Plat! Plat! Plat! Plat!
The echos of skin slapping skin echoed within.
"Ohhhh...ahhh..ahhh..ahh.."
The candlelight flickered, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls of the chapel's healing chamber. Amber's moans rose, soft at first, then desperate, as Aiden's thrusts deepened—not rushed, not frenzied, but deliberate, each movement carving a new truth into her trembling body.
"Oh god...ummm...ohh...ohhh..ohhh...ohh"
Aiden didn't spare a glance at the wooden cross star on the wall.
The village boy's whimpers, the faint creak of the pews, the heavy air of sanctity—none of it mattered. The sick man, a frail soul Amber had tended to earlier, was no threat. He was a fleeting shadow, a life sustained only by divine mercy, unworthy of Aiden's attention.
The only thing that mattered was Amber…
"Yess!! Yess...ahhh...ahhh..ahh..ahh...Aiden..."
Once cloaked in sacred vestments, preaching chastity and devotion beneath the vaulted arches of the chapel.
Now?
Her auburn hair spilled wild across the altar cloth, her cheeks flushed crimson, a sheen of sweat and forbidden desire glistening at the corner of her lips. Her thighs parted wide, her sacred garden offered to the man who now held her fate, awaiting the fervent spring that would claim her wholly.
"A-Aiden…" she moaned, her voice barely human, "Why… why does it feel so…"
Plat! Plat! Plat! Plat!
Her body quaked as he bottomed out, his thick, pulsing length pressing deep against her core, igniting a fire that threatened to unravel her vows.
Aiden's hand slid up her trembling belly, feeling her inner walls clench around him, memorizing every inch of his invasion. "Because this is truth," he whispered, his voice low, like a storm brewing behind sacred hills.
"You preached restraint.... I offer liberation....You clung to your faith, but your body always yearned to... yield. You were born not to guide… but to serve....serve Me."
Plat! Plat! Plat! Plat!
"Ahhh… ahh… nghhh!" Amber couldn't argue, not with him buried inside her, a pillar of undeniable fate.
Aiden leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear, his hips never faltering. "This is your worship now.... My pleasure is your divine trial.... and my seed is your sacred offering."
She whimpered, tears of ecstasy streaming down her face, pooling at her temples.
"Say it," he murmured, his voice a command wrapped in velvet.
"I… I am your... vessel… a tool for your.. pleasure," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "Your sacred altar… your devoted servant… your… your eternal partner…"
He smirked, his lips brushing hers, teasing but never kissing. "That's right… You're no longer Sister Amber....and I'm not your brother...You're only mine."
With a powerful thrust, Aiden began the final rhythm, not mere coupling but a ritual of possession. The wooden table groaned beneath them, as if the chapel itself protested the sacrilege. Amber's cries grew louder, soaked in holy ruin.
"Ohhh… so deep… Aiden… I'm breaking… breaking apart!"
Her hands clutched his back like a drowning soul grasping for salvation, her walls tightening around him, unwilling to let him go.
"Ahhh! Aiden… Aiden!" Her voice shattered, no longer a nun's prayer but a primal hymn.
A flood surged from within her, a mix of sacred and mortal essence, soaking the altar cloth. Her core trembled, her faith shaken to its foundations. Through her blurred vision, she saw only him—her savior or her ruin.
Her inner walls spasmed uncontrollably, rippling around him like a tide drawn to the heavens. Aiden's hands gripped her waist with unyielding strength, his hips snapping forward with finality.
"Take it," he growled, his voice molten iron.
"Take all of it," he added, unrelenting.
Amber gasped, her eyes wide, her lips parted in a silent scream. "Yessssss!"
Plat! Plat! Plat! Plat!
Plat! Plat! Plat! Plat!
And then, he erupted, an endless cascade. His release surged into her with the force of a divine flood, crashing against her core, claiming her from within. Her body arched violently, her soul quaking under the weight of his essence.
"A-Ahhhhaa… AAHHH!" Her moans dissolved into raw worship, no longer words, only surrender.
His heat filled her—thick, scalding, sacred. Her core burned as if branded by lightning, marked forever as Aiden's territory.
Spurt! Spurt! Spurt!
Again and again, his seed flooded her, more than any mortal could give, more than any woman was meant to hold. Her eyes rolled back, her tongue lolling, her thighs locking around him in reflex, refusing to let him withdraw.
"good god....that was...something else." he whispered against her throat, his voice thick with power and satisfaction.
Amber could only nod weakly, her eyes dazed, her body limp and leaking with their mingled essence.
In the corner, the village boy watched, wide-eyed, as if witnessing a divine miracle—or a forbidden sin. "So… majestic…" he muttered, awestruck.
Aiden was a force, a man among men, a storm among whispers. His potency was unmatched, while the boy was but a shadow, unworthy of comparison.
Aiden remained inside her, still pulsing, his essence seeping into her depths like a sacred spring. The pressure within her grew, her core trembling, not swollen but bloated with heat, with spirit, with submission.
Her legs, locked around him like vines clinging to a holy tree, refused to part. Her arms draped weakly across his back, her breaths shallow and erratic, her chest rising and falling like waves against a sacred shore.
Her mind drifted, thoughts scattered like petals in a silent storm. Her vows, her title, her faith—all faded. Only one word remained, etched into her soul: 'Aiden'
Aiden sat upright, still sheathed in her sacred garden, watching her with the calm of a man who had reshaped her world. His breathing was steady, his body untouched by the exertion. A faint glow lingered at his abdomen, a divine afterglow of their union. His hands caressed her sides, not with tenderness but with the possessiveness of one claiming a holy relic.
He leaned down, his lips brushing her earlobe, his voice like molten gold. "Ready for another lesson?"
Amber blushed, turning her face away, unable to meet his gaze. "Umm… this time, please… be gentle…"
.
.
.
Amber's green eyes fluttered open, the soft morning light filtering through the narrow window of the church's infirmary. Her fingers tightened around the coarse bed sheets, clutching them to her chest as if they could shield her from the memories flooding her mind.
Her body ached in places she hadn't known could ache, each throb a reminder of the forbidden act that had unfolded in this very bed—a bed meant for the sick and weary, not for the sins of a nun who had sworn a solemn vow of purity.
Yet, as her gaze drifted to the rumpled sheets, she felt a flush of warmth, her lower body stirring with a shameful dampness. The pleasure—oh, that mighty, intoxicating pleasure—had been unlike anything she'd ever known. It pulsed through her veins, a drumbeat of desire that drowned out the hymns she'd once held dear.
She tore the sheet away, revealing her bare skin adorned with red marks—love bites, possessive imprints left by him. They dotted her chest like a map of her surrender, each one a testament to the man who had claimed her in the heat of the night.
Did he own her now? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. She was a nun, a servant of the Divine Light, yet her heart raced with the reckless urge to belong to him.
Her fingers brushed against the rough fabric of her nun's habit, discarded in a heap beside the bed. Regret gnawed at her—not for breaking her vow, but for the undeniable truth that she would do it again. And again. And again.
"Is this the Curse of my bloodline," she whispered, her voice trembling with self-reproach. Her family had always been prone to passion, their hearts too easily swayed by beauty and charm.
But this? No....This was his fault. Those golden eyes, molten and hypnotic, like twin suns burning into her soul. That soft, snow-white hair, falling in silken waves she'd tangled her fingers in.
And that face—Gods above, he looked like an angel sculpted by divine hands, sent to tempt her into ruin. She'd always had a weakness for lean, striking men, but he was something else entirely. She'd brought him into the church, a wounded stranger seeking aid, and with one stolen kiss, her world had unraveled.
Knock! Knock!
"Amber! Amber, are you alright?" a voice called from beyond the wooden door, sharp with concern.
Amber's heart lurched. She scrambled to her feet, her bare skin prickling in the cool air as she fumbled for her habit. She yanked the black robes over her head, the fabric clinging to her curves as she hastily tied the sash. In her panic, she forgot her undergarments, the absence of them making her feel even more exposed. Smoothing her hair beneath her veil, she steadied her breath and opened the door a crack.
"....I'm fine," she said, her voice too high, too brittle. "..Is something wrong?"
The nun on the other side was Sister Clara, a recent recruit Amber had personally welcomed into the order. Clara's thin frame and wide, earnest eyes gave her an air of fragility, but her voice carried a quiet strength.
"Nothing's wrong, Sister Amber, but… the man you brought to heal, he said you were unwell and not to be disturbed at any cost. We were worried—it's been hours."
Amber's stomach twisted. "He… he said that?" Her mind raced, picturing his sly smile, the way he'd likely woven his words to keep the others at bay. "Where did he go?"
Clara shrugged, her expression puzzled. "He didn't say. He just… left. By the way, Father Matthias is impressed. The man came to us half-dead, and now he's walking as if he'd never been ill. You didn't tell us you could wield healing spells so powerfully."
Another nun, Sister Beatrice, stepped forward, her round face beaming with admiration. "Truly, Sister Amber, it's a miracle! You've been hiding your talents."
Amber forced a smile, her mind elsewhere. She brushed past them, her bare feet cold against the stone floor as she made her way to the church's gates.
The holy water givers stood at their posts, blessing the mugs of pilgrims and townsfolk. She approached a middle-aged man, his hands steady as he poured sanctified water into an outstretched cup.
"Did you see a man with white hair and golden eyes?" she asked, her voice low, urgent.
The man glanced up, squinting as he considered her question. "Aye, I think so....hard to miss if I'm being honest....He went... that way." He nodded toward the bustling market square, where a grand mansion loomed over the cobblestone streets. "Saw him enter the viscount's estate. Might be one of his servants, I reckon."
Amber's gaze followed his gesture, settling on the towering mansion of Viscount Roderic, the lord who ruled this domain with an iron hand cloaked in velvet charm.
Her throat tightened, a mix of dread and longing coiling in her chest. The fire in her heart burned brighter, urging her to seek him out, to feel his touch again. But she bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood.
'No,' she told herself, clenching her fists. 'I've already committed a grave sin.... No more.' Yet her eyes lingered on the mansion, her body betraying her resolve. 'Maybe… just once more…'
.
.
.
Meanwhile, Aiden slipped into the servant quarters, his body thrumming with a vitality he hadn't felt in days.
His hunger—his need—had been sated, Amber's fiery essence coursing through him like a drug. Her ember, as he'd come to think of it, fueled his incubus blood, leaving him refreshed and sharp.
He leaned against the canal's edge, his white hair catching the fading sunlight as he grinned to himself. This world was strange, a tapestry of magic and danger woven from the pages of a novel he'd once read. But now, he was no mere reader—he was a player, a predator, a 'High Incubus'.
"If I can see others' information, I must have a system of my own...if i think about it...," he muttered, half-expecting nothing to happen. But the moment the word system left his lips, a purple interface materialized before him, glowing with an otherworldly light..
"Ohhh," he breathed, his golden eyes widening. "This....thiss is way cooler than reading about it."
The interface pulsed, displaying his stats in crisp, arcane text: