Chapter 19 - High hopes, hot sparks
The banquet hall's roar dulled as the celebration seared off, dancers bowing out, nobles stumbling away with wine-soaked smiles.
Liam lingered by the doors, rolling his shoulders, the night's buzz still tingling under his skin. Lysandra, Selene, and Erynn joined him.
The king sent them off with a hearty "Rest well, victors!" and soon they were crammed into a carriage, hooves clattering against the night's quiet.
The ride was dead silent. Liam sat across from the trio, the carriage rocking softly, lanterns throwing shadows over their features. Lysandra gazed out the window, her silver hair catching the light as they moved through the streets. Selene slumped back, eyes with her eyes half opened, and her tail curled tight. Erynn picked at her nails, restless but mute.
"Weird as hell," Liam thought, shifting to ease the pressure in his pants. His hopes were sky-high—three days apart, that wild night still burning in his brain, and now they were headed home. His cock was already on board, stiffening with every jolt of the ride, and he clamped his thighs together, cloak bunched to hide it. Gonna be a riot, he grinned to himself.
They pulled up to the house, carriage creaking to a halt. Everyone stepped out, stretching and tossing quick goodnights—Lysandra's sharp nod, Selene's lazy "Later," Erynn's fleeting smile. Then they scattered to their rooms, doors clicking shut.
Liam hovered in the hall, watching, his grin slipping. "Alright, just... warming up," he muttered, trudging to his own room. "They'll show. Any minute."
He flopped onto his bed, the springs groaning as his weight pressed on them, and fixed his eyes on the door. Time crawled—nothing. He rolled to his side, propping his head on one hand, cloak draped like he was posing for a dirty painting.
"C'mon, girls," he whispered, wiggling his brows at the empty air. Still nothing. He flipped to his stomach, chin on his fists, legs swinging like a kid waiting for desert—stupid as hell, but he was committed. They'd burst in, see him ready, and it'd be game on.
Ten minutes. Twenty. He sat up, he crossed his legs and put his hands on his knees like some pervert guru meditating for sex. His dick throbbed, rock-hard, straining his pants 'til it hurt. "Shit," he hissed, adjusting himself, the ache sinking into blue-ball territory. He sprawled back, one leg off the bed, arm over his eyes—dramatic as hell, still waiting. Half an hour. Dead silence, just his own ragged breaths.
"Screw it," he growled, at this point his hope was draining like a popped balloon. No Lysandra pouncing, no Selene smirking at him, no Erynn grinding—just him, alone, cock screaming for action. He sat up, raking his hair. "Gotta take care of this."
He removed his cloak, kicked off his boots, and yanked his pants down, cool air hitting his thighs. His dick popped free—thicker, prouder, thanks to those lust points—and he glared at it, pissed. "No phone, no laptop, nothing ," he grumbled, flopping back. This world sucked for jerking off—no hentai, just him and his fist. "Fine. Memories it is."
He wrapped a hand around his cock, eyes shutting, and dug into that night—Lysandra's dripping heat, Selene's filthy mouth, Erynn's wild ride. His breath hitched, strokes slow at first, picturing it: Lysandra slamming down, Selene's tail tugging, Erynn's nails digging. "Oh yeah," he muttered, picking up the pace, bed creaking as he shifted. The wet slaps, the guttural moans—he groaned, lost in it, balls tightening—
The door creaked open.
This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.
His eyes flew open, hand stalling mid-pump as the maid stepped in, tray of water wobbling in her grip. She froze, brown eyes ballooning, mouth gaping as she took in the sight—Liam, pants down, cock in hand, mid-stroke. "Oh—gods!" she squeaked, tray tilting, water sloshing as she turned her back to him, her voice a panicked shrill. "I—sorry, Hero—I didn't—I just—"
"Whoa, hold up!" Liam blurted, not covering up, his voice rough with lust and shock. He sat up, dick still out, a grin breaking through the haze. This was an opportunity and he wanted to take the risk.
"Don't run off, you caught me, alright? No big deal." His heart hammered, but damn, she was here, that tight little uniform hugging her hips. His cock still twitched, not caring about the awkwardness, and he leaned forward, blanket half-falling. "You, uh... wanna help?"
She didn't bolt. Her shoulders tensed, tray rattling, but she didn't move—just stood there, breathing fast, her back stiff. "I—I shouldn't—" she stammered, voice cracking, but there was a hitch, a tremble that wasn't all panic.
Liam's grin widened, predatory now, the blue-ball ache flipping into something else—opportunity.
"C'mon," he coaxed, low and raw, hand still loose around himself. "Just you and me. No one's gotta know." He shifted, bed creaking, his free hand patting the mattress. "Turn around, huh? See what you walked into."
Her head twitched, like she might peek, but she stayed put, tray shaking. Liam's pulse raced—embarrassment gone, replaced by a hot, reckless itch. The girls had left him hanging, but this? This could work. He'd turn her shock into something wet and wild—he could feel it brewing.