Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love-Chapter 468: The Cellar’s Heat (End)

"AAAAHHHHHHHH...! LYANNNNN...! TOO MUCH...! TOO FULL...! AHHHHH!"

Xena’s wild, desperate scream filled the room, her body trembling violently, her emerald eyes rolling back, vision swallowed by a white-hot storm. Her entire body quaked, her thighs clamping tight around Lyan, her nails raking across his back, leaving faint, reddened trails. Her lips hung open, breathless, shuddering gasps spilling forth—each exhale a whimper, each inhale a desperate plea.

But Lyan didn’t stop.

His thick, still-pulsing length withdrew, leaving her trembling, a slick, molten warmth trickling down her inner thighs. And then, without a pause, he surged forward again—this time into Ravia. His thick, scalding heat buried deep within her, flooding her slick, convulsing walls. The heat was overwhelming, a searing wave of molten ecstasy that crashed through her senses.

"LYANNN...! AHHHHHH... YES... YES... YES...! AHHHHH...!"

Ravia’s voice broke into a wild, breathless wail, her entire body spasming, her dark eyes wide, her head thrown back as the pleasure crashed through her like a thunderstorm. Her slick, trembling walls clenched around him, milking every last, burning pulse of his release, the thick, molten seed overflowing, spilling in thick rivulets that traced fiery trails down her trembling thighs.

Warmth pooled between them, hot and slick, dripping onto the cushions beneath them. The heady scent of their mingled passion filled the air, a sultry, intoxicating perfume that seemed to cling to their skin. The low glow of lantern light danced across their sweat-slick bodies, shadows rippling over their heaving chests and flushed cheeks.

Lyan’s breath came heavy, his powerful chest rising and falling, his storm-gray eyes smoldering with lingering hunger. His fingers tightened around their trembling thighs, feeling the soft, quivering flesh beneath his touch. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips, and he leaned down, his heated breath ghosting over their ears.

"Perfect..." he whispered, his voice a low, husky rumble, each syllable dripping with dark satisfaction. "The both of you... perfect..."

Xena’s dazed, emerald eyes fluttered, her lips parting in a weak, breathless smile. Her fiery orange hair clung to her damp forehead, her slender body still quivering, heat simmering beneath her flushed skin. "Lyan... you... you can do... whatever you want... with us... Anything... anytime..."

Her voice was a breathless, desperate promise, and the wild, smoldering hunger in her gaze spoke volumes.

Ravia’s lips curved, her dark, half-lidded gaze meeting his, a languid, sultry smile softening her sharp features. The sheen of sweat on her skin caught the faint light, her pulse still racing, her dark eyes brimming with devotion and desire. "Yes... anything you desire... forever... we’re yours..."

Lyan’s fingers traced a slow, possessive path along their thighs, the gentle, teasing touch sending fresh shivers racing through their sensitive bodies. His gaze lingered on their flushed, breathless forms—Ravia’s dark, mysterious beauty, Xena’s fiery, mischievous spirit—each of them a storm in his arms, fierce and wild, yet utterly his.

"I know," he murmured, his voice a velvet promise, his lips brushing against Xena’s quivering ear, then trailing a heated kiss down to the curve of Ravia’s jaw. "You belong to me... Both of you... mine..."

Their hearts thundered at his words, a fresh rush of heat pooling low in their bellies. Their trembling fingers reached for him, weak but eager, craving the warmth of his touch, the possessive strength of his embrace.

But Lyan didn’t pull them close—not yet. Instead, he leaned back, his powerful frame towering over them, his black hair falling in damp, wild strands over his piercing gray eyes. His gaze traced every curve, every shiver of their bodies, drinking in the sight of their flushed, breathless forms sprawled across the cushions.

"Rest now," he commanded gently, his voice still thick with desire, but softened by a warmth that shimmered beneath the hunger. "You’ve pleased me well... both of you..."

Xena’s trembling fingers found Ravia’s, their hands clasping together, a quiet, intimate warmth shared between them. Their chests heaved, their bodies still tingling with the lingering echoes of their wild, feverish passion.

Lyan leaned down, his lips brushing a tender, lingering kiss against Xena’s brow, then against Ravia’s temple. "Sleep... regain your strength... because this night is far from over."

His words sent a fresh, heated shiver racing through them, and though exhaustion tugged at their limbs, a soft, breathless laughter bubbled between them.

Ravia’s dark eyes fluttered shut, a soft, contented smile gracing her lips. "Yes... Lyan..."

_____

Candles guttered and leaned, their wan flames casting weary halos that bobbed above the war-room table like exhausted fireflies. Sweat-slick parchment, cracked leather ledgers, and half-emptied inkpots littered the scarred oak surface, but the first thing Belle noticed as she swept in was the way Ravia and Xena practically glowed.

Not a mage-light glow—no sigils shimmered on their skin—but a flush of dewy cheeks, an absent-minded sway to the hips, a softness in their gazes that set Belle’s curiosity sparking. Ravia’s normally razor-sharp bun was loosened, a single dark lock refusing to obey gravity; Xena’s fiery hair looked finger-combed rather than brushed, the tips still damp as though someone’s lips had traced the strands. They slid into place at the table, trying for nonchalance, but every woman present smelled heat on the air the moment they sat.

Wilhelmina, who missed nothing, arched a brow above her spectacles. Josephine cracked a grin so wide it threatened to split her freckled cheeks. Even Alicia—still haloed by black sigils—paused mid-chant, a single eyebrow hitching in silent question.

Belle, deciding teasing could wait until after the debrief, cleared her throat. "Masked woman met Hallen, took a letter," she reported, voice crisp, businesslike. The emerald silk at her shoulders shimmered as she drew a steadying breath. "He believes she’s collecting secrets for the prince."

Josephine stepped forward, placing the black-tied scroll on the table with a dramatic thunk. "Same serpent seal as the one Belle saw." Her green eyes slid toward Xena and Ravia, playful suspicion flickering. "Almost as ominous as the flush on certain faces tonight."

Alicia, kneeling near the ledger stacks, set two forged scrolls beside Josephine’s find. "Ink from the royal scriptorium," she announced, the runes still glowing faintly blue. "Whoever forged these had direct access."

Ravia folded her arms—though the motion smooshed her slightly askew blouse back into place. "Spy swears Ashborn will raise the dead." Her voice was steady, but her gaze flicked to Lyan and away again, cheeks blooming deeper red. "He believes it."

Xena leaned an elbow on Ravia’s shoulder, chin in hand, mischief dancing in her emerald eyes. "And who are we to doubt spiritual conviction?" she murmured. Her lips, Belle noticed, were swollen just enough to be suspicious.

Lyan’s gaze swept the room, weighing every piece. Candlelight hit the droplets still clinging to the ends of his dark hair; he looked carved from night and storm. "Here’s the plan," he said, tone iron. "Belle, keep charming the nobles. Plant false whispers and watch who bites. Josephine, help Wilhelmina scour every ledger and purse for hidden payments. Ravia, Xena—" his eyes lingered a beat too long on their glowing cheeks—"continue watching our prisoner, then sweep the undercity tunnels. Alicia, dig into Ashborn lore—find weaknesses or symbols we can trace."

They nodded. Wax sputtered, tiny banners of flame thrashing overhead. Yet as the circle broke, the room did not empty. Wilhelmina snapped her ledger shut with a decisive clap and turned straight to the glowing duo.

"Interrogation time," she declared dryly. "Different spy, same cellar?"

Josephine planted her fists on the table, leaning in with scandalous glee. "You two disappeared a full rotation of the hourglass. We counted."

Alicia’s sigils dimmed as she stood, curiosity overriding fatigue. "And returned looking... revitalized. Remarkable restorative technique."

Xena arched a fiery brow, lips puckering in a mock pout. "Trade secret."

Belle folded her arms, emerald gown rustling. "Unfair secret, you mean. Some of us were dancing with puffed-up lords while you—" she waved an accusatory finger—"clearly danced to a very different tune."

Ravia inhaled, composing herself, but the ghost of a moan flickered at the edge of the breath, betraying how sensitive her ribs still felt where Lyan’s hands had been. "Mission morale," she offered with a serene shrug, then ruined the serenity by wincing at the pull of sore muscles. "We... multitasked."

Josephine cackled. "Multitasked straight into nirvana by the look of you."

Even Lyan’s stoic façade cracked; he coughed once, suspiciously like a laugh, before schooling his features. "Focus," he managed, but color warmed his ears. "Everyone has assignments."

Wilhelmina, pen poised above ledger margin, deadpanned, "I will require a footnote on the specific morale-boosting method for future accounting."

Belle tapped her chin. "Yes, list under ’Field Rations: Bread, Arrows, Commander.’ "

Laughter rippled, tension easing. Xena wiggled her fingers, airy. "Jealousy is unbecoming, ladies. Besides, there was nothing to hear." She bit her lip at her own innuendo and shot Ravia a sideways glance.

Ravia sighed—half exasperation, half dreamy contentment. "You’d have heard if you’d been closer," she muttered too quietly for Lyan but not for keen ears. Josephine whooped.

Lyan cleared his throat so loudly scrolls quivered. "That’s enough. Dismissed."

They shuffled out—Belle brushing Ravia’s shoulder with a promise of gossip exchange later; Josephine winking exaggeratedly; Wilhelmina muttering about ration tables. Alicia lagged last, trailing black wisps. She stopped at Lyan’s elbow, studying the serpent seal. Her voice softened, protective. "How far can you track this residue?"

"Far," she admitted, lashes lowering. "Maybe to the source. But I’d be exposed for hours."

He slid a reassuring hand to her shoulder, thumb tracing light circles. "I won’t let them touch you."

She answered with a small, sad smile. "I know." The sigils faded as she stepped back, exhaustion replacing glow.

Door hinges creaked shut one by one until only the low hiss of burning wicks remained. Ravia and Xena lingered beyond the threshold, visible through the cracked doorway—Belle, Josephine, Wilhelmina pressing them for details in hushed, scandalized giggles. Xena’s mischievous laughter and Ravia’s subdued, still-breathless chuckle drifted inside before the hallway swallowed them.

At last Lyan stood alone. The war-room walls pressed close, lined with maps and doubts. He couldn’t shake the image of the crimson serpent devouring its tail, an emblem that felt alive beneath his palm. Candleflame wavered; shadows crawled over the wax seal, making scales seem to flex.

(They watch) Eira’s icy whisper curled in his mind.

Lyan’s grip tightened. Wax creaked, tiny flakes breaking off. "Let them watch," he said under his breath. "We’ll make them blink first."

This chapt𝙚r is updated by fr(e)ew𝒆bnov(e)l.com