Chapter 55 — Three Days of Heat, 2 (R18+)
Warning: This chapter contains explicit adult content. If you're 17 or younger, please skip ahead.
Day One: The First Fall
The fire in the hearth had dwindled to a soft, crackling glow, casting long, flickering shadows across the bedchamber like secrets spilling from the flames. Sylan Kyle Von Noctis's breath still came in rough pulls, his chest heaving from the raw intensity of Virelle's mouth on him—from the way her soft lips had stretched wide around his thick length, her tongue swirling hot and eager, swallowing every pulse of his release like it was the sweetest wine. His crimson eyes burned dark as he gazed down at her, sprawled across the rumpled sheets in that sinful black maid's dress—now a glorious wreck, lace torn loose at the edges, the corset loosened just enough to let her full breasts spill free, nipples still pebbled and flushed from his earlier touches. Her thighs gleamed slick in the low light, parted invitingly, her skin marked with the faint red imprints of his fingers where he'd gripped her tight.
He didn't give her a second to catch her breath.
In one fluid surge of muscle and need, Sylan hooked his hands under her hips and flipped her onto her stomach—the skirt of the dress hiking up shameless, baring the perfect curve of her ass, the tops of her stockings clinging like a lover's grasp. Virelle gasped sharp, fingers twisting into the silk sheets as she felt the heat of him pressing against her from behind—his cock already straining hard again, thick and insistent, the broad head nudging her entrance like a promise of more. The air thickened with their shared heat, the scent of sweat and arousal hanging heavy, mingling with the faint smoke from the dying fire.
"You're mine for three days," Sylan growled low, voice scraped raw with hunger, his blond hair falling wild into his eyes as he leaned over her, one hand splaying wide on her lower back to arch her just so. "And I ain't wasting a goddamn breath of it."
She glanced back over her shoulder, brown eyes hooded and blazing with the same fire, a slow, teasing smile curling her swollen lips. "Then claim me," she breathed, voice husky, arching her hips up in blatant invitation, her body trembling with anticipation. "All of me."
That was the spark.
Sylan gripped the nape of her neck gentle but firm—holding her down into the mattress like a prize he wouldn't let slip—and lined himself up, the thick tip of his cock teasing her slick folds, coated in her wetness from before. Then he thrust home in one deep, owning stroke—burying himself to the hilt in a rush of tight, wet heat that tore a cry from her throat.
Virelle's world exploded in stars, her nails clawing the sheets as he filled her utterly—stretching her walls to their limit, the burn of it sweet and overwhelming, every inch of his massive length pressing deep until his hips slapped flush against her ass. Sylan groaned primal, the sound rumbling from his chest like thunder, his fingers digging into her hip hard enough to bruise as he held still a beat, savoring the vise of her around him—hot, pulsing, perfect.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he rasped, voice breaking on the edge, pulling back slow—dragging every ridge and vein against her sensitive inner walls—before slamming home again, harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing sharp in the room.
Virelle whimpered high, body jolting forward with the force, her breasts dragging against the sheets, nipples scraping delicious friction that shot sparks straight to her core. Each thrust rocked her deeper into the mattress, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made colors burst behind her eyelids, pleasure coiling tight and relentless in her belly. Sylan's free hand snaked under her, fingers finding her swollen clit—circling firm, pinching light—syncing with the brutal rhythm of his hips, driving her higher, faster.
"Sylan—!" His name ripped from her lips like a plea, raw and desperate, her back bowing as she pushed back into him, meeting every plunge, her walls fluttering wild around his girth.
"Say it again," he demanded, breath hot against her ear, teeth grazing the shell as he leaned over her, pounding deeper, the bed frame groaning under the assault.
"Sylan, please—!" She was begging now, voice fracturing, body a live wire of need, teetering on the brink as his fingers worked her clit merciless, his cock stretching her full with every snap of his hips.
"Louder," he commanded, voice a dark snarl, one hand fisting her hair to pull her head back gentle, exposing her throat for his mouth—nipping, sucking a mark into the pale skin.
"Sylan, I'm—!"
Her climax hit like a storm breaking—crashing over her in blinding waves, her body seizing tight around him, milking his length as she screamed his name to the rafters, thighs quaking, slick gushing hot around him. Sylan groaned savage, his own edge sharpening brutal, but he held off—teeth gritted, muscles locked—as he rode her through it, thrusts slowing to deep, grinding rolls that drew out every shudder, every gasp.
He wasn't finished.
With a low curse, he pulled free— the wet slide leaving her clenching empty, a whine slipping from her throat—then flipped her onto her back in one powerful twist, her legs splaying wide as she bounced soft on the mattress. The dress was chaos now—corset unlaced and gaping, breasts heaving free and flushed, skirt rucked up around her waist like a flag of surrender. Virelle's eyes locked on his, dark and dazed with aftershocks, but burning for more as he knelt between her thighs, gripping her hips and hauling her up onto his lap—her slick heat hovering teasing at his tip.
She looped her arms around his neck, legs wrapping his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him close. Sylan guided himself slow this time—sinking in inch by torturous inch, watching her face twist in bliss, lips parting on a moan as he filled her again, deeper from the angle, her body yielding wet and willing. When he bottomed out, hips flush, he held—letting her adjust, savoring the flutter of her walls around him, the way her nails bit half-moons into his shoulders.
"You feel like sin," he groaned, mouth crashing to hers—messy, devouring, tongues tangling hot as she rocked against him, setting the pace.
Virelle broke for air, gasping against his lips, her hips circling slow, grinding him deeper. "So big... so full..." Her voice trembled, hands roaming his back, tracing the ridges of old scars and fresh sweat.
Sylan's hands clamped her waist, taking over—lifting her easy, muscles bunching under her touch, then dropping her down onto him in a rhythm that built steady, deliberate. Each slide dragged him against every sensitive inch inside her, his cock thick and unyielding, the friction sparking fire in her veins. The bed creaked under them, protesting the slow build to frenzy—the wet sounds of their joining filling the room, mingling with her soft whimpers and his ragged grunts.
"I love how you take me," he murmured, lips brushing hers between thrusts, one hand sliding up to cup a breast—thumb rolling the hard nipple, pinching light until she keened. "Like you were made for this—for me."
Virelle kissed him fierce, tongue sweeping in to taste the salt on his lips, her body clenching tighter as the coil wound anew—slower burn this time, but no less devastating, pleasure layering deep and insistent. "Yours," she gasped, heels urging him faster, nails scoring red trails down his back. "All yours—"
He snapped then, control fraying—hands gripping her ass hard, lifting and slamming her down onto him, the pace turning punishing, hips meeting with bruising slaps that echoed off the walls. Virelle's cries sharpened, body trembling on the edge, her walls fluttering wild around him.
"I'm close," he warned, voice strained to breaking, forehead pressed to hers, breaths mingling hot and desperate.
"Come inside," she begged, voice fracturing, legs locking tighter. "Fill me—please—"
The plea undid him. Sylan's release roared through—cock pulsing deep, spilling hot and thick inside her in endless waves, the flood of it pushing her over. Virelle shattered with him, climax ripping a scream from her throat, body convulsing around him, milking every drop as stars burst behind her eyes, pleasure crashing endless and blinding.
They tumbled together in a heap of tangled limbs and heaving chests—sweat-slick skin sliding, hearts thundering wild. Sylan pressed a kiss to her temple, soft and lingering, then caught her lips—gentle now, sated, a brush of warmth in the haze. His voice rumbled low, rough-edged with vow: "Two days to go."
Virelle smiled hazy, body still thrumming faint echoes, fingers tracing lazy swirls on his chest. "Can't wait to see what you break me with next."
The air hung thick with the musk of them—sweat and sex, sharp and heady—the fire reduced to glowing coals, but the blaze between them far from quenched. Sylan's hands wandered her form idle—tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the way the black stockings hugged her thighs like a lover's hold. The maid's dress lay in glorious ruin—lace ripped at the seams, corset gaping loose, skirt twisted high around her middle like a conquered flag. She sprawled beneath him, dark hair fanned wild across the pillows, brown eyes heavy-lidded with bliss, lips bruised from his claims.
Sylan wasn't sated.
He rolled them seamless, pinning her under him once more—blond hair tumbling into his eyes as he loomed, gaze raking her like fresh prey. His cock—still rigid, slick with their mingled release—nudged her thigh insistent. Virelle's hand drifted low, fingers curling around him—stroking slow from root to tip, thumb swiping the sensitive head until he hissed, hips bucking shallow into her fist.
"You're endless," he murmured, voice thick as tar with fresh want, capturing her wrist to press it overhead—loose hold, but firm enough to spark.
"So are you," she whispered back, lips grazing his ear, breath hot and teasing as she arched up, legs parting wide in silent dare.
Sylan didn't rush. He claimed her mouth slow this time—deep, languid sweeps of tongue that tasted like them, hands roaming free: cupping the heavy weight of her breasts, thumbs teasing nipples to tight, aching buds that drew soft mewls from her throat. Virelle moaned into the kiss, thighs falling open as he settled heavy between them, the broad head of him teasing her entrance—slick and ready, dipping in shallow before pulling back, tormenting until she whimpered, hips lifting to chase.
His lips trailed fire down her neck—nipping the pulse there, soothing with tongue—over her collarbone, latching onto one nipple to suckle deep, teeth grazing just enough to arch her back, the other hand pinching and rolling its twin. Virelle's breaths fractured, fingers knotting in his hair, pulling him closer as sparks shot straight to her core.
"Please—" she gasped, body writhing under him, the ache building fresh and fierce.
Sylan released her breast with a wet pop, kissing lower—stomach, hipbones, the sensitive crease of her thigh—his breath ghosting hot over her skin, raising gooseflesh. When his mouth found her center, Virelle's world tilted—tongue lapping broad and slow through her folds, tasting their combined essence, circling her clit with firm, deliberate strokes before dipping inside, thrusting like a promise of more. She cried out, back bowing off the bed, fingers yanking his hair as his fingers joined—two thick digits curling deep to stroke that spot that made her see white, thumb pressing her clit in tandem.
"Sylan—gods, please—!" She was pleading outright now, thighs quaking around his shoulders, the coil winding brutal and fast, every flick of his tongue, every pump of his fingers pushing her higher, teetering on the brink.
He didn't relent—tongue relentless, fingers scissoring inside her, stretching and stroking until she broke. Her climax tore through like lightning—body seizing, walls clamping his fingers as she wailed his name, slick flooding his mouth, thighs clamping his head in desperate hold.
Sylan rose then, slick-chinned and feral-eyed, positioning at her entrance—thrusting home in one smooth glide, burying deep in her fluttering heat. Virelle wrapped her legs his waist, heels digging his ass to urge him on, nails scoring his shoulders as he moved—slow drags out, then snaps in, each one grinding against her oversensitive walls, drawing whimpers that melted to moans.
"I love how you grip me," he rasped, lips brushing hers between thrusts, one hand pinning her thigh wide for deeper access. "Like you can't get enough."
Virelle kissed him hungry, tongue tangling to taste herself on him, her body clenching tighter as the slow build ignited anew—pleasure layering thick, insistent, every roll of his hips dragging fire through her veins. "Don't stop," she gasped, heels spurring him faster, the wet sounds of their joining filling the room—skin slapping slick, breaths ragged and breaking.
He didn't—pace turning deliberate to devastating, hips circling on the downstroke to grind her clit against his base, the friction sparking endless. When they shattered, it was locked together—her climax ripping a cry from her throat, walls milking him fierce as he spilled deep, hot pulses flooding her, their bodies locked in shuddering release, breaths mingling in the haze.
Dawn Approaches
As the first pale fingers of dawn crept through the window, gilding the rumpled sheets in soft rose, Sylan drew Virelle close—her back flush to his chest, one arm slung heavy over her waist, his cock still buried deep inside her, half-hard and content in the velvet clasp of her heat. The room smelled of them—sweat and satisfaction, the faint char of dying embers—and the air hummed lazy with spent bliss.
"Sleep," he murmured against her ear, lips brushing the shell, voice a low rumble worn smooth.
Virelle smiled faint, body lax and humming faint aftershocks, her hand covering his where it splayed on her belly. "Don't think I can budge."
Sylan chuckled dark, hips rolling shallow—just enough to draw a gasp from her, the drag sparking fresh friction inside. "Who said a word about budging?"
And with that, he began to move inside her again, slow and deep, proving that the first day was far from over.