The Study and the Little Maid
The sun was high in the blue sky, its golden rays streaming through sheer curtains like liquid fire. The silken bed-sheets on the big bed were disheveled and wet, a mute reminder of nights of unremitting passion. For once, the bed was not crowded with bodies—only one form was left.
Leon stretched out, his chest smooth and glistening slightly in the sun. Each inch of his muscular body tightened and relaxed as he stood up, a low, contented sigh escaping his lips.
Next to him was Rias, her curvaceous body wrapped in the shreds of their passion. Red hair flowed over the pillow, her breasts rising with each heavy, slow breath. Her rosy cheeks and the slight mark of teeth on her neck told the tale of the past two days.
"She'll sleep until noon," Leon grunted, chuckling, a mischievous grin playing at the edge of his lips. "After last night… again."
Two whole days. That was all the time he'd taken her for himself, discovered her, and remapped the very depths of their union. His Rias was no longer just a friend or plaything—she was his, body, heart, and soul.
But with the pleasure came the stirring of duty. He was not merely a man undone by pleasure. He was a cultivator with an intention. Galvia will not win itself, he decided, moving away from the bed.
Leon faced the mirror, staring at the light golden color in his eyes—a mark. He was no longer the same.
He had been at the edge of the peak of the Novice Realm, the start of a cultivator's path. But now? Only one step from entering the Mortal Realm.
And Rias? His lovely, devoted flame? She was at the threshold of the Master Realm, her strength flowering because of their union.
The system's voice resonated in his mind on the first night with her:
"By intimate union, not only will your cultivation rise—your partners shall too. Thus is the Black Dragon's connection."
He smiled recalling the way her screams grew into cries of realization. It wasn't lust—it was transformation.
Leon entered the marble-floored bath, allowing the scalding water to wash away his body. Aromas of lavender and dragon lily filled the atmosphere. He got into the water, allowing the water to rub the soreness out of his muscles from excess effort.
Having dried, he dressed in a new robe—a deep golden silk with white stitches on the hem, its neck clasped with a dragon-shape brooch.
A Nobel robe.
He paced his fingers across his silver locks, staring again into the mirror. "Moonstone Kingdom," he said under his breath. "You're next."
He stopped, chuckling to himself as another memory flowered in his mind—the hot maid.
Aria.
Each time she went into his chambers the last two days—intended only to bring meals or "urgent" messages—she had caught him and Rias, entwined in a whirlwind of moans and passion. Her porcelain skin would redden to crimson, violet eyes widening behind her glasses, only to immediately regain her composure and bow.
"G-Good morning, Lord Leon," she'd always greet with an unshakeable calm that belied her shaking hands.
And Leon? He hadn't missed it—the way her eyes lingered a beat too long, or the way her thighs touched when she turned.
He liked to tease her. And today, it appeared fate had brought her to him again.
He pushed open the double doors to his private study, the smell of parchment, ancient books, and magic ink floating into the air.
He stood still.
There she was—Aria.
Standing next to his desk, wearing a spotless maid's uniform so tight it hardly left anything to the imagination. Her shiny purple hair was neatly pulled back, showing the sweep of her neck. Long stockings clung to her thighs, and the cinched corset pushed her generous breasts up perceptibly under the silk apron.
She was reading a letter, oblivious to his presence. The morning sunlight highlighted her golden-rimmed spectacles, and her lips moved gently as she mouthed each word.
Leon smiled.
"Good morning, little maid," he whispered, his voice low and taunting.
She winced, eyes flashing to his. A faint flush spread across her cheeks. "L-Lord Leon…" she stuttered, then stiffened, bowing correctly. "Good morning."
But he caught it—the tension with which she wrapped her hand around the parchment… the rapid breathing.
Gotcha, he thought. And oh, how he was going to have a good time.