Priest Eldrin moved through the shadowed halls of the manor with a practiced, silent tread. The heavy scent of beeswax and old wealth filled the air, but his mind was on a different aroma, the subtle perfume of Lady Anya, Lord Barlon’s wife and lyssa’s mother, that clung to the tapestries near her chambers. Their usual evening routine awaited, a secret as delicious as it was dangerous. He adjusted the simple woolen robe of his station, ensuring it didn’t snag on anything as he passed a side table holding a vase of fresh lilies.
His soft-soled shoes made no sound on the polished marble.The servants were dismissed for the night, the lord away on business. Only his lover, and the empty, echoing rooms. He was rounding the corner toward the family wing when a sound froze him mid step.
A moan. Low, feminine.
Eldrin’s head snapped toward the source. Lady Lyssa’s door. He knew the layout of this house as well as his own chapel. His initial mission was forgotten, replaced by a far more intriguing curiosity.
He glided to her door, pressing his ear against the dark, polished oak. The sounds were clearer now. The rhythmic, solid thump of a bedframe meeting the wall in a steady cadence. Lyssa’s cries, muffled but ardent, punctuated by sharp, breathy gasps.
“Kian… yes… please…”
He felt a familiar, low heat begin to coil in his own groin.
Listening through the door was frustrating, limiting. He needed to see. The thrill of discovery, of witnessing this raw, illicit act, was an aphrodisiac in itself.
With the stealth of a cat, he retreated down the hall, slipped out a side door into the cool night, and padded across the manicured lawn.
A sturdy stone box of dormant herbs was planted beneath the girls window. He hoisted himself onto it, the rough stone scraping against his robe. The window was partly open, the sheer inner curtain drawn but offering a blurred, silhouetted view of the room beyond. He crouched, peering through the gap between the curtain and the frame.
The scene within stole his breath.
Lyssa was on her stomach, her naked body a pale, graceful arc in the moonlight filtering through the gauzy fabric. Her face was turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in a continuous stream of pleasure. Her glorious, flame red hair was a wild tangle across the pillows. But it was the figure atop her that commanded attention.
A boy. His back, slick with sweat, rippled with muscles that bunched and released with every powerful, driving thrust. He was a study in controlled ferocity. And his hand… Gods. One large, tanned hand was clamped around both of Lyssa’s slender wrists, pinning them to the mattress above her head. The dominance of the gesture was absolute, primal. Eldrin’s own pulse hammered in his throat.
He could see the brutal, beautiful mechanics of their coupling. The way the boy’s hips pistoned, the way Lyssa’s body yielded and surged back against him with each entry. The slick, wet sound of their joining was obscene and glorious. The boy’s head was thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out, his mouth open in silent, fierce exhalations of effort and pleasure.
Eldrin’s hand moved of its own accord, slipping inside his robe, finding his own hardened length. He stroked himself slowly, his gaze glued to the window. This was better than any tavern tale, any whispered confession. This was real.
He watched the boy shift, lowering his body to cover hers completely, his mouth finding the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Lyssa cried out, a sharp, broken sound of ecstasy.
Eldrin’s hand moved faster, his own hips giving shallow thrusts into his fist. He imagined the heat of her, the tight, wet clench around the boy. He imagined the weight, the strength, the possession in that single handed pin.
“Don’t stop…” Lyssa’s plea was a ragged sob.
The boy responded by deepening his strokes, each one making the bedframe slam harder against the wall. The sheer force of it was mesmerizing. Lyssa’s back arched, presenting herself more fully, inviting the pounding. Her cries lost all coherence, becoming a mantra of bliss.
The priest’s hand moved in a blur, the friction of his palm generating a searing heat.
God’s mercy, Eldrin wheezed, his eyes rolling back. He felt the pressure build in his loins, a frantic, pulsing ache. He was close. He let out a soft pathetic moan as his seed erupted, splattering against the stone of the manor wall.
“Eldrin?”
The priest froze, his hand still slick and trembling. He turned his head to see Lady Anya standing beside him, a silk wrap held loosely around her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” She asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Is this where you have been hiding from my bed?”
“Eldrin’s breath hitched, a strangled gasp caught in his throat. He stumbled backward, scrambling to pull his robes down. A cold sweat, unrelated to his recent climax, prickled his skin.
“My lady.” he stammered, his voice hoarse.
“Oh, my lady, I… was, uh, wrestling with the devil, you see.”
He clutched at his chest, trying to appear distraught rather than caught.
“A terrible affliction of the soul. The darkness, it pressed upon me.”
She stepped closer, her eyes, dark as midnight, sweeping over his disheveled form.
“The devil, you say? And he led you at my daughter’s window, at this hour?” Her voice was soft, but sharp.
“And what, pray tell, was the devil whispering in your ear, Eldrin? Do you want to fuck my daughter Eldrin. I’m I too loose for you now. Too old?”
“No,no, my lady! I… I heard a sound ! A disturbance. A whisper of… of unholy spirits in the night. I sought to confront it, to banish it with prayer.”
He gestured vaguely toward the house.
“My penance led me outside, to seek solace and strength in the Lord’s vastness, away from the confines of the sinful flesh. Then I heard….
Shhhk, shhhk….
“A sound from the house. I feared for your daughters safety, for the sanctity of this home.”
She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her gaze dropping to his still stiff robes, a knowing glint in their depth.
“Come, priest. Let us return inside. I ought to punish you for this.”
She turned, her silk wrap swaying and began to walk back toward the manor.