Chapter 60: The Sweetest Blasphemy

Bel’s cheek pressed against the bedsheet.
Her chest sank into the soft mattress as Lema’s hands lifted her waist.
That left her with her hips raised high, her back turned, completely exposed.

“Haa… haa…”

Though Lema had just released, the hard shaft pressed once more against Bel’s rear.
She unconsciously tightened her body to turn away, and the motion forced her abdomen taut.
The seed that had been filling her spilled out in warm streams.

Between her thighs, along the most intimate seam of her body, Lema’s thick erection rubbed once more.
The sight of milky-white fluid dripping down onto his shaft was enough to make Lema’s reason finally snap.

Bel’s insides, stretched to their limits, swallowed him whole in one thrust.
That tight, merciless depth welcomed his size once more, sealing him inside completely.

Lema hooked his hands beneath Bel’s stomach and began to move like a beast, slamming his hips in savage rhythm.

“Ah! Lema! Lema, ahhh—!”

Bel collapsed forward, unable to hold herself up, and took him from behind.
This position was deeper—harsher—than before.
The unfamiliar angle carved through her in ways that made her nerves scream.

Every wave of sensation tore another broken moan from her lips as she clutched the sheets until her knuckles turned white.

“Uhnn! Nghh! Hhhhnngh! Ahhh…!”

Lema pressed his chest flush against Bel’s back, moving only his hips and thighs with brutal force.
He bit at Bel’s earlobe.
He bit her cheek.
Not satisfied with mere kisses, he devoured her with teeth, leaving stinging marks along her skin.

Hot breath washed over Bel’s trembling shoulder before Lema bit there too.

“Ffff…”

That breath was the very last shred of restraint he had left.

Then, sliding his arms under Bel’s armpits, he lifted her entirely and began pounding upward, shaking the small body like prey caught in a predator’s grasp.

“Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!”

Every thrust forced Bel’s voice into raw cries.
She wanted to say something—“Stop.” Or, “There.” Or, “Slower.” Or even, “Harder.”
But every command died on her tongue, swallowed by her own moans.

Her mouth hung open, drool slipping free.
Tears streaked down her cheeks, wrung from her by sheer overstimulation.
It felt as if her brain were melting.

Yes, dropping one’s defenses was dangerous—but Bel had never imagined danger like this.
And Lema, lost in a frenzy, did not stop.
Their joined bodies made wet, lewd noises with every thrust, the sheets beneath them soaked.

The long, thick shaft inside her drove upward endlessly, dragging her higher and higher.
It felt like it might pierce all the way to her heart.

“Bel…”

Lema always had a habit—just before climax, he would crush his partner in a bruising embrace, as though afraid to lose them.
This time, even his groan escaped, ragged and uncontrolled.

“Hhhahhh… ahhh…”

As he spilled inside once more, he pressed Bel’s stomach tight, pulling her closer so not a drop would escape.
Because of their position—and Bel’s body being so much smaller in build—the bulge of Lema’s shaft pressed visibly against her thin abdomen.
Every scrape of sensitive skin against that hardness made her shudder anew.

Lema’s hand slid lower, touching where Bel was swollen and feverishly sensitive.
He didn’t just press—it circled, rubbed, teased.

“Hhhhnngh…!”

Bel’s vision turned white.
She had thought there was no higher peak left, but once again she was dragged beyond it.

“Ahh… Master… Master…”

Her body clamped down, trembling violently.
At that squeeze, Lema spilled again—more seed that he didn’t think he had left forcing its way out, flooding her anew.

The heat and slickness between them grew unbearable.
Every deliberate movement from Lema’s fingers, hips, or breath sent Bel spiraling into response.
It was as if Lema had decided not just to break her, but to drain every last drop of strength from her body.
And he succeeded.

Bel’s limbs went limp.
When Lema finally pulled out slowly, she collapsed face-down on the bed, unable to move.

It should have been a danger signal to her body.
But when Lema lay down beside her, pulling her close, pressing his chest against her back—Bel thought of nothing at all.

Had she chosen her devotee well?
Or had she fallen into a mistake that could not be undone?

Her body, trapped in those strong arms, was subjected to Lema’s kisses again.
But they weren’t like before—not hungry, not devouring.
They were small, trembling, reverent.
As if Lema held something precious and did not know what to do with it.

Either devastating pleasure or fragile kisses that could shatter on touch—nothing in between.

“Master.”
“…Mm.”
Her voice cracked.
“Lema.”
“Yes, Master.”

Lema’s eyes wavered.
His expression carried a frightening certainty.

“Master… this feels dangerous. I… I fear I might be a harm to you…”
“Then protect me.”
“…Ah.”

Bel’s eyelids fluttered, then closed completely.
Lema pressed soft kisses on them, on her brow, her nose, her cheek.
He kissed her hands, her fingers—every part he could reach—while fighting down the urge to bite and claim her.

And he understood his Master’s words with perfect clarity.
Bel’s body would not recover quickly.
The god’s vessel had been left defenseless, stripped bare.
It would take the whole night to regain its strength.

So Lema’s role—his duty—was to guard her through the night, to keep all impurity away.
Because of him.
Because his god was defenseless because of him.

And that truth was the sweetest word of all.
He wanted no one to interrupt this time.
If anyone dared leave the slightest scar on this sacred night, he would kill them.

Could there be a sweeter duty?
He held Bel closer, watching the body twitch with faint aftershocks in his arms.
This body responded to him.
It writhed in pleasure as if dying, clung as if unwilling to let go.

Yes… never let go.
Even if it meant exploiting his Master’s body forever—he wished to be named her summoner.

Haa…
And inside, he sighed.

I could have her.
I could truly have her.
If only I destroyed whoever her true summoner was…
Then Belmias would belong only to me.

This god, who had lived for ages doing nothing but granting others’ wishes, could finally be mine alone.
I could paint over that white, untouched canvas with my own colors.

Lost in thoughts more heretical than any other, Lema embraced Bel tightly and breathed in her scent.

“Ahh… Bel… haaahh…”

He thought he had wrung himself dry, but his shaft swelled again, painfully hard.
Unable to endure, he rubbed it against Bel’s thigh, then took it into his own hand.
With his other hand he grasped Bel’s sweat-damp silver hair, kissing it fervently as his fist worked his length.

From his days as a trainee paladin to his ordination—his worst act of rebellion had been sneaking wine and oversleeping.
Now he was stroking himself to completion beside his god, spilling out desire he could not contain.

Until he released again—until he drenched his Master’s body with his own hand.

And at last, he understood why Luxlon had branded him a heretic.
Not only was he one who had betrayed the god of light…
He had turned apostate, embraced a new god, lusted after her, and in the end defiled her with his own hands.

A ruined man.
And a blasphemer.