Chapter 112: When Reality Outperforms Fantasy
Chapter 112: When Reality Outperforms Fantasy
Lucien’s hand trembled as he positioned the tip of his cock at Mirabelle’s entrance. The moment he felt her warmth and wetness, a shiver of anticipation ran through his body.
This was the moment he had been longing for.
The moment every Beastman described as the one that changed their life forever.
He could hardly believe he was finally here.
With Mirabelle.
And that she was allowing him to be closer to her than anyone else ever could.
Mirabelle was lying on the table once again.
She had carelessly tossed her dress onto the chair, where it now rested atop his own neatly folded clothes.
After practically devouring him with her eyes, she had lightly hopped down from the table and, with one efficient motion, slipped the dress from her body.
Then the shadows cast by the rose leaves had taken over, painting elegant patterns across her skin as well.
He had watched in fascination as Mirabelle’s nipples hardened beneath his gaze.
And so they had stood there.
In the middle of the rose garden.
Surrounded by flowering hedges.
Beside a table prepared for an elegant afternoon tea, covered with delicacies that existed nowhere else in the entire Beastworld.
And yet...
They had only had eyes for each other.
Then, without taking her eyes off him, Mirabelle took a single step backward until the edge of the table pressed against the backs of her thighs.
She placed both hands on the tabletop, effortlessly lifted herself up, and with a small, inviting gesture of her hand, leaned back.
This time, she lay completely naked upon the table.
Her curls spilled across the wood beside blue-and-white porcelain teacups, fruit tarts, fresh fruit, and honey-glazed nuts.
There she lay on the garden table, entirely unclothed...
And looking far more tempting than anything the eagle head chef had created.
Lucien needed a moment simply to take it all in.
As Mirabelle lifted her legs, granting him a very unmistakable view, he committed every detail of the scene before him to memory.
Because, quite suddenly he found himself wanting to paint.
And he silently promised himself that one day, he would.
Then they stepped toward one another.
And this...
This was the moment.
The final heartbeat before they became one.
It suddenly settled over him, pressing against every part of his being.
As though the universe...
The Beast Goddess...
Or some higher power whose name he didn’t even know...
Wanted him to understand that this was, quite possibly, the most important moment of his life.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
They simply looked at one another, as though trying to memorize the person before them.
Somewhere beyond the rose hedges, a bird called into the afternoon, but the sound felt impossibly distant. Everything that mattered existed only within the space between their eyes.
As he finally entered her, the edges of his vision turned white.
For a heartbeat, he forgot how to breathe, his entire body so consumed by the sensation that everything else simply ceased to function.
The pressure of her inner walls against him was far greater than he had ever expected.
He had imagined this. Fantasized about it. Tried to picture what it would feel like. Yet the reality was so completely different from anything his mind could ever have conjured.
Lucien’s hands came to rest just beneath the backs of Mirabelle’s knees, holding her legs aloft as her feet tipped helplessly downward over his forearms and her toes curled instinctively.
This stimulation — almost overstimulation — of pressure, warmth, and wetness short-circuited his mind, sending his body into instinct before he could think.
His muscles moved on their own. His hips jerked forward, and suddenly he was buried completely inside her. His thighs struck against her upraised legs with a sharp clap.
He bumped into the metal edge of the table himself, the impact almost painfully sharp.
The entire garden table shook.
Porcelain clinked.
The little cakes and the tiered stand swayed dangerously.
A wave of cooled tea sloshed from the teapot, and the fragrance of black tea, citrus, and cinnamon drifted through the surrounding garden.
Mirabelle gasped sharply, not having expected Lucien to move so quickly.
Then the unexpected sensation against her inner walls drew a sound from her — a helpless blend of a purr and a moan.
Lucien looked down at his female as his vision slowly began to widen again.
Mirabelle lay beneath him.
Tiny beads of sweat had gathered across her skin, forming the faintest shimmering sheen.
Her eyes were half-closed, a trace of moisture lingering in them that told him she, too, had been overwhelmed by everything they were feeling.
Her hair looked almost deliberately arranged as it fanned out across the tabletop, the ends of her curls stirring gently in the breeze.
Her hands were clenched tightly in the tablecloth, which looked as though it might tear apart at any moment beneath the unexpected strain.
His breathing grew heavy, and together with Mirabelle’s trembling breaths, it was the only sound his ears could still perceive.
Someone could have appeared directly behind him, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
His entire world had narrowed until only the two of them remained.
Mirabelle watched the countless emotions pass across his face in silence. Wonder. Relief. Disbelief.
She had never seen Lucien without his carefully maintained composure. Somehow, she found herself liking this version of him even more.
Her inner walls tightened around him, and it felt better than anything his own hand had ever given him.
The combination of the way she held him inside her, the way his fingers sank into the softness of her flesh, and the way their bodies fit together left him utterly overwhelmed. There was nothing his mind could compare it to.
It was like...
...like coming home to a place he’d never realized he’d been longing for.
...as though the world had narrowed to a single, perfect sensation.
...as though his instincts had finally found what they’d been searching for all along.
The sunlight shifted as the wind stirred the climbing roses overhead.
Flecks of gold wandered across their faces, across the porcelain, across the scattered petals, turning the afternoon into something that felt less like reality and more like a memory already being cherished.
"Lucien."
Her voice was soft.
Like smoke in the air, it had something intoxicating.
"Lucien," she repeated. "I need more."
Every hair on his arms stood on end.
Those four words were all the permission he needed to finally begin.
He slowly withdrew again, creating a subtle suction that sent another burst of sensation through both of them, setting every nerve alight.
It almost felt as though Mirabelle’s body was trying to pull him back inside the very moment he left.
Mirabelle shifted beneath him. Her body slid restlessly across the tablecloth, so overwhelmed by the sensation that it seemed compelled to seek out new stimuli, as though it were desperately trying to keep from dissolving into light then and there.
A smile crept onto Lucien’s otherwise tense face. It was taking all his strength not to come undone inside her right then and there.
He took a moment to draw a deep breath, giving his frayed nerves a brief chance to recover — to steady himself, to regain control.
But all that accomplished was filling his lungs with Mirabelle’s scent, and the desire and arousal woven into it nearly drove him out of his mind.
That was the moment he abandoned every resolution he’d made.
He gave up trying to be elegant, restrained, or in control, and surrendered to the instinct screaming inside him.
All he wanted was to lose himself in Mirabelle. With that final fleeting thought, he drove deep into her once more.
Mirabelle watched something change in his expression. In an instant, the tension gave way to something almost animalistic — no, something almost feral.
Relief flashed across his face. His grip around the backs of her knees tightened for a brief moment, and she instinctively braced herself for what she knew would come next.
With a powerful thrust, he entered her again.
The tip of him pressed deep against her, and the impact sent waves of pleasure rippling through her body until they escaped her lips as a breathless moan.
Again and again, he thrust into her as warmth spread through their bodies with every movement.
Sweat glistened on Lucien’s forehead, his copper waves clung to his forehead, making him look younger than he truly was.
Part of Mirabelle’s mind watched in fascination as Lucien’s muscles shifted beneath his skin with every movement, while her body felt the strength he poured into each thrust.
She longed to touch him, to move against him in return.
Yet in this position, it seemed impossible. Or perhaps it was simply that her body was so consumed with absorbing and processing every overwhelming sensation that it couldn’t do anything else but receive Lucien completely.
Through the bond connecting them, they could feel each other’s arousal. They felt how completely the other’s thoughts were focused on them, how wholly they belonged to one another in that moment.
And that alone magnified every physical sensation beyond measure.
The pleasure she’d been chasing finally reached her, washing through Mirabelle in waves that left her unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but feel.
The last fragile thread of restraint snapped, and the world dissolved around her.
Her breath caught. Every muscle tightened at once before the tension finally unraveled, leaving her trembling in its wake.
Lucien watched as Mirabelle seemed to dissolve into nothing but pure happiness.
And the tension he’d been holding onto simply ceased to exist in that very moment.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but light and sensation as his balls pumped inside her.
His grip trembled, and for a moment, he thought his legs were going to give out.
If there truly was such a thing as destiny... then perhaps it had always been leading him here.