Chapter 1

A small and narrow attic, where a single beam of light streaming in through a tiny window high on the wall was all that illuminated the space—there, urgent breaths tangled together. In the faint light, the woman’s face briefly appeared as she drew back, and then, the man’s face, approaching her lips, flashed into view. Even that handful of light revealed the flush and excitement blooming on both their faces.

The man, though clearly burning with desire, cupped the woman’s cheeks as if they were made of spun sugar, and pressed his lips to hers. Their breath, their tongues, entwined. The woman’s trembling hands, unsure what to do, clutched at the man’s collar. What she gripped was a long, wide sash draped over his shoulder, shimmering softly in violet. Embroidered upon it in gold and silver thread, a young hawk—the messenger of the Gods—was crushed in her grasp.

“Ugh, ha…….”

At the woman’s wet moan, the man, unable to help himself, buried his nose against her cheek and ear, rubbing gently. Their bodies clung together as if glued. They fumbled, touching and caressing each other, hesitant, as if wanting to go further but unsure. Not knowing what else to do, they kept seeking each other’s lips, nuzzling noses, until at last, foreheads pressed together, they looked into each other’s eyes.

Haa, haa…….

In the narrow attic—no, in the man’s private prayer room—the sound of their breathing filled the air. It grew heavier and heavier, until, just as they were about to suffocate on their own breaths, the woman pulled her hands away from the man. Then, slowly, she began to unbutton the black dress that was fastened up to her neck. Click, click, each tiny button released revealed more of the fair skin hidden beneath. The man’s eyes, filled with awe and fear, took in her face, her nape, and her chest.

“……Dion.”

At the woman’s call, the man—Dion—responded.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Don’t call me ‘Miss’…….”

For some reason, the woman’s face flushed even deeper. Seeing this, the man let out a small laugh.

“Lisbeth.”

“……Dion. That……”

Dion waited patiently for his ‘Miss’ to finish her words. It was not a difficult thing for him. He had always wished for it—to quietly, patiently wait by her side for whatever she wished to say.

Lisbeth, biting her lips several times, still trembling, lightly clutched the open collar of her dress and looked at Dion. Her deep blue eyes seemed as if they were wet with tears.

“Are you… all right…?”

Dion, of course, understood what she was really asking. If the two of them were discovered in such a sealed space, both would be placed in an awkward situation. No, perhaps even in danger. One would be branded a brazen, vulgar woman who seduced a noble priest, and the other, a fallen man who had defiled a body dedicated to God.

He knew, yet Dion did not care.

Perhaps Lisbeth felt the same.

Dion gently wrapped his hand around Lisbeth’s trembling one, still shaking with anxiety, nervousness, and a lingering sense of guilt. He slowly pulled her hand down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Are you afraid?”

“I… no.”

Her answer came a bit slowly. Lisbeth shook her head firmly. In that time, her trembling gradually subsided.

“The day I met you again, I thought it wouldn’t matter what happened. Even if I died right there and then, I would have had no regrets.”

So, I am not afraid. Dion.

Lisbeth whispered, her voice small but clear. It sounded like the chime of a heavenly bell. Dion, feeling a burning inside himself, exhaled deeply. At some point, their hands had found each other. With their foreheads gently pressed together, they gazed deeply, long into each other’s eyes.

“I am not afraid either. As long as I have you, Lisbeth……”

“Then… hold me. Dion.”

Haa, it was impossible to tell who sighed first. But at those words, as if it were a signal, their lips met once more. Their breaths were hotter, more desperate than before. Their hands hurriedly undressed each other. In an instant, Dion undid every lace at the back of Lisbeth’s dress, peeling it from her like grape skin. Her body, hidden beneath the dress like a jewel, was revealed in full. The shaft of light caressed her bare skin.

Half-undressed himself, Dion could wait no longer and buried his lips in the upper swell of her chest. As he hurriedly licked and sucked at her full br*asts, Lisbeth twisted her body in embarrassment. But, already firmly pinned by the man’s hands, she could not escape. Dion, holding her br*asts—too large for his hands to contain—bit down hard on her left n*pple.

“Ah…!”

Lisbeth let out a moan, throwing her head back. Supporting her staggering body, Dion led her toward a small table set quietly to one side of the prayer room. It was the one he used for prayer. Upon it sat a sacred relic engraved with the image of God and a scripture, but neither of them cared about such things now.

Dion lifted Lisbeth and sat her on the table. The relic was knocked over by her dress, and the scripture fell with a thud to the floor. But neither spared a glance. With her back against the cold, hard wall, Lisbeth clamped a hand over her mouth. Each time Dion sucked hard on her n*pple, it seemed a sound would escape her lips uncontrollably.

She fumbled for something to stifle her mouth. Her hand found something and pulled it to her lips. It was the long sash that had been draped over Dion’s shoulder just moments before.

“Mm, hng!”

Seeing Lisbeth bite down on a part of his priestly robe, Dion felt as if he might lose his mind. She, draped in the consecrated, sacred sash over her n*ked body, biting it, trembling with excitement. The thought that he had created this sight made it even harder for him to control himself. He already felt himself growing wet below.

He alternated between her br*asts, sucking like a child, heedless. Slurping, sucking sounds echoed in the quiet prayer room. Between them, Lisbeth’s ragged, tiny sobs could be heard. Overcome by heat, she could only clutch and twist Dion’s sash and her skirt.

Dion squeezed her br*asts so hard that finger marks were left, then bit down on the plump n*pple with his front teeth.

“Ugh!”

“I want to hear your voice.”

Even as he pleaded, Lisbeth shook her head. Whether from the pain of his bite or something else, tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. As if being mischievous, Dion left love marks all over her pale skin. Each time, Lisbeth’s back arched, sometimes pressing the back of her head against the wall to endure the sharp pain. Like scattering red petals, Dion left his mark wherever he wished, then wiped his lips with his finger and asked.