Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

His kisses, hot, wild, and utterly consuming, left her breathless. Despite the split on her cheek, she felt intoxicated, drunk not from the alcohol but from the taste of forbidden desire blooming between their lips. The pain didn't matter. Not here. Not now. What mattered were Sylvaris's hands, rough, eager, unrelenting, exploring places she never imagined would be touched tonight.

His fingers slid beneath her dress like sin wrapped in warmth. They were hot, trailing up her thighs with a teasing, maddening slowness. Her skin responded instantly, soft, pampered, and trembling, not from fear but from the overwhelming lack of resistance. It wasn't shame that made her shiver. It was need. The need for his fingers to go deeper… to reach the parts of her that had been untouched for far too long.

"Mghf—slrp—mmnnn~ Don't… we shouldn't…" Aureve whispered breathlessly, the protest trembling off her lips more out of habit than will. A fake resistance — one last flicker of dignity before the fall. But Sylvaris wasn't fooled. The arm around her waist tightened, pulling her in until their chests pressed together, and then his tongue slid into her mouth, claiming it in a slow, circling motion.

She responded instantly, her tongue soft as velvet, agile and teasing, dancing with his. His own tongue was firmer, less polished, still a little hesitant in its rhythm, but there was hunger in him, something primal and practiced. Sylvaris had been learning, refining himself behind closed doors, and the awkward boy he once was had begun to vanish. In his place, a man was forming — one who kissed not just with lips, but with intention. Dangerous. Deepening.

Her thighs had parted on their own, wide and welcoming, and she wasn't even trying to hide it anymore, that aching desire for him to go lower, to slide his fingers exactly where her body had been begging him to from the moment they sat down. She was shameless now, but that only made her more beautiful, more raw, more… his.

So needy already, and yet so elegant about it. He could almost laugh, not in mockery, but in victory. How often does a woman this proud, this refined, this mature get reduced to a breathless mess without even being touched properly?

Let's see how a woman her age responds to my hands.

His fingers trailed downward, slow as honey, grazing the inside of her thigh until he reached the delicate barrier of her panties. The moment his knuckles brushed the soft fabric, his touch was met with heat and slickness — an unmistakable, sinful wetness that soaked through the cloth like it had been waiting for him. She was dripping.

Sylvaris grinned inwardly.

She's more than ready for me. Then don't mind if I do.

He deepened the kiss, letting it devour what remained of her restraint, his lips locking tighter with hers, his tongue exploring, claiming, tasting her need with every slow stroke. Her body pressed against his instinctively, and the hand at her waist gripped her tighter, pulling her flush into him.

And all the while, his other hand moved with purpose.

His fingers didn't invade her pussy — not yet — but they slid softly, teasingly, along the edge of her panties, just grazing that damp heat through the soaked fabric. A whisper of a touch. Enough to make her hips buck ever so slightly, chasing more.

Aureve's breath hitched again, her lips twitching against his in a moan that didn't quite escape, her thighs tensing, parting further, trembling with permission.

It was like she was handing herself to him.

And Sylvaris… wasn't about to let that go to waste.

He didn't wait anymore. He pushed the fabric aside, and the kiss of cold air made her shiver.

She couldn't resist even if she wanted to. His lips crushed hers in a kiss that devoured the last of her will, silencing every doubt, every breath. Her hands clung to his shoulders as his fingers roamed lower, skimming across her thighs, trailing heat along the soft flesh of her inner leg, dangerously close to her entrance.

Her heart thundered like a war drum, pounding against his chest as if it wanted to break free and throw itself into his hands.

I want him… Her thoughts spiraled, drowning in guilt and lust. I want him to claim me… Arathor, I'm so sorry… your son… your son is going to make me his—

"Aahh…" her gasp broke through the kiss as his fingers brushed her slit, featherlight but electric.

I can't hold back anymore... please forgive me…

Then—schlp!—two fingers pushed inside.

"Ahhn~!" Her voice cracked, their wet kiss breaking with a lewd—POP—a thick strand of saliva stretching, then falling, dripping down her chin... trailing onto her bare, trembling thighs. Her body jolted beneath him. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood, but the sound still slipped free.

"Nnhhh… mmnn... nghhh…!"

Slrk... schlph... glrk...—The rhythm was slow, deliberate. His fingers curled up inside her, grinding, pressing, stretching.

Her inner walls clung, pulling him deeper, fluttering with every twist, every firm curl of his knuckles.

"You hear that?" he whispered against her ear, breath hot, words sinful. "That's your love hole begging for my touch."

"Ahhh~ N-no... it's not true..." she whimpered, but her hips told a different story. Rolling down onto his fingers in helpless rhythm, like she was terrified he'd stop. Every slick grind was a silent confession, her soaked heat swallowing him deeper, begging without words.

Schlp... schlup... slrrrp...—The wet, shameless sounds filled the room, louder than her breath, louder than the crackle of flames behind them.

His thumb slid up, found her clit, and she arched, toes curling in pleasure.

Ffft—ffft—ffft...—Short, rapid flicks. Her clit throbbed under the pressure, under the heat. Her thighs trembled.

"Stop—d-don't—" she whimpered, the words hollow, meaningless. She didn't move away. She just moaned again when he shoved deeper.

Glrk—schlchhh—plk...—Her juices were coating his wrist now. She could hear it. Smell it. Feel it. Every pump drew more slick from her swollen folds, and every sound was a filthy declaration that she was losing it.

His lips brushed her temple. "Such a good, obedient hole… made to be fingered like this."

She choked out a broken moan as the pressure built, his fingers fucking her harder now, wet squelches turning rhythmic, obscene—Sschlp! Schlup! Slrk—schlk—plrp!

"Cumming already, Auntie?" he asked, voice almost a whisper.

She was barely holding on, her fingers gripping him like they were pleading—wait, not yet… let me savor this—but still, he didn't stop.