Chapter 153: Fucking Iridelle In Bedroom And Bathroom

“I truly missed you, Iridelle,” Alaric murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, those captivating purple pools that always seemed to reflect a galaxy of emotions. “This… this body of yours. Academy training is no substitute for this.”

Iridelle’s breath hitched again, a soft sound lost in the suddenly charged air of the room. “Young Master Alaric…” she breathed out, the words a mix of surprise and something deeper, something akin to fervent anticipation. Her hands, which had been resting on his shoulders, tightened their grip, her fingers digging lightly into the fabric of his tunic.

He didn’t hold back. Not now. Not after the chaos, the uncertainty, the stark reminder of fragility that the Academy’s fall had brought. He wanted to feel, to connect, to lose himself in the intoxicating reality of Iridelle. His body moved instinctively, pressing against her on the plush bed, the hardness of his thighs and chest meeting the yielding softness of hers.

His lips found hers again, this time with a raw urgency that banished any lingering gentleness. It wasn’t a tender kiss; it was a claiming, a possessive demand. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting her sweetness, mirroring the hunger that clawed at him. Iridelle responded instantly, eagerly, her own mouth opening wider, welcoming his invasion. A low moan escaped her throat, a sound that vibrated against his lips, fueling his desire even further.

It wasn’t their first time, not by a long shot. Their history was etched in shared breaths, tangled limbs, and whispered secrets in the dark. But tonight, there was a different edge to it, a primal need that surpassed the usual intoxicating dance of desire. Iridelle, ever attuned to his moods, seemed to sense it too. Her body arched into his, her fingers threading through his blonde hair, tugging gently, urging him closer.

“Young Master…” she murmured again, her voice thick with arousal, her breath hot against his cheek as he broke the kiss to trail a path down her jawline. “You’re… you’re very eager tonight.”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Eager? That’s putting it mildly, my dear Iridelle.” He nipped at the sensitive skin of her neck, feeling her shudder beneath him. “Let’s just say the journey back was… less than satisfying in certain aspects.”

Her giggle was breathy, laced with anticipation. “And you expect me to make up for it?”

“Expect?” He lifted his head, his ruby eyes locking onto hers, a predatory gleam in their depths. “No, Iridelle. I demand.”

The playful banter vanished, replaced by a silent understanding that crackled between them. His fingers found the hem of her dress, the simple fabric suddenly feeling like an unbearable barrier. With a swift, decisive movement, he tore at it, the sound of ripping cloth sharp in the quiet room. Buttons popped, seams gave way, and in moments, the dress was undone, sliding down her shoulders to pool around her waist.

And then, she was there. Unveiled.

His breath hitched. Even knowing what lay beneath, the sight of her always had this effect on him. Her skin, pale and luminous, seemed to glow in the soft light filtering through the window. Her breasts, full and heavy, strained against the delicate lace of her chemise, the fabric doing little to conceal the dark circles of her areolas and the tempting peaks of her nipples. Her curves were generous, undeniably voluptuous, a landscape designed to ignite a man’s desire.

“Gods, Iridelle,” he breathed, his voice rough with lust. His gaze lingered, feasting on her beauty, tracing the lines of her body, from the swell of her breasts to the curve of her hips, barely concealed by the remaining fabric.

He didn’t wait any longer. He bent his head, his mouth closing over one taut nipple, sucking deeply, drawing a gasp from her lips. Her hands tightened in his hair, her body arching up to meet his mouth, offering herself completely. He suckled and teased, his teeth gently scraping against the sensitive bud, sending shivers of pleasure through her.

His hand, meanwhile, roamed lower, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, the soft skin of her inner thigh. He found the edge of her chemise, pushing it higher, revealing more and more of her. Iridelle’s legs parted instinctively, inviting his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Young Master… ah…” she moaned as his fingers brushed against the damp heat between her legs. He didn’t hesitate, slipping a finger inside, finding her already slick and swollen. She cried out, her body bucking against his hand, her hips lifting off the bed.

He continued to lavish attention on her breasts, his mouth working magic, while his fingers explored her depths, teasing, stroking, building the tension within her to a fever pitch. He could feel her trembling, her body vibrating with suppressed desire, her moans growing louder, more insistent.

“Alaric… please…” she begged, her voice thick with need. “Please, Young Master, I can’t… I can’t wait anymore.”

He finally lifted his head, his eyes burning with desire, his own body aching for release. He shed his own tunic and trousers with impatient haste, his gaze never leaving her. She watched him, her purple eyes wide and dilated, her lips parted, her chest heaving with each breath.

And then, he was above her, his naked body pressing against hers, skin to skin, heat to heat. He positioned himself between her legs, the tip of his shaft nudging against her entrance, teasing, promising.

“Are you ready for me, Iridelle?” he murmured, his voice husky, his gaze intense.

“More than ready, Young Master,” she whispered back, her eyes locking onto his, a silent plea in their depths.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed into her, filling her completely. Iridelle cried out, a sharp intake of breath that quickly morphed into a moan of pleasure as he settled deep inside her.

He paused for a moment, letting her adjust to his size, letting the pleasure build between them. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back, urging him deeper, faster. He obliged, his movements becoming more insistent, more rhythmic, each thrust sending waves of sensation through them both.

He watched her face, her expressions mirroring the escalating pleasure that coursed through her. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was beautiful, utterly captivating in her surrender, in her raw, untamed desire.

He deepened his thrusts, his rhythm growing more aggressive, more demanding. He reached down, cupping her buttocks, lifting her hips higher, giving himself even greater access. Iridelle’s moans intensified, her body arching and bucking beneath him, her pleasure radiating outwards, engulfing him.

He changed positions, rolling them over so she was on top, straddling him, her legs wrapped around his waist. This position gave him a breathtaking view of her breasts, bouncing with each of her movements as she set her own pace, riding him with a newfound confidence. He reached up, cupping her breasts, kneading and squeezing them as she moved, his thumbs circling her nipples, sending shivers of ecstasy through her.

“Yes, Young Master… like that… ah…” she gasped, her voice breathless, her eyes glazed with pleasure. She leaned forward, pressing kisses to his chest, her hair falling around them like a silken curtain.

He flipped them again, this time positioning her on her hands and knees, her back arched, her curves displayed in a breathtakingly exposed manner. He knelt behind her, his hands gripping her hips, holding her firmly in place as he thrust into her from behind.

This position was raw, primal, and undeniably arousing. He could feel her tightness around him, her heat enveloping him, her moans echoing in his ears. He reached forward, his hand tangling in her long blue hair, tugging gently, tilting her head back, exposing her neck. He kissed the nape of her neck, his teeth nipping at her sensitive skin as he thrust deeper, harder, his rhythm relentless.

Her purple eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror across the room. They were wide, dilated, lost in a haze of pleasure, but they were also locked onto his, a silent connection passing between them. In those depths, he saw not just lust, but something deeper, something that resonated with his own soul.

Round after round, they explored each other, driven by a desire that seemed insatiable. He moved her, posed her, explored every inch of her body with his hands and mouth, each touch eliciting a gasp, a moan, a shiver of pleasure from her. She, in turn, was equally unrestrained, her hands roaming over his body, tracing his muscles, gripping his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin, her own desires mirroring his.

Time blurred, the night dissolving into a kaleidoscope of sensations. He lost count of the positions they explored, the kisses they shared, the moans and cries that filled the room. But he didn’t lose count of the climaxes. He knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within his bones, that one round, or even two, would never be enough with Iridelle.

And he was right. The first time he spilled his seed inside her, she was already begging for more. And he, fueled by her responsiveness, by the intoxicating scent of her arousal, by the sheer pleasure of being buried inside her, was more than happy to oblige.

He pulled out, repositioned her, and plunged back in. Then again. And again. Each round was different, each one building on the last, the intensity escalating, the pleasure deepening. He fucked her gently, passionately, aggressively, tenderly, each time molding his touch to her reactions, to her unspoken desires.

As the night deepened, and the first hints of dawn began to paint the sky outside the window, they were still entwined, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. He was inside her again, this time with her legs wrapped around his shoulders, her body completely exposed to him. He thrust deeply, his gaze locked on her face, watching the waves of pleasure wash over her.

“Young Master… I… I can’t…” she gasped, her body convulsing around him, her climax finally cresting, shattering through her in a series of shuddering moans.

He followed her soon after, his own release a roaring torrent of sensation that ripped through him, leaving him breathless, spent, and utterly satisfied. He collapsed against her, his weight supported by his arms, his forehead resting against hers.

They lay there for a long time, tangled together, their breathing slowly returning to normal, the silence punctuated only by the soft rhythm of their hearts. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, cocooned in the aftermath of their shared passion.

Finally, Alaric stirred, lifting his head to look at her. Her purple eyes were still glazed, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses. She was a vision of sated desire, of utter surrender, and he felt a surge of possessiveness, of fierce protectiveness, wash over him.

“Are you finally satisfied, Iridelle?” he murmured, his voice still rough, a hint of teasing in his tone.

She blinked slowly, a soft smile curving her lips. “Perhaps… for now, Young Master.” Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, her touch feather-light, yet sending shivers down his spine. “But I have a feeling… you’ll be needing more later.”

He grinned, a predatory gleam returning to his ruby eyes. “Oh, Iridelle,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her again, a slow, lingering kiss that promised much more to come. “You have no idea.”

And as the first rays of dawn crept into the room, casting a soft golden light over their tangled bodies, Alaric knew that this night, this release, this connection with Iridelle, was only the beginning. He had missed her more than he had realized, and he intended to make up for lost time, in every way imaginable.

~~

Still tangled together, their bodies slick and warm, Alaric shifted slightly, pulling Iridelle closer until she was nestled against his side. The first rays of dawn were painting the room in soft hues, a gentle intrusion into their private world.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep and sated desire, “Let’s wash off the night.”

He rose, pulling her up with him, their naked bodies sliding against each other as they stood. Iridelle swayed slightly, still pleasantly weak-kneed from their exertions, leaning into him for support. Her long blue hair, tousled and slightly damp, cascaded down her back, framing her flushed face and the lingering passion in her purple eyes.

“The day has already begun, Young Master,” she whispered, her voice husky, a hint of playful reproach in her tone. “And here we are, still… indisposed.”

Alaric chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against her skin. “Indisposed in the best possible way, wouldn’t you agree?” He cupped her face, his thumbs tracing the delicate curve of her cheekbones. “Besides, who dictates when our day begins but ourselves?”

He led her towards the bathroom, their bare feet padding softly on the plush carpet. The bathroom was spacious, a testament to the Steele family’s opulence. Pale marble gleamed in the morning light filtering through the frosted window, reflecting off the polished silver fixtures. A large, claw-footed tub stood invitingly in the center, and a separate, glass-enclosed shower stall stood in the corner. The air was cool and fresh, a stark contrast to the heated intimacy of the bedroom they had just left.

Iridelle stepped into the bathroom, her gaze taking in the luxurious surroundings for a fleeting moment before returning to Alaric. He was watching her, his ruby eyes alight with a familiar hunger, a silent promise of more pleasure to come.

“The tub, or the shower?” he asked, his voice a low murmur, his hand trailing down her arm, sending shivers through her skin.

Iridelle leaned into his touch, her body instinctively seeking his warmth again. “Whichever pleases Young Master most,” she replied softly, her gaze locking with his, a subtle challenge in her eyes.

A slow smile spread across Alaric’s face. “Both,” he decided, his voice firm, his intentions clear. “We’ll start with the shower. Efficiency, you see.”

He guided her towards the glass stall, the cool marble floor a slight shock to their bare feet. He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until the water was steaming hot, a fragrant mist filling the air. As the water cascaded down, he stepped in, pulling Iridelle in with him, the sudden warmth enveloping them both.

The hot water streamed over their skin, washing away the lingering traces of sweat and passion, but doing little to dampen the fire that still burned between them. Iridelle gasped as the water hit her, a small sound of surprised pleasure. She leaned back against Alaric, her body molding perfectly against his, the water sluicing down their entwined forms.

“Ah… this feels wonderful, Young Master,” she murmured, tilting her head back to let the water cascade over her face.

“Indeed,” Alaric agreed, his hands sliding around her waist, pulling her even closer. “But it could be even better.”

He took the bar of soap from the marble shelf, lathering it in his hands until it formed a rich, fragrant foam. Then, he began to wash her, his touch slow, deliberate, sensual. He started with her shoulders, his soapy hands gliding over her smooth skin, tracing the delicate bones, the soft curves.

“Iridelle,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, “You are truly exquisite.”

Her breath hitched again, a soft sound lost in the rush of the water. “Young Master…” she breathed, her body tingling under his touch.

He moved to her neck, his fingers working the soap into her skin, massaging gently, his thumbs circling the sensitive pulse point at the base of her throat. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck, feeling her shiver beneath him.

Then, his hands moved lower, sliding down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, the gentle swell of her buttocks. He cupped her, kneading softly, feeling the smooth curve of her flesh beneath the lather. Iridelle let out a soft moan, her body pressing back against his, seeking more of his touch.

“Are you enjoying this, Iridelle?” he asked, his voice a low murmur against her ear, his lips brushing against her skin.

“Immensely, Young Master,” she whispered, her voice thick with arousal. “Your touch… it’s always… intoxicating.”

He turned her gently in his arms, facing him now, the water streaming over their bodies, their gazes locked. He began to wash her breasts, his soapy hands gliding over the soft curves, circling her nipples, teasing them into hard peaks. Iridelle gasped, her breath catching in her throat, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, her nails digging lightly into his skin.

“Your breasts are magnificent, Iridelle,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on the full curves, the dark areolas, the tempting nipples. “Perfectly shaped, perfectly sensitive.”

He leaned down, his lips closing over one nipple, sucking gently through the lather, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her. He suckled and teased, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, sending waves of pleasure through her. Her body arched towards him, her hips pressing against his, her moans growing louder, more insistent.

“Young Master… ah… please…” she begged, her voice ragged, her body trembling.

He moved to her other breast, lavishing the same attention, his hands continuing to roam over her body, exploring every curve, every sensitive spot. He washed her stomach, his fingers tracing the delicate line of her waist, the gentle curve of her hips. He moved lower, his soapy hands sliding down her thighs, tracing the smooth skin, the delicate curves.

And then, his hands moved to the juncture of her legs, his fingers gently parting her, finding her still slick and swollen from their earlier encounter. He washed her there, his touch lingering, teasing, sending shivers of pleasure through her. Iridelle gasped, her body arching against his hand, her moans turning into soft cries of ecstasy.

“Young Master… you’re… you’re torturing me,” she whispered, her voice breathless, her eyes glazed with desire.

“Torturing you?” Alaric chuckled, his voice low and seductive. “Or pleasuring you beyond measure, Iridelle?”

He stepped back slightly, gesturing for her to turn around again. “Now, it’s your turn,” he said, his voice a low murmur, his eyes alight with anticipation.

Iridelle turned, her back to him, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what he wanted, what he expected. And she was more than willing to oblige. She took the soap from his hands, lathering it between her own, her gaze lingering on his naked back, the strong muscles flexing beneath his skin.

She began to wash him, her touch hesitant at first, then growing bolder, more confident. She started with his shoulders, her soapy hands gliding over his broad expanse, tracing the lines of his muscles, the curve of his neck. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.

“Young Master,” she murmured, her voice soft and intimate, “Your body is… magnificent.”

Alaric chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “And yours, my dear Iridelle, is a masterpiece.”

Her hands moved lower, sliding down his back, tracing the strong muscles, the curve of his spine. She reached around, her soapy breasts brushing against his back, her nipples grazing his skin, sending a jolt of electricity through him. She pressed closer, her body molding against his, her curves fitting perfectly against his angles.

“Is this… thorough enough, Young Master?” she asked, her voice teasing, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Thorough… and exquisitely distracting,” Alaric replied, his voice husky, his hands reaching back to cup her breasts, kneading them gently through the lather. “But I suppose I can endure it.”

She giggled, a soft, breathy sound that echoed in the shower stall. Her hands moved lower, sliding down his stomach, tracing the lines of his abs, the curve of his hips. She reached lower still, her fingers brushing against his already hardening shaft, sending a jolt of anticipation through him.

“Iridelle,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire, “Are you trying to drive me mad?”

“Perhaps, Young Master,” she whispered, her voice playful, her fingers now encircling his shaft, stroking gently, teasingly. “Is it working?”

“More than you know,” he breathed, his body tightening, his desire flaring anew. He turned to face her again, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer, their bodies pressed together from chest to thighs.

“Enough playing, Iridelle,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “We have a tub waiting for us.”

He turned off the shower, the sudden silence amplifying the sound of their ragged breathing. He stepped out of the stall, pulling her with him, water droplets clinging to their skin, glistening in the soft light. He led her to the tub, already filled with steaming water, fragrant with bath oils.

He stepped into the tub, the hot water enveloping him, easing his muscles, relaxing his senses. He reached out, pulling Iridelle in after him, her body sliding against his as she settled into the water, her sigh of contentment echoing in the spacious bathroom.

They sank into the warm water, their bodies entwined, the steam rising around them, creating a hazy, intimate atmosphere. Alaric pulled her close, cradling her against his chest, her back nestled against his front, her head resting on his shoulder. The water lapped gently around them, a soothing counterpoint to the lingering fire of their passion.

“This is… perfect, Young Master,” Iridelle murmured, her voice soft, her body completely relaxed against his.

“Almost,” Alaric corrected, his lips brushing against her ear. “It would be perfect if you were facing me.”

He gently turned her in his arms, until she was facing him, her legs straddling his in the warm water. He looked at her, his gaze lingering on her face, her eyes still glazed with sated desire, her lips still swollen from his kisses. He reached out, cupping her breasts again, his thumbs circling her nipples, bringing them to hard peaks once more.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, “This is perfect.”

He leaned in, his lips finding hers again, kissing her deeply, passionately, the water swirling around them, the steam enveloping them, their bodies entwined in a sensual embrace that promised to last long into the newly dawned day.

An hour later, they emerged from the bathroom, refreshed, invigorated, and undeniably intertwined. The lingering scent of bath oils and their own mingled scents clung to their skin, a subtle reminder of their intimate interlude. They were both dressed now, Iridelle in a flowing silk robe of deep violet, and Alaric in a tailored tunic of dark grey, both garments elegant and understated, reflecting the refined atmosphere of the Steele Family Mansion.