Ch. 70 – Just Say the Word

Rhys was taken utterly aback, his mind reeling as his survival instincts screamed in alarm. This woman needs to be admitted to the looney bin, he thought frantically, staring at Shula in absolute disbelief. This can’t be happening. This cannot be right.

He shot a desperate glance over his shoulder toward the front hallway, watching Darius’s broad back as the hero quietly retreated toward the exit, slipping out the door like a soldier abandoning a doomed outpost.

Lira immediately went rigid in her seat, her golden eyes flashing with a dangerous, razor-sharp edge. "No. Absolutely not," Lira declared, her voice dropping into a low, lethal register as her cosmic aura sparked beneath her skin. "Shula, you need to leave. Tonight is off the table."

Shula didn't flinch. She turned her head, offering Lira a look of serene, terrifyingly innocent mock-confusion. "But Lira, dear... I am simply adhering strictly to the very boundaries you laid down just moments ago."

Lira’s jaw tightened. She had indeed mandated that the moment Rhys finished, the visit was over and Shula had to leave.

Shula’s bronze lips curved into a smooth, knowing smile, her fiery eyes locking onto Lira with a chilling calm. "And as you can see... Rhys has not finished yet."

A violent shudder ran straight down Rhys’s spine at those words, a cold spike of adrenaline shooting through his nervous system. Deep within his chest, his damaged, dormant kinetic cells surged in a chaotic, painful flare, reacting to the sheer, suffocating stress of the room. He could physically feel the superheated, volcanic energy pulsing rhythmically through Shula’s fingers where her iron grip held his forearm.

Before Lira could properly verbalize a response or unleash her cosmic power, Shula was already moving. With frightening, effortless strength, the Ifrit woman began steering Rhys down the carpeted hallway toward the back guest room, her body pressed entirely too close to his side, enveloping him in her intense scent of warm cinnamon, crushed vanilla, and volcanic ash.

"Shula, wait!" Rhys protested loudly, over-exaggerating his stance for Lira’s sake as he tried to dig his heels into the floorboards. "You said it yourself—literally five minutes ago! You said the optimal window for your cycle wasn't for another three days!"

Shula didn't stop her relentless momentum. She glided alongside him, smiling up at his face with a cool, maddening indulgence. "That is technically true for the full cellular transfer, my sweet donor," she purred softly, her breath hot against his collarbone. "However... tonight is the absolute perfect opportunity to get a proper warm-up. At the very least."

As they reached the threshold of the guest room, Shula leaned in dangerously close, hovering her full, heated lips mere millimeters from his mouth—carefully, tauntingly playing right on the razor's edge of the rules without actually breaking the physical contact ban.

"And who knows?" she whispered, her amber eyes burning with an unholy, smoldering heat. "If we cultivate enough raw, uninhibited lust tonight... you might even manage to complete the job ahead of schedule."

Back in the living room, Lira remained frozen in her chair, her teeth gritted so hard her jaw muscles ached, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as she fought the terrifying urge to level the entire wing of the house. She opened her mouth to roar a command, but before the words could leave her throat, Shula expertly backed Rhys into the guest room and kicked the heavy oak door shut behind them, the deadbolt engaging with a heavy, final click.

Rhys stumbled backward into the dim, shadowy room, feeling like a complete trespasser in his own home. This was a room he almost never entered—a sterile space reserved for visiting relatives or out-of-town colleagues—and now it was transformed into a pressure cooker of forbidden, suffocating tension.

The moment the lock clicked, Shula pressed her entire, scorching body flush against his. Her hands moved over him with frantic, possessive agility, tracing the broad expanse of his chest, sliding down his ribs, and mapping his shoulders like a collector inspecting an priceless, long-coveted artifact.

Rhys tried to lean his head back against the wall, taking a shallow breath. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't deny the terrifying, visceral reaction his body was having. Her touch was intoxicatingly warm, her raw Ifrit energy pulsing directly through his clothes and soothing the deep, chronic ache in his burnt-out kinetic core.

"Shula, please..." Rhys pleaded in a harsh, desperate whisper, putting his palms against her shoulders to push her back. "Just... please, not tonight. Give me room to breathe."

Shula paused, tilting her head as she looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. Her expression held no malice, only an eerie, absolute certainty. "Why do you resist, Rhys? This is what you wished for... is it not?"

Rhys blinked, his brow furrowing in complete bewilderment. "What? What are you talking about?! What 'wish'?"

Did this crazy woman honestly believe he had been secretly harboring some dark, covert desire for her all these years? That this nightmare was somehow the fulfillment of his hidden fantasies?

Rhys let out a sharp, breathless, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. "I didn't 'wish' for anything! I only agreed to your proposal out of pity and respect for Darius—as a FRIEND!"

Shula’s golden-amber eyes locked onto his with an intense, possessive stare that chilled him to his core.

"And that is precisely it," Shula whispered, her voice laced with an ancient, terrifying logic. "In the exact moment you spoke those words of consent... you willed this dynamic into existence. You surrendered your role. And now... your body belongs to my command."

Rhys stood utterly aghast, his jaw dropping as the sheer, terrifying scope of her delusion finally washed over him.

Oh, she is CRAZY crazy, Rhys thought, panic cold and heavy in his gut. She’s entirely out of her mind.

Without giving him a second to process her statement, Shula leaned forward and dragged her wet, heated tongue upward along the sensitive column of his neck, trailing a line of scorching moisture up to his jawline.

"Hey! We said NO KISSING!" Rhys rasped out, flinching back and trying to turn his face away. "That was Lira's number one rule!"

"And I am not kissing you," Shula replied smoothly, offering him a serene, wicked little smile before immediately pressing her tongue back against his skin, tracing the shell of his ear. "There is no mouth-to-mouth contact. I am following her parameters to the absolute letter."

Simultaneously, her swift, practiced fingers began working their way down his torso, deftly flicking the buttons of his shirt open one by one.

"Shula, stop," Rhys urged, his voice tight as he tried to grab her wrists. "At least give Lira some time to process this... let her leave the house, or go somewhere else! You can't do this while she's sitting right out there!"

Shula casually brushed his hands aside, her focus unwavering as she peeled his shirt off his shoulders. "It is perfectly fine, Rhys," she cooed, her tone dangerously dismissive. "Lira is a strong woman. She is more than capable of handling it."

Hearing her speak about his wife with such casual, icy indifference sent a cold wave of anger through Rhys’s chest. He felt horrifyingly trapped—completely stripped of his agency, locked in a state of sudden, overwhelming powerlessness that felt sickeningly identical to the psychological games Vespera used to play with him.

Shula slid her tongue down his jawline, her breath hitching as her hand drifted downward, cupping him firmly through his trousers. She squeezed softly, taking in his size and heat through the fabric.

"Mmm..." Shula breathed, a low, shuddering sigh escaping her lips. "I have waited so many years to see what the legendary Omen was hiding beneath his suit..."

A sharp, violent chill ran through Rhys’s entire frame at the sound of his old hero moniker. Hearing his legendary handle spoken aloud by his old comrade's wife—while pinned against the wall of his own guest room while his wife sat fifty feet away—was a level of surreal, depraved absurdity he couldn't even begin to fathom.

Slowly, deliberately, Shula sank down to her knees before him. Her bronze fingers moved with lightning efficiency, unbuckling his leather belt and dragging his pants down his thighs, freeing him into the cool ambient air of the bedroom.

She paused, resting on her knees as she gazed up at him. She marveled at the sight, her eyes wide with a dark, reverent awe as she softly voiced detailed, explicit compliments about his form. Then, leaning in close, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in his scent, her head rolling back in an expression of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

Rhys stared down at her, his stomach churning with anxiety. She was taking her sweet, deliberate time, completely destroying any illusion that this was a cold, clinical transaction.

"Can we... can we please just move this along?" Rhys choked out, his hands resting uselessly against his hips.

Suddenly, an intense, searing warmth enveloped him as Shula opened her mouth and took his entire length inside.

Rhys’s breath hitched violently, his knees buckling under the sudden, staggering shock of physical sensation. The contrast between his freezing panic and her internal thermal heat was intoxicatingly intense.

"What—what the hell are you doing?!" Rhys practically screamed in a harsh, strangled whisper, grabbing her by the shoulders. "This is DEFINITELY breaking the rules!"

Shula reluctantly pulled back an inch, looking up at him through a daze of dark, molten passion, her lips wet and glistening in the dim light.

"This is not kissing, my love," she cooed softly, her voice thick with unbridled lust. "This is a necessary biological warm-up. My body requires the natural friction and fluid exchange to prepare my internal thermal core for the real act. It is a purely functional action."

The absolute audacity of this woman! Rhys thought in a frenzy of rage and dazed disbelief. She was making a complete, shameless mockery of Lira’s rules within the very first sixty seconds.

Before he could pull away, Shula surged forward again, taking him back into her mouth with a ravenous, greedy intensity, swallowing him deep into her throat. The sheer physical force of her devotion pushed Rhys backward, forcing him to stumble back until his calves hit the edge of the mattress, collapsing flat onto his back across the bed sheets.

Shula didn't miss a beat. She followed him down, crawling between his thighs on her hands and knees, her head bobbing in a relentless, agonizingly deep rhythm. Her superhuman Ifrit jaw and neck muscles flexed with incredible, titanium precision, her internal body heat rising until every movement felt like liquid fire against his nerves. She accelerated her pace, her tongue swirling expertly, driving Rhys into an agonizing state of physical overdrive.

Against his own conscious willpower, a low, helpless shudder tore through Rhys’s frame, a quiet moan forced from his throat as his body betrayed his mind.

CREAK.

The faint, unmistakable sound of a floorboard shifting in the hallway echoed right outside the guest room door.

"Rhys?" Lira’s voice called out through the heavy wood.

Her voice was trembling, tight, and hollow—sounding for all the world like a woman who had just been stabbed through the heart. "Is... is everything alright in there?"

Rhys’s heart instantly evaporated into ash.

Not his wife. Not his sweet, perfect Lira. Not like this. Not right here.

"E-Everything is fine, honey!" Rhys shouted back frantically, his voice cracking as he gripped the bedsheets with white knuckles. "Just... just let us handle this! Stay out there!"

A long, agonizing pause settled over the house.

The entire time, Shula remained completely shameless. She didn't slow down for a fraction of a second, her head continuing to bob frantically, the wet, rhythmic sounds of her throat echoing loudly in the quiet bedroom. Rhys glared down at her with absolute, furious hatred, but Shula merely looked up through her lashes, her eyes burning with a dark, triumphant joy as she worked him harder.

Rhys listened intently, but he didn't hear any footsteps retreating down the hall. Lira was still standing right outside the door.

"Rhys..." Lira’s strained voice echoed through the wood once more, fragile and desperate. "I heard you scream out when you guys walked in... If you want to back out of this... if you don't want to do this... just say the word. Please."

Rhys felt as if his soul were dissolving straight into the mattress. Hearing the desperate, heartbreaking hope in his wife's voice crushed him under a mountain of absolute guilt.

To make matters infinitely worse, hearing Lira offer him an exit route seemed to act as a direct catalyst for Shula. The Ifrit woman’s eyes flashed with a dark, competitive madness. She violently accelerated her pace, taking him into the very back of her throat with reckless, frantic speed. She reached one hand down to cup her own heavy breast, while her other hand slid down between her thighs, rubbing herself furiously to the rhythm of her mouth. The wet, slicking sounds of her own self-pleasure mixed with the frantic suction over his length, creating an overwhelming, deafening wall of sensory overload.

Rhys couldn't bear the intensity. His hands flew down, slamming onto Shula’s shoulders to anchor himself as his hips involuntarily lifted off the bed.

Then, through the sound of his own heavy breathing and Shula's relentless motions, Rhys finally heard it: the slow, soft, lingering sound of Lira’s footsteps walking away down the hallway. She moved quietly, like a phantom retreating into the dark, completely broken.

In that exact second, Rhys felt a wave of profound self-loathing wash over his soul. He hated himself with a burning passion. He had just been handed a direct lifeline, an explicit out from his wife, and his traitorous, overstimulated body had held him hostage, forcing him to stay silent while another woman consumed him.

He looked down through a daze at Shula. She was relentlessly driving him toward the edge, her internal thermal energy pulsing through his veins, her head moving in a rapid, relentless blur as she took him all the way to the root.

Rhys felt his entire nervous system tighten. The peak was crashing over him like a tidal wave—he was seconds away from finishing deep inside her mouth, surrendering to the overwhelming physical high.

Suddenly, right as he hit the absolute point of no return, Shula abruptly pulled her head back.

Rhys gasped out, his whole body tensing in sudden, agonizing denial as the friction was abruptly severed.

Shula hovered over him, kneeling between his legs, her chest heaving as she wiped her wet lips with the back of her hand. She looked down at his trembling, spent form with a dark, satisfied, thoroughly devilish smile.

"Not yet, my sweet donor," Shula whispered purring softly as she patted his thigh. "You have to hold on... save every single drop for the main course."

Rhys’s eyes closed heavily, his head falling back against the pillows in complete, hollow defeat, wishing with every remaining shred of his soul that he could simply fade out of existence entirely.