Extra's Life: MILFs Won't Leave the Incubus Alone-Chapter 225: Broken Heart

The vast bed was a battlefield of silk and sweat, bodies strewn across it like offerings after a long and savage rite. Moonlight slid through the high lancet windows in cold blades, cutting across bare breasts and parted thighs, across throats still flushed from screaming his name.

Three nuns lay tangled together, black veils long discarded, their fingers still laced with the crimson silk of the two female cardinals who breathed slow and deep beside them.

Another sister was curled against the headboard, lips swollen, a faint smear of Aiden’s release drying on her inner thigh like sacred chrism turned profane.

The air itself was thick—musk, melted beeswax, the copper-salt sweetness of sex that refused to cool.

Aiden rose from the ruin of sheets without waking them. Their warmth clung to his skin the way incense clings to stone, heavy, intoxicating, impossible to shake.

He walked naked to the balcony, every footstep silent on the frigid marble, the night wind licking the sweat from his back and raising the fine hairs along his spine.

His cock, half-hard still from the memory of mouths and cunts, swayed heavy between his thighs as he leaned against the balustrade.

Below, the cathedral sprawled like a sleeping dragon of stone and shadow. And there—on the narrow ledge used only by ravens and the desperate—knelt Seraphael.

The spy’s hood fell back. Moonlight carved harsh lines across a face too young for the things it had witnessed. Aiden did not speak. He simply waited, letting the wind coil around his bare body, letting the silence stretch until it became a blade pressed to Seraphael’s throat.

"You bring news," he said at last, voice low, almost fond.

Seraphael swallowed hard. "The Inquisitors take your coin with both hands now, Lucifer. The old ones toast the Prophet who feeds them while the Pope hoards gold for his own belly.

They call you the Hand of God in their cups." A breath, thin and trembling. "But the young ones... the ones who still believe in cleansing fire... they name Lucifer a serpent with a gilded tongue."

Lucifer. The word tasted like old blood in Aiden’s mouth.

He remembered the first time he had spilled that blood himself—how he had opened his own veins above the high altar, letting it rain down the marble steps while the crowd screamed miracle.

How the pain had been bright, honest, exquisite. How he had smiled through it because pain could be shaped, and shaped pain could crown a king.

His fingers curled against cold stone. The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming roses from the garden far below, and something darker beneath it—fear, perhaps, or anticipation.

"Prune them," he said quietly. "One by one. A slipped blade in the training yard. A chalice of wine laced just enough. A horse startled at dawn. Make it gentle. Make it look as though God Himself grew weary of their righteousness."

Seraphael’s eyes widened, pupils blown black in the moonlight. "They are ours—"

Aiden moved faster than thought. One moment he was at the balustrade; the next his hand clamped around the spy’s skull, thumb pressing just beneath the eye socket, intimate as a lover’s threat.

"Tell me," he whispered, breath warm against Seraphael’s ear, "what would Saintess Calipso think if she knew you hesitated?" The name dropped between them like a heated brand.

"The woman who held the iron to her own tongue so no secret could ever escape. The woman who kissed you after, tasting of blood and forgiveness. Would she stroke your cheek for this disobedience... or would she smile while the blade took your tongue instead?"

Seraphael shuddered—hard, involuntary, the way a hound shudders when it remembers the first lash of the whip.

Memory flashed behind his eyes: Calipso’s pale hands guiding the iron, the wet hiss of flesh, the way her lips had found his afterward and tasted of copper and absolution. A single tear slid from the corner of his eye, cold against Aiden’s thumb.

"I understand," he rasped, not knowing it was all just in his dream.

Aiden released him slowly, deliberately, fingers trailing down the boy’s cheek almost tenderly.

"Good boy."

Seraphael melted back into shadow as silently as he had come, swallowed by the night.

Aiden lingered. When he saw someone.... Below, in the moon-drenched garden, two figures moved between the rose hedges—white hair catching starlight, a hesitant grace that had once belonged only to prayer and now belonged, body and soul, to him.

Beside her walked the new priest-boy, hand outstretched, mouth shaping words Aiden could not hear but could taste all the same: run, marry, escape.

They were smiling and then right after...He watched her pull away. Watched her flee. Watched the boy stand frozen among the thorns, bleeding from wounds no blade had yet delivered.

Something ancient and ravenous uncurled in Aiden’s chest—satisfaction sharp as shattered stained glass, desire hot enough to scorch bone.

Aiden kept watching them in the moon-bleached garden: The boy Elan, reached for her hand, fingers trembling with the same devotion he had carried since they were children chasing fireflies.

She let him hold it for one heartbeat... two... then wrenched away as though the touch scalded her. Even from this height Aiden saw the shake of her head, the frantic step backward, the white spill of her hair as she fled toward the cathedral doors.

A slow, vicious smile curved his mouth. Mine.

He left the balcony, the night wind still licking the sweat from his bare skin, cock already heavy again with anticipation. The corridors were empty, torches guttering low, and every footstep echoed like a heartbeat leading him straight to her.

She was halfway down the hall that housed the saintess’s private chamber, shoulders bowed, arms wrapped around herself as though the night had turned cold inside her ribs. Moonlight from a high window painted silver tears on her cheeks.

"Little saint," he called, voice soft, lethal.

She spun. The moment her wet yellow eyes found him , naked, moonlight carving every line of muscle and old scar, cock thick and shameless between his thighs, something shattered in her face.

Relief. Hunger. Worship. She ran to him, slammed into his chest, arms flinging around his neck as fresh tears soaked his skin.

He let her cling, let her shake, let her breathe him in: sex and smoke and power. His hands settled possessively on the curve of her waist, thumbs stroking just beneath her breasts through the thin gown.

"What happened?" he murmured against her temple.

Between broken sobs she told him everything: the proposal, the plea to run, the terror in Elan’s voice when he spoke of Lucifer.

Aiden’s blood ignited. He cupped her tear-stained face, tilted it up, and kissed her.

Not gentle. Never gentle.

His mouth took hers like conquest: lips bruising, tongue sliding deep, tasting salt and surrender.

She melted instantly, a soft desperate sound vibrating against his lips as she opened wider, letting him devour her. He kissed her until her knees buckled, until the only thing keeping her upright was his arm locked around her waist and the rigid length of his cock grinding slow and deliberate against her belly.

Far down the shadowed corridor, half-hidden behind a marble pillar, Elan watched. Moonlight caught the horror widening his eyes as the Prophet naked, unashamed, claimed the mouth of the girl he had sworn to save.

Aiden felt him there. Felt the boy’s heart crack like fragile ice. And smiled into the kiss, teeth grazing her lower lip.

He broke away only long enough to lift her. Her legs locked around his waist on instinct, ankles crossing at the small of his back, the soaked heat of her cunt rubbing against his bare cock with every step.

He carried her through the open door of her bedroom and left it wide. Let the boy see. Let him break completely.

The bed sighed beneath her weight as he threw her down. Moonlight drenched the white linens, turned her tears to scattered diamonds on her lashes. She stared up at him , gown clinging to every curve, nipples peaked and straining, thighs already parting in invitation.

He tore the gown away in one savage pull. Fabric ripped like a scream. Her breasts spilled free, pale and perfect, marked faintly from earlier nights. He shed the last pretense of restraint, crawling over her like a predator finally allowed its prey.

"No more tears," he growled, voice raw with hunger and triumph. "Tonight I’ll fuck every thought of him out of this sweet little body until the only name you know is mine."

She arched into him with a broken cry, hands reaching, hips rolling, already begging. "Please—Aiden—please—"

She spread her thighs wide, hooked one leg over his shoulder, and pulled into him. And he followed, driving his cock inside her in one strike.

"Aahhhh, Oh my Prophet!!!"

She screamed, his name, raw and reverent, back bowing off the bed, cunt clenching around the sudden invasion like she was trying to pull him deeper and never let go.

He gave her no mercy, no pause. He fucked her with long, punishing strokes, hips snapping, balls slapping against her ass, the wet, filthy sound of their joining loud enough to spill into the corridor.

Slap slap slap slap

"Ahhh ahh ahhh ahh..fuck fuck....fuck me!!"

Every thrust dragged the thick head of his cock across that devastating spot inside her. Her free leg locked around his hip, heel digging into his back, urging him harder, deeper.

Tears still leaked from the corners of her eyes, but now they were tears of overwhelming pleasure, of surrender so complete it looked like prayer.

"Look at me," he snarled, fisting white hair, forcing her gaze to his golden eyes. "Look at who owns you."

"Yours," she sobbed, voice cracking. "Only yours—always—"

He rewarded her with a deeper angle that punched the breath from her lungs. The bedframe slammed against the wall in violent rhythm, headboard cracking plaster.

"FUCK...OHHH..AHHH AHHH AHHHH YESSS AHHH!"

Moonlight painted them in silver and shadow: his back flexing, her breasts bouncing, the place where they joined glistening with her arousal and the remnants of his earlier sins. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Beyond the open door, Elan watched every second, watched her claw red lines down Aiden’s back, watched her cunt take every inch like she was born for it, watched her face twist in ecstasy she had never given him).

Inside, Aiden slipped a hand between them, thumb finding her swollen clit, rubbing hard, merciless circles.

"Come for me, little saint," he rasped against her lips. "Scream my name so he hears it in his nightmares."

She shattered then and their.

"I’m gonna cum.. gonna cum... I’m CUMMING!!!"

Her orgasm tore through her like lightning, cunt spasming in violent pulses, a flood of wet heat soaking them both. She screamed, loud enough to echo down the stone corridors, loud enough to brand itself into Elans soul forever.

Aiden followed with a guttural snarl, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside her in thick, endless ropes. He ground against her through it, hips jerking, marking her from the inside out until they were both shaking and still joined.

He stayed inside her, forehead pressed to hers, breath mingling.

"Say it again," he whispered, voice soft now, almost tender.

She tightened her legs around him, holding him deep, and looked straight into his eyes.

"I’m yours. Only yours. Forever."

From the corridor came the faintest sound, almost lost beneath their panting of something breaking. A heart, perhaps.

Aiden smiled against her swollen lips and began to move again, slow and deliberate, drawing a shattered moan from her throat.

Outside the open door, moonlight stretched cold across the floorboards, catching the glint of a single tear on stone Elan’s last offering to a love already claimed, body and soul, by the devil wearing a prophet’s face.

And beneath them both, the cathedral itself seemed to sigh, as though every saint carved into its walls had finally turned away, unable to watch the new saintess choose again and again the only god she would ever kneel for.