The more Willo thought about it, the hotter and more restless she felt.
Back then, I was completely powerless, totally naked, and he's a young, strong man…
But no—he's a righteous priest. He wouldn't take advantage of me while I was helpless, right…?
But if someone his age—so easily excitable—could actually restrain himself around me, doesn't that mean my Charisma must be pretty low?
In that case, if he actually couldn't hold back and copped a little feel, could I really blame him…?
As long as he didn't cross the line and only touched spots that weren't too sensitive, I could probably forgive him…
Like…
But what if… he really didn't touch me at all?
Is it possible he just wasn't attracted to my body?
Willo's mind was running wild. She couldn't recapture her usual druidic calm and clarity, and her body—ripe and mature—was acting entirely on instinct, a gnawing longing that only grew stronger the longer it went unsatisfied.
It left her feeling insecure and unsettled.
"Sigh…"
She finally breathed out, forcing herself to push these thoughts aside. She gave up on trying to sleep, got up, whispered an incantation, and let the fallen leaves weave themselves back into her druidic robe, pulled on her boots, and quietly slipped out into the nighttime courtyard.
Outside, beneath the drenched moonlight, Willo stood alone in the center of the courtyard, letting the cold and silence wind around her heart.
Nights like these… are so hard to bear…
She sighed again, but there was nothing for it. She let the chilly night air blow across her skin, simply waiting for the yearning inside to fade, for her body to finally tire enough to return to her room and fall asleep for real.
But then, she noticed something.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw a sudden flash of magical light. A tall silhouette appeared behind her—Theresa, the archwitch, wore a look of concern.
"Matriarch Willo, you…"
Willo let out a quiet sigh. "I just can't sleep, no matter what I do."
She didn't give the full story, but Theresa could read between the lines. As she faced the ever-longing matriarch, a hint of embarrassment crept into her own voice. "Sorry, my skills in that department are limited."
Willo managed a shaky smile and shook her head. "It's fine. I'll get through it."
But then, Theresa stepped forward and took her hand. "No, I know a place—actually, I know someone—who can help you with this."
With that, she started leading Willo straight toward Charles's room.
Theresa didn't spell it out, but Willo understood immediately. As her intentions dawned, Willo blushed hard, quickly shaking her head. "No, I can't—"
She tried to tug her hand free, but Theresa was insistent. She dragged Willo all the way to Charles's door, then leaned down to whisper in the satyr's soft, agile ear, "You've already undergone the baptism, right? You're a life domain pastor now?"
Willo dropped her gaze, her mind filling with memories of that morning—her naked body on full display. Embarrassment flooded her face, her ears burning a deep shade of red.
"…Yeah."
The more she thought about it, the redder she got—all the way to her ears, which looked almost deliciously ripe.
"Exactly," Theresa whispered. "So this is something he owes you. It's his responsibility to put out the fire he kindled. He should take care of it, shouldn't he?"
Willo started shaking her head again, but her resistance was quickly crumbling. "He… but I can't…"
"Don't worry," Theresa replied softly. "It'll stay our secret. His too."
It wasn't much of an argument, but it was enough to break the last of Willo's resistance. As her protests faded, Theresa knew she'd won.
She pulled open Charles's door and gave Willo a gentle shove. "Have a wonderful night, Matriarch."
Willo gasped in surprise, but before she could react, Theresa had clicked the door shut behind her, leaving Willo with no chance to escape.
Inside, the satyr matriarch's heart pounded madly, and she hadn't the faintest idea what to do.
Suddenly, Willo realized—it was the middle of the night. Charles was probably asleep…
She was on the verge of a panicked retreat when, all of a sudden, Charles sat up in bed. "Who's there?"
The blanket fell from his chest, and with her satyr's darkvision, Willo could clearly make out the defined lines of his muscles, his broad shoulders, his strong bare arms. The sight sent a powerful jolt through her system.
Willo reflexively clamped her legs together, covering her mouth with a hand. She had already been on edge, her mind full of anxious, feverish thoughts. Now, faced with the perfectly built male form, her excitement soared to an impossible peak.
She was already wet.
As Willo trembled by the door, Charles finally recognized her. "Matriarch Willo? You…"
Willo panicked and spun around. "Sorry, Priest, I must have come to the wrong room, I'll just—"
She grabbed the door handle desperately, but for some reason it wouldn't budge from the inside—it had been locked from outside.
Her panic only deepened.
Charles caught on quick; he had a pretty good idea what was going on. He got out of bed, wrapping the blanket around himself, slipped into his slippers, and walked slowly over to Willo.
As those footsteps drew closer, Willo bowed her head, unable to look at him, her face bright red, already dizzy with anticipation of what was about to happen.
Charles didn't waste any time. When he reached her, he opened his arms and pulled her into an embrace.
"Ah—!"
Willo yelped—now she understood why Charles had kept himself wrapped in the blanket.
He was naked under there. He slept nude.
So now, there was only a single thin layer of her robe between her skin and his bare, muscled chest.
The warmth and scent of him filled her senses all at once, and she almost fainted on the spot.
Her soft body melted in his embrace, and now, between her legs, springtime streams were already flowing.
"Priest…" Willo mumbled, her voice caught between a sob and a plea.
Her whole body ached with longing, and she couldn't lie to herself anymore.
But shame kept her silent—she could only hope this dependable man would take care of her, and her dignity, at the same time.
In things like this, Willo was far less bold than her own daughter—who, after all, had sized up Charles at first glance and figured out that he truly understood just how to handle a woman's needs.
Charles, for his part, had no trouble reading her heart. He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I understand, Matriarch."
With that, he swept her swiftly into his arms and carried her princess-style to the bed, laying her down.
Then, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
"Mmm…"
Willo instinctively closed her eyes and let him kiss her. Growing up deep in the mountains, even as a mother, she'd never learned all the city's kissing tricks.
When Charles's tongue entered her mouth, toying with her own, the matriarch—who had been a mother for decades—reacted with the shy naivety of a teenager, so innocent it nearly made Charles laugh.
His playful side kicked in. As he deepened the kiss, he let his hands roam, slipping down to try and get under her robe and finally feel her bare skin.
But he quickly discovered a problem—even though the collar was wide and the hem loose, whenever he tried to slip his hand in, the magical leafwoven robe seemed to stretch and block his advance each time.
After several failed tries, Charles opened his eyes and reluctantly broke the kiss, a thin strand of saliva still stretching between their lips.
Suddenly remembering the special properties of her robe, Willo flushed even harder. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on her collar and quietly murmured an incantation.
Whoosh—
The robe dissolved into a flurry of dead leaves that floated softly onto Charles's bed, instantly filling the whole room with the earthy scent of autumn.
~~~
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