“Priest Roland, why exactly do they say it is the woman who seduces the man into her bed?” one of the junior priests asked curiously.
Roland was sitting quietly by the grand window of the chapel, his eyes fixed on the brilliant moon glowing in the night sky. He turned slightly, offering a patient explanation. “The Siren Goddess had many legendary lovers, where she would always be the absolute first to take the lead in their encounters. Because of that myth, our society places a massive cultural emphasis on women being the ones to actively seduce their men.”
“So, that is why noble ladies are expected to be the ones to choose when they finally take their lovers to bed?” the junior priest questioned further, processing the information.
Priest Roland nodded with a warm smile. “Precisely. It is traditionally said that if it is the woman who initiates the intimacy first, then that entire marriage will be deeply blessed by the Siren Goddess herself.”
His smile suddenly faded, his expression turning sharp. “Unless, of course, you happen to possess mermaid blood in your veins. If that is the case, then a woman taking the lead is considered a terribly dark omen.”
Priest Roland delivered the warning with a heavy, serious drop in his tone. Behind him, the piercing moonlight wrapped around his frame, casting a stark, mysterious silhouette across the stone floor of the chapel.
Viscountess's bedroom, Lord’s Castle, Ironwood Viscounty
Tak... Thud!
The heavy wooden doors shut hurriedly behind them, the latch clicking into place with absolute finality. Miller carried Francesca over the threshold into the dimly lit bedroom, his strong arms holding her securely against his chest.
The moment they were inside, the quiet, comfortable silence of the castle vanished, replaced by the furious, racing heat of their shared breaths. Francesca didn't wait for him to even set her down on the velvet mattress. Reaching out with trembling but fiercely determined hands, she grabbed the collar of his uniform shirt and hastily began unvamping the buttons one by one, her golden eyes locking onto his crimson gaze with an intensity that burned hotter than any northern winter fire.
Miller also didn't give her a chance to speak. He crashed his lips against hers, tasting of salt and desperation, his tongue sliding deep to claim her mouth. His hands weren't gentle; they were rough, calloused from years of gripping a sword, as he gripped the hem of her bodice. With one sharp, decisive tug, he ripped the fabric down, exposing her breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze.
Francesca groaned, the sound vibrating in her throat as she hooked her fingers into his belt and hauled him down. He hit the mattress with a heavy thud, the bedframe groaning under his weight. She didn't hesitate. She dragged her disabled leg beneath his thigh, shifting her weight with a feline grace until she was straddling him. Her golden eyes flared, locking onto his red ones as she rained wet, biting kisses down his jawline.
She leaned forward, pressing her bare chest against his open uniform shirt, the friction of the wool against her nipples sending a jolt of electricity through her spine. Her hands wandered blindly, urgently, clawing at the buttons of his trousers. She wanted him open and aching, feeling the heat of her skin against his as she ground her hips slowly, deliberately, into his hardening length.
Miller let out a low, guttural sound and arched his back, his hands sliding up her thighs to grip her hips with an intensity. He tried to shift, to take control, but Francesca slammed her palms against his chest, pinning him back into the mattress. Her golden eyes narrowed, a predatory hunger flickering in them. She liked him pinned, breathless and waiting.
Without breaking eye contact, she reached down and slid her silk panties and lace drawers down her legs in one fluid motion. She flicked them away, leaving her completely naked and gleaming in the dim light. Miller’s breath hitched, his red eyes scanning every curve of her body, his gaze lingering on the pale skin of her body even the privatest of parts. He reached for her again, his muscles tensing to rise, but she leaned down and crushed her lips to his, silencing him with a deep, wet kiss that tasted of raw need.
She shifted, guiding his rigid length to the entrance of her heat. She didn't slide in slowly; she lowered herself with a sharp, decisive plunge that buried him deep inside her with a wet, slapping sound. A loud, jagged moan ripped from Miller’s throat, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he felt her walls clamp tight around him. Francesca arched her back, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight, her head tilting back as she let out a shaky, guttural hiss of satisfaction.
She began to move, her hips rolling in a fierce rhythm. Every downward thrust was aggressive, intentionally felt like designed to drive Miller toward the edge. She watched his face, the way his red eyes rolled back, the way his jaw tightened in ecstasy and agonizing struggle for control. She was the commander here, riding him with a desperate, hungry intensity that left them both drenched in sweat, the sound of their colliding skin echoing through the silent room.
Miller suddenly snapped. He waited for the peak of her next descent, and just as she slammed down, he surged upward with an explosive burst of strength. He caught her by the waist, flipping her beneath him in one fluid, powerful motion. The air left Francesca’s lungs in a sharp gasp as her back hit the mattress. He pinned her wrists above her head, his frame looming over her, his red eyes glowing with a sudden, dominant heat with a smirk. "You had Enough," he growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against her ear. "It's my turn now."
He didn't give her a second to recover. Miller drove back into her with a rhythmic force that knocked the breath from her lungs. He wasn't gentle; he used his weight to crush her into the sheets, his thrusts deep and relentless. Francesca’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back as she chased the friction. She screamed his name, her voice raw, as he hit her deepest spot over and over, turning her fierce dominance into a shaking, pleading mess of need.
He released her wrists, his hands sliding down to cup her breasts, squeezing them. The friction was becoming ecstatic, a white-hot tension coiled tight in their guts. Francesca arched her spine, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, pulling him closer as if she wanted to merge their skin. Miller groaned, a primal, guttural sound, as he accelerated the pace, his movements becoming frantic and heavy, driving them both toward a crashing, inevitable peak of pleasure.
Outside the witness to this union was the starry night with a bright full moon looming over with a stillness that was nothing short of beauty.