CHAPTER 154: DRIFTED

The night was a velvet shroud, and Lor slipped through it like a ghost.

He drifted through the open window of his loft, weightless as a sigh, his bare feet grazing the cool wooden floor with no sound to betray his return.

The golden mask still clung on to his face, silk robe fluttered around his lean frame its hem stained with the night’s indulgences.

Sweat, perfume, and something far more primal clung to his skin, a heady perfume of debauchery that made his pulse thrum with wicked satisfaction.

No creak.

No witnesses.

Just moonlight pooling on the floor, painting his shadow in silver.

He stood for a moment, chest heaving, the pulse of the Midnight Bloom still coursing through his veins like a lover’s caress—wild, intoxicating, relentless.

The festival of flesh and pleasure had been a blur of masked faces, silken gasps, and forbidden touches.

Toren’s wife, her lips trembling as she knelt before him.

Lia’s mother, her voice breaking as she begged for more.

And that masked beauty—whoever she was—who rode him until the world dissolved into a cascade of pleasure.

Three times? Four? He’d stopped counting when the stars began to blur.

"Worth every filthy second," he murmured, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

With a soft click, he slid the window shut, sealing the night outside.

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of his own heartbeat.

He peeled off the robe, its silk whispering against his skin, stained with sweat and sin.

The golden mask followed, cool to the touch but warm inside from the heat of his face.

He didn’t toss them aside carelessly—no, these were relics of the night, sacred in their own profane way.

With precise, almost reverent care, he folded the robe and tucked it behind an untouched volume of Celestial Theory

on his bookshelf.

The mask he nestled behind a leather-bound tome on rune etchings, hidden from prying eyes.

Reusable.

Ready for next time.

His grin widened, sharp and unapologetic.

A snap of his fingers summoned a pulse of cleansing magic, a soft ripple of light that washed over his body.

The stickiness of the night dissolved, replaced by a cool tingle that swept away sweat, seed, and secrets.

Refreshed, Lor collapsed onto his bed, the mattress groaning softly beneath him.

His body ached in all the right ways—muscles taut, skin still buzzing with the echo of hands and mouths.

He sprawled across the sheets, limbs heavy, his cock giving a faint twitch as the last memories of the night flickered through his mind.

Sleep claimed him like a lover, swift and deep.

But the night wasn’t done with him.

A weight pressed against his chest, subtle at first, then insistent.

He stirred, exhaling sharply, his body shifting beneath the sheets.

Then—wetness.

Heat.

A slow, deliberate suction that sent a jolt through his core.

His eyes snapped open.

What the fuck!

The room glowed with an unnatural light, a pulsing pink that throbbed at the edge of his bed.

From the shadows rose a figure—ethereal, floating, her form draped in translucent silk that did nothing to hide the radiant glow of her skin.

Her hair coiled like mist, long and shimmering, and her eyes burned with a hungry, otherworldly pink.

Her lips—full, parted, impossibly wide—were wrapped around his cock, her tongue curling with a slow, deliberate grace that made his breath catch.

"Wha—fuck—" Lor gasped, jerking upward, but his body refused to obey.

His arms were pinned, weightless, held by an invisible force that left him helpless.

He couldn’t even use his magic, as if something was preventing it.

The spirit’s tongue was impossibly long, coiling around his shaft, her lips sinking lower until her mouth glowed where her throat should have been.

Slurp.

He was already hard, his body betraying him with every twitch, every pulse.

Her mouth wasn’t just warm—it was consuming, a relentless pull that threatened to unravel him entirely.

"You smell of sin," she moaned, her voice echoing not in the air but in his mind, reverberating through his bones like a siren’s call.

"So much filth... so much cum soaked into your soul..."

Her lips plunged deeper, past the base, her throat vibrating with a hunger that wasn’t human.

It wasn’t a blowjob—it was a devouring.

His eyes rolled back, his body arching against his will as pleasure surged through him, sharp and overwhelming.

His cock throbbed, cum rising fast, too fast, like she was pulling it from his very core.

"Stop—fuck—too much—" he choked out, voice hoarse, but the spirit only hummed, her glowing eyes locking onto his.

"More," she purred, her voice a velvet blade.

His hips bucked, helpless, and he came—hard, blinding, his vision fracturing into sparks of white. It should have ended there, but she didn’t stop.

Her mouth tightened, sucking harder, her body glowing brighter as she fed.

His orgasm stretched impossibly long, pleasure twisting into something sharper, something that bordered on panic.

His cock twitched, spilling more, too much, his body trembling under the relentless pull.

And then—

He woke.

Lor bolted upright, chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin.

Morning light poured through the shutters, soft and golden, chasing away the shadows.

The room was quiet, save for the distant chirping of birds and the faint hum of the city stirring below.

His cock was still hard, painfully so, twitching with the ghost of that unnatural pleasure. But there was no spirit.

No pink glow.

Just the familiar clutter of his loft—books, shelves, the faint scent of old wood.

"Shit..." he rasped, wiping his forehead, his heart still hammering in his chest.

His gaze darted to the bookshelf.

Nothing moved or changed.

But the air felt... different.

Heavy.

And there, faint but unmistakable, was the scent of flowers—sweet, unfamiliar, and utterly out of place.

He exhaled shakily, his grin returning, though it was edged with something new.

Not fear, not quite.

But a spark of curiosity, sharp and dangerous.

That was one hell of a wet dream