching. "…Maybe."
"And panties." Her grin widened when he stiffened slightly. "You like the little details. The color, the cut. The tease of lace or the comfort of cotton. You don't care which—they all speak to you. Because it's choice. Their choice. A secret shared, just for you."
Malik groaned softly, dragging his hand down his face. "You are too much."
Her tails squeezed him tighter, playful. "Feet too. Not that you'd admit it to me yet. But I smelled it in your memory. You notice them. The curve of an ankle, the way toes flex when someone laughs. You tuck it away like a guilty note in a hymn book."
"...I—" Malik stammered, cheeks coloring. "That's not—okay, maybe—no, stop spying on me and my people!"
Inariko chuckled, voice curling like smoke. "Spying isn't the right word. Observing. Feeling. You're an open book to me. And besides…" She leaned close enough that her lips brushed his ear. "You like it. People being creepy. Controlling. Passive-aggressive. A little manipulative."
His eyes widened. "…Excuse me?"
"It's another turn-on," she said sweetly, like she was commenting on the weather. "You pretend you hate it. You get indignant. But deep down, you like someone poking at your strings. Not too much—but just enough to remind you you're not untouchable."
Malik opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.
"I don't even know what to say to that," he muttered.
Inariko smirked, satisfied. "So don't say anything. Just let me talk."
And he did.
For the next while, Malik let her unravel him in words. She listed things he loved:
– Cooking for others, but secretly hating when they cooked for him because he knew he was better but was too kind to admit it.
– Falling for people older than him—gender irrelevant—because maturity mixed with playfulness fascinated him.
– Long hair. Especially dark colors. Black. Blue. Even deep green. "You stare every time," she whispered, amused.
– His love for laughter in the quiet—when someone broke tension with a dumb joke, he adored it more than clever wit.
– The way he secretly liked when someone bossed him around, but only if he trusted them.
Some of these were pulled from his memories. Others from her sly watching. All of them left him torn between denial and reluctant laughter.
Malik buried his face briefly in a pillow. "You're incorrigible."
Inariko curled tighter around him, her tails brushing over his legs. "And you're mine for now. Let me enjoy it. Let me know you."
And for the rest of that night—
He let her.
Malik exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders melting away as Inariko's tails cocooned him in their silken embrace.
Her fingers traced idle patterns on his chest, her touch both soothing and electrifying.
He could feel her breath, warm against his neck, as she continued her relentless observations. "You like being touched," she murmured, her words a soft hum against his skin. "But not just anywhere. Your shoulders—strong, but you carry weight there. Your hips—you like the feel of a hand resting there, claiming. And your stomach. You pretend you don't, but you love when someone brushes against it. Makes you feel... vulnerable."
Her fingers ghosted lower, teasing the edge of his waistband. "You like knowing someone could take what they wanted. But only if they ask. Only if they earn it."
Malik's pulse quickened, his breath growing more measured as her teasing continued.
The pillows shifted beneath them as though the chamber itself bent to her will. Inariko moved slowly, deliberately, her body sliding closer until she was half-crawling across Malik. Every movement was measured, feline, a dance balanced between sacred ritual and dangerous intimacy.
Her face hovered above his, close enough for Malik to take in every feature—the sharp line of her cheekbones, the faint shimmer in her gold-and-violet eyes, the curve of lips that always looked like they were hiding a secret. Too pretty. Too dangerous. The kind of beauty that didn't just turn heads but snapped necks.
"Do you know what I've decided?" she asked, her voice low and silken, one fingertip tracing along the edge of his jaw.
Malik arched an eyebrow warily. "…That I'm due for a nap?"
Her smile was slow. "That I plan to keep you."
He blinked. "Come again?"
"Not forever," she clarified, brushing her nose against his for just a second before pulling back. "I'm not cruel. But I want you here. With me. Emotionally. Spiritually." She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear now. "Very, very physically."
Malik swallowed. "…You don't waste time."
"Maybe even a little psychologically," she teased, pressing the briefest kiss against his lips—quick, sharp, enough to leave the taste of her heat behind.
Her tails shifted, curling around them both like a white-gold prison that didn't need bars. Her weight above him wasn't crushing—it was intoxicating.
"You want me," she whispered, as though it were a fact. "And you will. Because I promise you this, incubus—I will love you. And I will protect anyone who walks beneath my mountain. Your knights. Even your Haku. I'll even gift him a piece of me if he wishes it. A sliver of my blessing."
Malik stared at her, lips parted. Once again, words didn't tumble out.
Because he felt it.
Not just lust. Not playful teasing. But genuine emotion rolled off her like heat waves, soaking into his skin.
He shifted uncomfortably. "…This is fast. Even for me."
Her hand slid down his chest, nails just grazing through the ceremonial fabric. "It doesn't feel fast to me. I've lived in your memories, Malik. Again and again. Relived them until I knew the rhythm of your laughter and the shape of your loneliness." Her voice cracked the tiniest bit, though her grin never faltered. "You don't even know how many times I've watched you save others in your mind. How many times I wanted to step through the mirror and pull you to me."
Malik shook his head, trying to cut through the intensity with honesty. "I'm not that special."
Her answer was another kiss. This one is longer, deeper, stealing the protest straight from his mouth.
When she pulled back, her breath mingled with his. "Stop saying that. You are special. Useful. And do you know how useful it is to have a goddess like me as a wife?"
Malik blinked rapidly. "…Excuse me—did you just—"
"I'll wait my turn," she promised, eyes glittering with foxfire mischief. "I know how many want you. But you'll come back to me."
Before he could retort, she pressed her chest firmly against his. Malik felt the warmth of her smaller but undeniably alluring breasts through the thin silk layers, her heartbeat thrumming like fire under snow. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she slipped her fingers under the hem of her gown and tugged.
Her panties slid free—silken, pale as frost—and she held them between her fingers. She brought them up, close enough for him to see, close enough for the scent of her to hit him with a wave of heat.
"I know your tastes," she said slyly, eyes never leaving his. "You prefer your women natural. Unshaven. You want what's real. What's wild."
Her grin widened. "I promise my bush is worth seeing."
Malik froze.
Malik's breath caught in his throat as Inariko's words settled around him, heavy and charged with promise. His gaze dropped instinctively to the scrap of fabric she still held, the subtle sheen of moisture visible even in the temple fire light of the chamber. The scent was unmistakable—earthy, intoxicating, a fragrance of ripe womanhood that was unmistakably hers.
"You're dangerous," he murmured, his words hoarse with desire. His hands flexed at his sides, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, to confirm the truth of her words with his own fingers.
She chuckled, a low, sultry sound that vibrated through her chest and into his. "And you love it," she replied, letting the panties drop teasingly against his bare stomach before rolling them up in her fist like a prize. "You like knowing a woman wants you this badly."
The raw lust radiating off her was like stepping into a furnace. His body responded before his mind could form arguments, every instinct inside him shouting at once.
She leaned in, loving the look on his face, drinking in his hesitation like wine. "You're adorable when you don't know what to do."
Her lips found his again, this time crashing into a deeper kiss. Tongue against tongue. Heat against restraint. She tasted like burning fire and snowmelt, a combination that burned and soothed in equal measure.
She broke only long enough to whisper against his lips:
"You already know what you're going to do for me. So start praying."