Chapter 5

He sensed the red flower was in full bloom. Loosened and limp, she waited for him to enter. Entranced by her invitation, he hurriedly undid his pants. What had been pressed down by thick cloth sprang up, slapping against his stomach.

He gripped her round hips, sliding his tip over her mucous membrane. Sensing what was about to happen, her porcelain face gained a layer of sorrow. But her red folds were already melting, soaked in sticky fluid.

He pressed his heated tip into her loosened folds. The pressure was far greater than with his fingers, squeezing him tightly. The sensation of parting live flesh made his hair stand on end.

Heat surged to his head like he was being dipped in boiling water. His mouth went dry, and the sound of swallowing was loud.

She was indeed a woman of great endurance, biting her lips and stoically enduring the pain as her body was stretched. She only let out a few pitiful sighs. But her trembling ivory body showed the shock vividly.

He worried that her bitten lips might tear, so instead, he slipped his tongue between them. She turned her head away, as if frustrated, and tried to push the intruder out with her small tongue.

Her feeble resistance only stirred his heart further, so he gripped her plump br*ast. The peak he had managed to draw out earlier had already hidden itself back beneath her flesh. Regretting that, he traced the edge with his nails, and a surprised moan escaped her lips.

Those suppressed reactions were so endearing that he couldn’t help but thrust his hips forward, pushing in deeply. The pleasure that shook his entire body scraped down his spine. His burning breath burst out of him.

In an act known only to him, she stiffened as if stabbed with a needle. She couldn’t even breathe. Her skin flushed red up to her neck, and her elegant waist curled in pain. He felt her pain and tension clearly through the contact of their bodies.

It was a dilemma. The more her body tightened in pain, the greater his satisfaction grew.

Her small, delicate body was filled with pain. He felt pity and guilt. He repeated endless apologies, half as an excuse, and endlessly confessed his love. Yet he couldn’t stop his relentless thrusts. The emerald cross, tossed aside onto the bed, drew a messy green trail on the white sheets.

Her body felt like both heaven and a mind-melting h*ll. He was not a particularly devout man, but reverence for this new absolute seized his soul in an instant. Driven by fervent worship, he couldn’t stop his ritual.

Every time he forced open her convulsing folds, her beautiful body trembled helplessly. Her neat silver hair became disheveled, and her milk-white br*asts bounced lewdly.

Her noble brow twisted in a pitiful plea. Her long silver lashes grew wet with tears, and she swallowed painful moans like someone suffering. Though he knew he should be gentler, her pitiful state only intensified his desire.

He gripped her ankle, folding it behind her waist. He split her b*ttocks with his hands and pressed her thighs against his body with his forearm. She wrapped her legs around his waist as if squeezing him. Her forcibly fixed thighs warmly encircled his sides.

Each time he lifted her hips into the air, her folds loosened, allowing deeper entry. With each thrust, her soft calves beat against his back, driving him wild.

He caught her slender, twisting wrists and draped them behind his neck. Her delicate arms wrapped around his neck as if embracing him, as if she herself wanted to open her body to him.

Her embrace was warm and cozy. Her small lips were sweet and moist, and her entrance, stretched to its limit, squeezed him as if it would burst. Drunk with the feeling of being a beloved lover, he charged into the final thrusts like a runaway colt.

She seemed to sense what was coming, and her face twisted in anticipation. She bit her pretty lips out of habit, and the tender flesh burst red. He sucked in the thin blood from her lips, and poured sticky seed into her newly opened womb. Lightning-like pleasure set his spine ablaze. All his senses faded to black, leaving only her tight entrance vivid.

He repeated her name like a prayer, thrusting his pulsing shaft deeper and deeper. Short breaths and wet sounds reached their peak. Her long, deer-like neck bent back to its limit and trembled.

He pressed his lips to her convulsing nape, locking their hips together to pour every last drop inside. Demonic pleasure crushed his whole body like an iron ball.

Tears fell from her closed eyes, shadowed by silver lashes, like dew. Her lips tasted of faint iron, her cheeks of salty tears—the taste of sin. It was a flavor no one else should ever know.

He wanted to die, forever entangled with her body in this rapture. But cruelly, it was time to leave. The full moon that had watched over them had already set, and the impatient sun was rising in golden light.

It was time to go. Accepting that fact took all the self-control he’d accumulated in his life.

He gently lowered her legs, one by one. As his hips twisted away, their connection changed shape. A sharp sigh escaped between his teeth.

He wished she would wake up right now. Even if it ruined his plans, even if the road grew rocky, he wished she would become his a little sooner. That idle hope unsettled his heart. He couldn’t bear to withdraw, only running his hand over her soft, sticky hair.

He heard the morning birds singing. His mind wavered, and, unusually for him, he hesitated.

Knock. Knock.

The maid knocked on the door. The fear in his silent response was obvious. If things went wrong, she would be the first to lose her head. Next, the woman’s honor would be stained. He alone would escape with all the profit.

Orange sunlight of early spring shone on her face. Her sweat-damp, smooth forehead; her long silver lashes still neatly closed even after all she’d endured; her lips, bitten and swollen red; the pendant by her pillow reflecting green light in the dawn.

He gazed at her beautiful face, and gently stirred her sticky insides. Her plump lips parted in a faint sigh.

He pressed his fingers to her lips, capturing her breath. The warm steam, like a spring haze, tickled his fingers. Realization crashed over him. He had taken this woman—not a phantom from dreams or imagination, but a living woman breathing warm air.

Feelings too deep for words overwhelmed him. Tears of base emotion welled up. The sinner’s tears fell on her cheek and rolled down.

Realization struck him heavily. There was no turning back. A part of his soul would be bound to this moment forever.

He steadied his breath and withdrew. Between the blunt tip and the slowly closing entrance, a transparent string traced an arc. The parabola hung heavily before snapping. Round droplets stained the white sheet.

That wasn’t all that wet the sheet. Each time her soft belly rose and fell, pale, reddish mucus poured out.

It was a vulgar and beautiful sight. Troublesome things like regret and guilt were wiped clean. Even if lightning struck and burned him up on the spot, he would have died without a hint of regret.

To preserve the precious moment, he captured their first time in a handkerchief. Their first experience together stained the white cloth red.

* * *

“Saintess. This is the proof.”

Karil handed a neatly folded square handkerchief to Ariena. Overwhelmed by his passion, Ariena forgot what to say and took the cloth in a daze.

“Please look closely.”

“……….”

The fine gentleman’s handkerchief was folded into a perfect square. Karil’s knife-like nature was evident, but the marks on it were vulgar beyond measure. Something like dried mucus had formed an irregular reddish-brown pattern.

Ariena stared blankly at what was in her hand, drained of strength. His voice, thick with emotion, pierced her ears.

“Can this sin be forgiven?”

His voice, trying to sound calm, was dry and cracked. His blue eyes, desperate, met hers as if urging her to answer. Ariena glanced around, searching for the right words.

Ariena, who had lived her whole life cloistered in the temple, had never received proper s*x education. She knew that men and women lay together to have children, but this was the first time she’d heard such a graphic account. Words she’d never heard before, but which clearly carried lewd meaning, poured down on her.

It was a rudeness for which she could have slapped him and thrown him out immediately. Yet some instinct made Ariena pause.

Ria studied the man before her as if observing. His face was taut with tension. Whether that tension came from the pain of confessing his sin, or something else, was hard to tell. But beneath his polite mask, there was no doubt a storm of desire.

“Please answer me, Saintess.”

She felt his whole body tense. All his nerves were focused on Ria’s lips. He seemed less a sinner than a beast crouched before its prey, holding its breath.

But Ariena had no intention of being easily frightened. She didn’t know his intentions, but she wouldn’t let herself be swayed for his convenience. Ariena gave a saintly smile—gentle but firm.

“This is not a sin I can absolve.”

“…….”

“You have committed a sin against a woman. You must confess and seek forgiveness from her.”

“What do you, Saintess, and what does God think? Is it something that can be forgiven?”

Karil’s blue eyes shone like candlelight, piercing Ria as if her answer would decide his fate. Pretending not to notice his desperate gaze, Ariena replied calmly.

“God does not abandon a child who repents.”

“What do you think, Saintess?”

“…I don’t understand the intent of your question. As a Priestess, it is natural to follow God’s guidance.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Karil’s lips curled. His noble smile somehow felt sly, and Ariena unconsciously looked away.

The emerald necklace at her chest hung heavy, like a weighted pendulum. It was a fashionable item after Ariena received it at her Saintess ceremony. The unknown woman must have bought a pendant after Ariena. The necklace, once so natural, now felt suffocating.

“…….”

A tension, like walking on thin ice, gripped her tongue. Nothing she could say felt appropriate. Ria kept silent. A cutting anxiety settled over the silence.

Karil spoke in a gloomy, slow tone.

“To have put a pure woman to sleep and stealthily violated her like a thief. That is my first sin.”

“…….”

“Now I will confess the second sin.”