NOVEL NEXT Chapter 55: A Tender Awakening
The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauze curtains, casting gentle shadows across Lisa's peaceful face. I sat beside her on the narrow bed, my fingers absently tracing patterns on the worn wooden bedframe as I watched her sleep. The sheets beneath us were still disheveled from our passionate encounter, and the faint scent of soap mixed with something more intimate lingered in the warm air.
It had been nearly three hours since Lisa had collapsed, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her climax. The memory of her gasps and whispered pleas still echoed in my mind, along with the overwhelming realization that we had both crossed a threshold together—one that could never be uncrossed.
I had carefully cleaned both of us with water from the washbasin, using a soft cloth to gently tend to her tender skin.
The old me—no, the James I had been in my previous life—would have been dressed and gone by now, leaving behind nothing but rumpled sheets and a Lisa covered with my cum.
But this wasn't my old life, and Lisa wasn't just another conquest.
The thought surprised me with its intensity. How many women had I seduced in that other existence? How many virginities had I claimed with pretty words and false promises, only to disappear before dawn?
Those encounters had been transactions, mechanical and hollow despite the physical pleasure they provided.
This was different. She was different.
I reached out tentatively, my fingertips barely grazing her dark brown hair where it spread across the pillow like spilled ink. The strands were softer than silk, still slightly damp with perspiration. Lisa stirred at my touch, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips even in sleep.
Was this what love felt like? This ache in my chest, this desperate need to protect and cherish? This overwhelming urge to memorize every curve of her body, every sound she made?
It had to be love. Nothing else could explain the way my heart hammered whenever she looked at me with those impossibly blue eyes, or how I found myself inventing excuses just to be near her. The realization should have terrified me—love made men weak, made them vulnerable—but instead, I felt a strange sense of completion, as if some missing piece of myself had finally clicked into place.
Lisa's eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, and then her eyes slowly opened, unfocused and dreamy. For a moment, she simply stared at the ceiling, her breathing soft and even. Then her gaze found mine, and I watched as awareness crept back into her expression.
"H…Harold?" She whispered, her voice husky with sleep and something else—uncertainty, perhaps even fear.
I leaned closer, letting her see the tenderness in my expression. "I'm here."
The color drained from her face as the full weight of what we'd done crashed over her. She tried to sit up abruptly, modesty warring with the intimate connection we'd just shared. "H..Harold—" The word became a sharp intake of breath, her face contorting in discomfort.
"Carefully," I said, my hands hovering near her shoulders, ready to steady her if needed. "You're going to be sore."
The blush that spread across her cheeks was deeper than any sunrise. She nodded quickly, pulling the fresh sheet I'd draped over her up to her chin. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the fabric, as if it could somehow shield her from the vulnerability of the moment.
I couldn't help but find her modesty cute, even after everything we'd shared. I had memorized every inch of her body—the way her breath hitched when I kissed the hollow of her throat, how her skin flushed pink from her chest to her cheeks when passion overtook her, the constellation of tiny moles on her left shoulder. But her need to cover herself now was natural, human, and somehow made me love her even more.
"Did you feel good?" I asked her teasingly. It wasn't really a question—her responses had told me everything I needed to know—but I wanted to hear her say it.
Lisa's entire body seemed to radiate heat at my directness, but she managed a shy nod.
I reached out to stroke her cheek with the back of my fingers, marveling at how she leaned into the touch despite her embarrassment. "Now I really have made you mine," I said, the possessiveness in my voice surprising us both.
"Hm…" The sound was barely audible, but her eyes met mine as she nodded again. There was something profound in that moment of acknowledgment—we both understood that everything had changed between us.
"And..?did you feel good, Harold?" Her question was so quiet I almost missed it, but the hope and concern in her voice made amused.
"You're really asking me that?" I chuckled. "I wouldn't have wished for a better partner for my first time."
The smile that spread across her face was radiant, transforming her from beautiful to absolutely luminous. She was glowing with the knowledge that she had been my first, that we had shared this milestone together. If only she knew the full truth—that while Harold's body had been untouched, James's soul carried the weight of a hundred of casual encounters, none of which had prepared me for the earth-shattering intimacy I'd just experienced with her.
I leaned closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear as I whispered, "You were wonderful. Your voice, your body, your upper lips, your lower lips, your breast, the way you moaned in pleasure with that sexy voice of yours—everything was perfect."
A visible shiver ran through her at my words, and she practically bolted upright. "I…I should wash myself!" She stammered, clutching the sheet as she moved toward the small washroom adjoining her chamber.
I couldn't suppress a low chuckle at her reaction.
But I knew she needed a moment to process what had happened, to reconcile the Lisa who had entered this room with the one who would leave it.
Instead, I stood and began gathering my scattered clothes. "I need to meet with Isadora soon, so I should be going," I called after her. "But Lisa—take care of yourself, and ask my mother to examine you down there if you're concerned about anything."
The sound of running water stopped abruptly. "Y…your mother?" Lisa's voice cracked with shock, and I could picture her wide-eyed expression even through the wooden door.
"Why are you surprised?" I asked, pulling my shirt over my head. "My mom already knows I love you. She's been treating you like family for months now. She might be surprised we've taken this step, but she won't be angry. She adores you, Lisa and already thinks we are a couple."
In her mind, it was only a matter of time.
Though my beautiful mom clearly didn't expect me to lick and suck her and my big sister's pussy at night
"R…right," came Lisa's muffled reply, followed by the sound of splashing water. I could hear the nervousness in her voice, but also something else—relief, perhaps even joy. By suggesting she speak with my mother so openly, I was making it clear that I had no intention of hiding what we'd done or treating it as something shameful.
Well actually I just wanted Isabella to hear that I fucked Lisa, that I had fucked a woman. I wanted to see her reaction and how she would behave after this.
I finished dressing and moved toward the door, pausing with my hand on the latch. "Take care of yourself."
"Harold."
Her voice stopped me mid-step. I turned to find her standing in the doorway of the washroom, the sheet wrapped around her like a makeshift dress. Her hair hung in damp tendrils around her face, and her skin still bore the flush of our lovemaking.
"Hm?"
For a moment, she seemed to struggle with the words. Then, as if gathering all her courage, she lifted her chin and met my eyes directly. "I love you."
"I love you too," I smiled at her and walked out of the house.
The hours crawled after I left Lisa's chambers.
I chose to read a book to pass the time until evening.
I selected a volume on agricultural techniques, thinking mundane subject matter might calm my restless mind.
When finally evening arrived I closed the book with a decisive snap.
Time to see Isadora.
I walked toward Isadora's hut sat in a clearing deep within the woods, taking the familiar path.
"Isadora," I called, pushing open the heavy wooden door. The hinges creaked in protest, the sound unnaturally loud in the evening stillness. I peered into the dim interior but saw no sign of her. "Isadora?"
My voice echoed back from the shadows, unanswered.
She must have gone to gather herbs or components for her work.
I stepped inside, my eyes gradually adjusting to the gloom. The cottage never failed to surprise visitors with its humble appearance. Most people expected a powerful mage's dwelling to be filled with exotic artifacts, bubbling cauldrons, and mysterious contraptions. Instead, Isadora's home resembled nothing more than a scholarly hermit's retreat.
The main room contained simple furniture: a plain wooden table, two sturdy chairs, a narrow bed pushed against one wall, and shelves upon shelves of books. Ah, but what books they were. Volumes on elemental theory, treatises on magical philosophy, grimoires bound in leather so old it had turned black with age. During my two years of training, I'd worked my way through dozens of them, often borrowing three or four at a time to study at home.
I lit a candle from the dying embers in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the familiar space. Everything appeared normal—the dried herbs hanging from the rafters, the collection of smooth stones Isadora used for meditation, the small altar where she performed her more delicate rituals.
Then something caught my eye.
A book lay open on Isadora's desk, its pages spread wide as if she'd been reading when something urgent called her away. This in itself wasn't unusual, except... I'd never seen this particular volume before.
The leather cover was deep burgundy, almost black in the candlelight, with no visible title or markings. More intriguingly, it didn't match the careful organization of Isadora's library. She kept her books sorted by subject and magical discipline, each one precisely placed. This tome sat apart from the others, as if it didn't belong with the rest of her collection.
Curiosity overrode caution as I approached the desk. The pages were thick parchment, covered in script I didn't recognize—not the common tongue, nor the classical magical languages Isadora had taught me to read. But there was something else: an illustration that made me lean closer despite myself.
I bent lower, trying to get a better look when—
SNAP!
The book slammed shut with such force that I jerked backward, nearly knocking over the candle
"My dear student." Isadora's voice drifted from the doorway. "It's not polite to pry into your teacher's private materials."
I spun around to find her silhouetted against the evening sky, a leather satchel slung over one shoulder and her silver hair gleaming in the candlelight.
What a breathtaking woman…
"My apologies," I said, stepping away from the desk. "I was looking for you and... curiosity got the better of me."
"Indeed, I noticed that." She entered the cottage and set her satchel on the table, beginning to unpack various plant specimens with practiced efficiency. "But before we discuss your lessons, tell me—is your sister well?"
"Why do you ask?"
"She was quite agitated when I saw her earlier today. A person with such powerful fire magic shouldn't allow their emotions to run unchecked. It can lead to... complications."
"It's just a family matter," I replied.
I wouldn't tell her that it was because our mother caught me licking my big sister's pussy while fondling her breast after all.
"I see." Isadora nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "Changes are often difficult to accept, especially for those we care about. I'm sure Lisa will adjust to the idea of you leaving for the academy."
Of course—she assumed Lisa's distress was about my imminent departure for the capital. It was a logical conclusion, and one that served my purposes perfectly.
"Speaking of which," I said, eager to change the subject, "is everything ready for my departure, teacher?"
"It has been ready for some time, Harold." Isadora laughed. "You're the one who doesn't seem prepared to leave. At this rate, you'll be late for the entrance examinations."
"Well..." I began, then trailed off. She wasn't wrong.
"Two days," Isadora said, holding up two fingers for emphasis. "We depart in exactly two days. I trust you'll use that time wisely—say your goodbyes, put your affairs in order, and prepare yourself mentally for what lies ahead."
I nodded. "I'll be ready."
"Good." She moved to her bookshelf and selected several volumes, stacking them on the table between us. "We won't be practicing magic during our remaining sessions. Instead, I'll teach you everything you need to know about navigating the world beyond this village."
She settled into the chair across from me, her expression growing serious. "You've lived a sheltered life here, Harold. The kingdom of Lorendia is vast and complex, filled with political intrigue, social hierarchies, and dangers you can barely imagine. The royal academy will be your introduction to that world, but you'll need more than magical ability to survive it."
I leaned forward, suddenly aware of how much I didn't know. "What should I expect?"
"Nobility operates by different rules than common folk," she began, opening the first book to reveal detailed illustrations of court dress and formal ceremonies. "Every gesture has meaning, every word carries weight. A misplaced bow or inappropriate comment could mark you as an outsider—or worse, as a threat."
She turned the page, revealing a complex diagram of noble rankings and their associated privileges. "You'll be attending school with the children of dukes and earls, young people who've been groomed for power since birth. They'll test you, try to determine your worth and your weaknesses. Some may become allies, others enemies."
"And which are you hoping I'll be?" I asked.
Isadora smiled, the expression both fond and mysterious. "That, my dear student, will depend entirely on the choices you make. But I have faith that you'll choose wisely."
Well, we will see about that…