Chapter 605: Confession *

The world lurched sideways, and the balcony, the cool night air, the distant city lights... All of it vanished in a blink.

One moment Isla was frozen in place, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird, and the next she was standing inside the Ark’s main cabin.

The familiar hum of the vessel’s core thrummed through the pristine white floorboards. At that exact moment, Veyra’s dress hit the floor before the spatial displacement had even finished settling.

The fabric pooled around her ankles like a shed skin, and she stepped out of it with the casual grace of a predator, leaving her sinful body completely bare.

Her heavy breasts bounced with the movement, full, perky, and round, tipped with pink nipples that had already pebbled into little peaks.

She had not been wearing anything underneath her dress, or she had disposed of her underwear at some unseen moment.

Regardless, a fresh trickle of her essence could be seen glistening along the inner sides of both her thighs, smearing against her flushed skin as she moved.

The fluids were practically dripping from her enclosed flower, and she made no effort to hide it.

She was about to immediately pounce on Elion while he was still embracing Zenith and Esme, her eyes burning with naked hunger, but she found herself being pulled back by Ophelia.

"Hold it."

Ophelia’s eyes narrowed as she placed a firm grip on Veyra’s arm. The purple-haired succubus immediately pouted, her full lower lip jutting out in an expression that was almost comically petulant.

"Ophelia, pleas—"

"I said hold it."

Elion glanced over from where Zenith had her arms wrapped around his neck, and Esme was pressed against his side, both of them already tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity cutting through the haze of lust that had settled over his features.

"What’s the problem?"

Ophelia’s expression was serious now. She released Veyra’s arm and crossed her own beneath her milkers, fixing Elion with a pointed look.

"Elion, these two have something to confess before we begin."

She gestured toward Veyra and then toward Miranda, who had been lingering near the back of the group with an unusually subdued expression on her face.

The blue-haired succubus shifted uncomfortably under the sudden attention, her eyes darting toward Jaeneva as if seeking support.

Veyra’s pout deepened, and there was a flicker of embarrassment. She glanced at Elion, then away, her fingers twisting together in front of her.

"It’s not... it’s not that serious," she muttered.

Ophelia raised an eyebrow. "Then you won’t mind telling him."

"I guess..."

With matching looks of reluctant guilt, Veyra and Miranda went on to explain, briefly, and with no small amount of awkwardness, the matter of their entanglement with the dragons, including the one Elion had already slain.

"Oh, so that’s what this is about," Elion said at last, sounding more amused than troubled. "In that case, I don’t particularly care about what happened before, so long as you’ve both made up your minds now."

Both women looked up at him.

"If you’ve decided you want to stay by my side, then that’s enough for me," he continued. "And I’ll make sure none of you are left wanting. Honestly, if all it takes to keep you content is regular sex, I can’t say I’m too worried. Between my dragon bloodline and the incubus bloodline, lust has never exactly been in short supply for me." A crooked smile touched his mouth. "If anything, the stronger I get, the more ridiculous it seems to become."

At those words, the succubi’s eyes began to shine brightly.

Veyra in particular looked ready to launch herself at him that very second and smother him with her exposed mounds, but once again Ophelia intervened before she could.

"Thank you, Elion. You are very kind." Ophelia bowed her head slightly, her voice as composed as ever. "However, there is no need to count us among your wives. We are not worthy of that place."

Elion raised an eyebrow at her.

He had, in fact, been on the verge of suggesting something very close to that, which made him suspect Ophelia had anticipated him and chosen to head it off before he could say it aloud.

She continued before he could respond.

"It is enough for us to remain by your side and be of whatever use we can. By accepting us at all, you have already given us more than we ever expected."

Then she smiled at him, and there was something so earnest, so reverent in it that Elion felt his heart warming.

He found himself smiling back without meaning to.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he had done to inspire that kind of devotion, to accumulate this much goodwill, but he accepted it for what it was.

"Alright then," he said with a small nod.

As he spoke, he reached for Esme and slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders, letting the fabric fall lower. Then, as if only just remembering, he glanced past the others toward Isla.

"Will you be joining us, Isla?" he asked, offering her a gentle, reassuring smile.

Isla visibly jolted. Color rushed into her face so quickly it seemed to ignite her from the neck up, and she shook her head with frantic intensity.

"M-Maybe next time!"

The words came out in a flustered rush, and before anyone could say another thing, she turned and fled.

She hurried into the brightly lit corridor beyond, nearly tripping over herself in her haste, and disappeared deeper into the Ark’s back rooms with all the speed her dignity could manage.

Ophelia watched her go, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "Poor thing," she murmured, shaking her head. "She’ll come around eventually."

Veyra, who had been vibrating with barely contained impatience throughout the entire exchange, finally lost her patience.

She surged forward, closing the distance between herself and Elion in a single fluid motion, and pressed her naked body against his.

"Enough talking," she growled. "I’ve waited long enough."

Her hands grabbed onto his shirt, and with a sharp tug, she tore the fabric clean apart.

Buttons scattered across the floor like tiny seeds, and Elion’s chest was suddenly bare, the hard planes of his muscles gleaming in the soft light of the cabin.

’This one really is spirited,’ he thought.

A spreading wet heat against his thigh dragged his attention downward.

Veyra had climbed onto him without the slightest hesitation, straddling his leg shamelessly, her dripping lower lips pressed tight against his clothed thigh.

Wetness was already soaking through the fabric of his loose pants, seeping into the material in a growing patch that made it painfully obvious just how aroused she was.

The sight made him laugh.

She was grinding against him with such reckless urgency that he found himself briefly wondering whether the friction through the cloth wasn’t too rough for her sensitive bottom lips.

Apparently not.

Judging by the desperate little sounds escaping her lips, she either did not mind in the slightest, or the edge of discomfort only made it sweeter.

Esme had been nudged aside by Veyra’s sudden attack, but she took it with good humor.

Rather than complain, she used the moment to peel the rest of her dress from her body, letting the silky fabric slither down her curves and fall around her feet.

Her underwear followed a second later, stepped out of with an easy elegance that contrasted sharply with Veyra’s ravenous impatience.

One by one, the others followed suit, silk and lace slipping away until the pristine cabin floor was strewn with discarded clothes.