Salvation of the Fallen - Chapter 32
“Haa…. Arsena.”
Tarta gritted his teeth. It was his limit. He growled lowly as he thrust himself deeper and faster.
“Hwaah.”
Thick s*men poured into her v*gina. Arsena’s inner walls twitched rapidly, sucking and pulling. Her eyes became hazy, and saliva dripped from her parted lips. She savored the strong scent as she rubbed her tingling chest against the floor. The true scent of salvation.
“What should I do if you spill everything after I’ve worked so hard to feed you?”
Tarta, pulling out his glistening m*mber, clicked his tongue regretfully and scooped up the dripping s***n with his fingers, stuffing it back into her twitching hole. Arsena’s unfocused eyes, broken and disconnected, suddenly widened.
“Leaking like this. How naughty.”
Arsena cried out as if in ecstasy at the touch of his fingers curling and stimulating her swollen insides. Cloudy fl*ids flowed out of her entrance along with tears.
“Haah. Ha, uhaa.”
Arsena crawled on the floor with Tarta’s fingers still inside her. She had to escape. Otherwise, it felt like her mind, already mushy and overripe, would burst. It was her limit.
But that feeble attempt only fueled Tarta’s desire.
“Aah….”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
With a light pull on her waist, Arsena was dragged back. Only her fingertips helplessly scratched the rough floor.
“Haa, hwaa.”
Thwack. Instead of fingers, Tarta’s member filled her reddened, fluttering entrance. Arsena sobbed as if her breath was cut off. Tarta showed no mercy.
“Hwaah, heu, haah.”
Every time Tarta thrust his hips forcefully, it felt like she was being choked. The male member, buried in one go with a thud, resonated tinglingly as it pierced her inner walls. His heavy t*sticles struck her cl*toris, and her twitching v*ginal walls were pushed up by the ma$sive column. Arsena sobbed at the stimulation crushing her sensitized inner walls, smashing her head against the stone floor in pl*asure bordering on torture.
Arsena’s blue eyes turned upward at another ej*culation. A large hand with prominent veins cradled Arsena’s head, pulling her into his embrace. Tarta licked her earlobe, breathing hot air into it, and let out a pained moan. As if still not satisfied, Tarta was rubbing the heat of his thickly protruding member against Arsena’s reddened, crushed thighs. It was somehow a pitiful sight.
When she reached out to stroke his hot, curved back, the place where his wings were hidden twitched. At the same time, cruel memories sprouted like thorns.
“Ah… No. I’m sorry. Don’t take me away. Rather… kill me. I want to stop now… Please stop. Please…. I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Tarta’s red eyes crumpled at the sight of her blue eyes darting rapidly through the air, struggling to push away his shoulders with nonexistent strength.
Even in his arms, Arsena trembled in fear, seeing an illusion. It was obvious who, what she was seeing. Tarta gritted his teeth.
“Look. Look at me. Arsena. In whose hands you are.”
At the arrogant command, her terrified, blurred gaze turned to Tarta. Snow-white hair w*t with sweat. Red eyes burning like Laiti’s fire. Angular shoulders and fractured muscles are revealed through his now-undone top.
Everything was burning bright red. Arsena gazed in awe at the predator that had pounced on her.
“Aah.”
Tarta’s center, pushing into her entrance more slowly than before. It was pain and pleasure that felt like her whole body was splitting. A moan like an exclamation scattered into the air, and her head tilted back sharply.
“I said look at me.”
Tarta’s hand gripped Arsena’s chin, fixing her gaze. Towards himself, gritting his teeth and growling as he dug into the fragile female body.
Through shallow, panting breaths and blurred vision, she saw Tarta’s face. The cruel man’s face was also contorted, wandering somewhere between pain and pleasure. The trembling from fear stopped, and relief settled in her blue eyes that had been shaking greatly with fear. Everything was perfect.
“F**k.”
With a short curse, Tarta buried his face in Arsena’s shoulder. As if he couldn’t handle it. He buried his nose in her delicate nape, inhaling as if stealing her scent.
Tarta, buried deep inside her. Arsena didn’t know the weight of it. But his contorted face resembled her own. Arsena raised her delicate hand to embrace his moon-like silver hair.
Tarta’s red gaze turned to Arsena. It was impossible to tell who initiated it, but they overlapped their hot breaths and sucked each other’s tongues, exchanging bodily fl*ids. As if binding each other.
The massive body that had been tightly pressed against her curved like a snake, digging deeper into Arsena. The cool yet hot body temperature spread like paint on her sensitized senses.
“Haah.”
Agonizingly slow movements. A kiss that seemed endless, as if she would suffocate. And Tarta’s heavy, wet upper body pressed against her chest. A sticky entanglement that felt like it would burn from the heat. Rough breaths tightly wrapped and bound together. And the dizzying, alluring scent flowing out.
The overflowing, rampant s***n squelched, acting as a lubricant. Tarta continuously drove himself into the narrow, moist entrance.
Tarta’s increasingly short upward thrusts seemed to cry out for attention. Each time it resonated against her inner walls, her mind tingled. She couldn’t think of anything. As if the incident of the God’s Blades coming to take her away was a story from a distant past. Tarta had once again saved her from fear.
“Haah….”
As Arsena’s entrance convulsed lengthily, Tarta once again poured out his thick, milky fluid. Her inner walls twitched, desperately drinking in the hot s***n. Her tear-stained blue eyes became hazy at the strong, lewd scent.
For this moment, her misfortune, God, fate, and fear all seemed distantly far away. Even if just for an instant.
“Thank you.”
For saving me….
After barely uttering these faint words, Arsena went limp.
Despite his rough behavior and not a single kind word, she considered it salvation. He had merely confined her and turned her mind to mush. A strange light flickered in Tarta’s red eyes.
***
After the visit of the God’s Blades, Arsena gradually withered away. Even wrapped in bedding softer than clouds, she writhed in pain as if lying on a bed of thorns. Each time, a rough lovemaking would drain her soul, but only temporarily. Once she regained her senses, she would quickly lick her own darkness with dilated pupils and crawl to Tarta, begging.
“Actually, I was happy. When my mother died. I thought I couldn’t escape anymore. I thought God had answered my prayers. How foolish….”
Tarta’s face hardened coldly at Arsena’s confession, repeated almost daily. He knew where it would lead.
“It was me who gave Rosalyn the aphr*disiac on her engagement day. I was the one who called the Peter brothers. When everything was exposed, I was so delighted…. It was hard to hold back my laughter. I thought I’d be caught because my body was shaking so much.”
“Stop. That’s enough now.”
Despite the cold warning, Arsena moved her parched lips to confess her sins.
“I knew. That Viareche was dying. What’s a mere pride worth? Stupid girl. But the funniest part was the men. Do you know what Morpheus’s expression was like then? It was even thrilling. And the Count who ran away with his tail between his legs. Those idiots wouldn’t know even if they died. What illegitimate child? As if matching eye color is any kind of evidence.”
Yes. Actually, it felt good. That everyone was becoming unhappy. The shadow of misfortune cast around her. The fact that it wasn’t just her misfortune alone.
