Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 2
Translated by Elphie
Prologue (2)
‘It’s to be expected.’
He was a paladin of the temple, a divine blade honed through austere discipline and a chaste life, grounded in unwavering faith—a warrior near ascetic perfection. Hence, like any devout priest of the temple, he was averse to emotions, shunning them in his rigorous pursuit. To him, women were merely objects to be avoided and guarded against.
‘And yet I held his hand.’
As it was, being a weak purifier and offering no real assistance, the fact that he didn’t outright recoil from her prolonged touch was, in itself, something to be grateful for.
Click.
The sound of the door opening snapped Irene out of her reverie. She looked up, and there he was, already out of the bathroom.
“…!”
The moment she laid eyes on him, Irene instinctively held her breath, unaware of her own reaction.
Brilliant blonde hair that looked like it was made from a mixture of sunshine and honey. Eyebrows as pronounced and meticulous as his disposition, sitting below the most pristine azure eyes, mirroring the clearest autumn sky. And his features—so flawlessly chiseled, almost questionable in their perfection. It was a face that she couldn’t help but admire.
But it wasn’t just his face that was perfect. Droplets of water that hadn’t been brushed out of his still-damp hair fell over his broad shoulders and trickled down the muscles of his well-defined chest. Following the lines of his taut body, the water droplets flowed freely until they met an obstacle, disappearing from sight.
Irene’s eyes followed the drops until she realized the nature of the obstruction, causing her to startle and panic.
“S–Sir Michael! Your clothes…!”
Michael was wearing nothing but a large towel draped roughly over his lower half.
Irene’s face instantly flushed red.
His physique was just as, if not more, exquisite than his face. If a deity of war manifested in this world, she might envision a body like his. Tight, well-defined, perfect muscles, never too much, never too little.
His flawlessly refined physique exuded a sense of beauty in itself. She wondered if he realized she was staring at him.
He opened his mouth.
“Irene.” He spoke her name in a low, husky voice that made her tremble just to hear it. “Didn’t we agree that you wouldn’t call me ‘Sir’ anymore?”
“Well, that’s true but…!”
Before Irene could finish, he took a step closer, now near the edge of the bed where she sat. And as the distance closed, the outline of his body, wrapped in a white towel, became more sharply defined.
‘Oh my god, heavens above.’
Irene desperately called out to god. There he was, the Sword of God.
Surely, he earned that nickname due to possessing strength unparalleled by anyone else. Although, she had her suspicions that maybe it might be for something else now that she was seeing his lower half.
Moving closer, Michael stood in front of Irene and pointed to the small cuts that dotted his body.
“These are the wounds I received in the dungeon today.”
Wounds? They were scratches, at best. To a knight, these were nothing.
“Also, I’ve been staying in the dungeon for long enough that I’ve accumulated a lot of magic, so…”
A body that still retained the heat of battle leaned closer to Irene. The next moment, her vision spun. When she came to her senses, Michael’s body was already on top of her.
“So, Irene. My pair. My wife.”
His knee dug into Irene’s long, slender legs and spread them apart.
The heat of battle remained intact on his body. It was too much for her, and she was unable to do anything but open her legs helplessly as he pressed himself against her.
His knee came up between her legs, rubbing her gently through the thin fabric. That alone made her flinch and she couldn’t help but let out an audible moan.
It was a place he visited several times. Just yesterday, he’d dug into her tight flesh and spread her open to his shape.
A dizzying smile appeared on his beautiful face. Slowly, he leaned down.
Tkk–
Irene felt the towel he was wearing fall on her body. And then his incredibly contoured body was pressed against her leg.
When she couldn’t breathe from his mass and size, Michael whispered in her ear, “Tonight, I want to be cleansed by you.”
His knee pressed hard against her intimate place. He whispered again with a low chuckle as Irene shuddered at the l*scivious action.
“Long and slow.”
Irene swallowed her breath at his l*stful words.
That’s strange. Something wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be…
‘You were definitely a paladin in a previous life who wouldn’t even lay a finger on me, right?’
It was definitely like that.
