Chapter 217: Chapter : 217 : Two Days Until School!

The backyard was quiet in the early evening light—golden, lazy, the kind of sun that made everything feel slower, warmer, more intimate.

Aiden sat on the old stone bench near the rose trellis, legs spread comfortably.

Nayla was draped sideways across his lap like she belonged there—always had, always would.

Her long legs hung over one of his thighs, the sheer white-and-gold gown riding high enough to expose the smooth sapphire expanse of her upper thighs.

The plunging neckline barely contained her anymore; every breath made the heavy swell of her breasts threaten to spill completely free.

She had one arm looped possessively around the back of his neck, fingers playing idly with the short hairs at his nape.

Her other hand rested on his chest, palm flat over his heart, feeling it beat steady and strong beneath her touch.

Aiden’s left arm curled around her waist—firm, grounding—while his right hand roamed slowly, shamelessly, up the outside curve of her hip, then inward along the dip of her waist, before sliding higher to cup the underside of one massive breast.

He squeezed—gentle at first, then firmer—lifting the soft, impossible weight until his thumb brushed the dark edge of her areola peeking above the gold-embroidered neckline.

Nayla let out a low, pleased hum, arching just enough to press herself deeper into his palm.

“Mmm… you’re greedy today, Husband,” she purred, voice velvet and teasing.

Her crimson eyes half-lidded, lips curved in that familiar wicked smile.

“Two days until we have to behave at Albino’s… and you’re already treating me like I’m dessert.”

Aiden chuckled—low, rough—leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“You *are* dessert,” he murmured.

His thumb circled her nipple through the thin silk—slow, deliberate—watching it stiffen and push visibly against the fabric.

“And I’m starving.”

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her chest and into his hand.

He captured her mouth then—slow, deep, unhurried.

Their lips moved together like they’d done this a thousand times and still couldn’t get enough.

Tongues sliding, teasing, tasting—hers sweet and hot, his claiming and patient all at once.

She moaned quietly into the kiss, fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

When they parted—just enough to breathe—she nipped his lower lip lightly.

“You know that…” she whispered against his mouth, “They measured me. For uniforms. For ’proper fit.’”

Aiden’s hand slid lower—cupping the generous curve of her hip, squeezing the plush flesh there before sliding back up to palm her breast again.

“Tell me,” he said, voice dark and interested.

Nayla’s smile turned wicked.

“They made me stand in nothing but underthings while the matron scribbled numbers.”

She arched into his touch as his thumb flicked her nipple again—sharp enough to make her gasp softly.

“I remember the matron’s eyes went wide. She wrote down… 42 inches underbust, then 58 around the fullest part.”

Aiden groaned low in his throat—thumb pressing harder, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers.

“Fuck… 58?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Nayla leaned in, lips brushing his jaw.

“And my hips… 62 inches at the widest point. They had to special-order everything. Said I was ’disproportionate.’”

She laughed—soft, breathy—then moaned when he squeezed her breast harder, lifting and kneading the heavy flesh like he was trying to memorize it all over again.

Aiden kissed her again—hungrier this time—tongue sliding deep while his hand left her breast and slid down to grip her hip, fingers digging into the soft give of her flesh.

“Disproportionate,” he repeated against her lips, voice rough.

“They had no fucking idea what ’perfect’ looks like.”

Nayla whimpered into the kiss—hips rolling subtly in his lap, grinding herself against the hard length trapped beneath her.

His left hand slid up her spine—fingers threading into her midnight hair—tilting her head back so he could kiss down the elegant column of her throat.

He sucked lightly at her pulse point—then harder—leaving a faint red mark.

Nayla’s breath hitched.

“Keep going,” she whispered. “Mark me. Let them all see at Albino’s that I belong to you.”

Aiden growled low—teeth grazing her skin—then moved lower, kissing along the upper swell of her breast until his lips met the gold embroidery.

He tugged the neckline down with his teeth—slow, deliberate—until both heavy mounds spilled free into his waiting hands.

Nayla moaned—loud, shameless—arching her back to offer them fully.

Aiden took one nipple into his mouth—sucking hard, tongue swirling—while his other hand kneaded the second breast, fingers sinking deep into the soft, overflowing flesh.

“So fucking full,” he muttered against her skin.

“Look at these… no wonder they had to custom everything. You’re obscene.”

Nayla laughed breathlessly—then moaned again when he bit down lightly, tugging the nipple between his teeth.

“Obscene… and all yours,” she purred.

Aiden released her nipple with a wet pop—only to latch onto the other, giving it the same rough, worshipful treatment.

His hands roamed—squeezing her hips, sliding up to palm her breasts again, thumbs flicking both nipples at once until she was trembling in his lap.

“Two days,” he growled against her skin.

“Two days until we have to pretend to behave around all those stuck-up professors and students.”

Nayla’s head fell back—exposing her throat—moaning softly as his teeth grazed her again.

“Mmm… and you think I’m going to behave?” she teased.

“I’ll be sitting in your lap during every lecture… grinding on you under the desk… whispering exactly how wet I am while they drone on about mana theory.”

Aiden groaned—hips bucking up instinctively, grinding his hardness against her core through the thin layers of fabric.

“You’re going to get us expelled on day one,” he rasped.

Nayla laughed—low, wicked—then pulled his head back up so she could kiss him again.

Deep.

Filthy.

Tongues sliding, teeth nipping, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths.

When they parted, she rested her forehead against his—breathing hard.

“Good,” she whispered.

“Let them try to expel us. I’ll just wish the whole school into the void… and keep you all to myself.”

Aiden chuckled—dark, hungry—hands squeezing her hips hard enough to bruise.

“Two days,” he promised.

“Two days… and then I’m bending you over every desk, every table, every wall in that fucking academy.”

Nayla’s eyes flashed—crimson glowing faintly with power and lust.

“Promise?”

He kissed her again—slow, claiming, final.

“Promise.”

—

The golden light had softened into something warmer, lazier, when a sudden soft thump landed beside them on the bench.

It was a bag, and it was from Albinos.

Nayla’s head tilted curiously.

She reached over without moving from his lap, long fingers curling around the drawstring.

Aiden’s hand paused mid-squeeze on her hip as she lifted the bag into view.

They turned just in time to see it—a white owl with striking, intelligent eyes—perched briefly near the window.

Aiden’s brows lifted.

“That’s the same one,” he said quietly, recognition flickering in his eyes.

“The one that brought our acceptance letters… and the first batch of clothes.”

Nayla smiled—soft, indulgent—and lifted her free hand in a gentle wave.

“Go on, little one,” she murmured. “Fly safe.”

The owl bobbed its head once—almost gratefully—then launched itself into the air with a quiet flutter of wings.

It spiraled upward once, twice, catching the last rays of sunlight on its feathers before vanishing over the treetops.

Nayla’s attention returned to the bag.

She reached inside and pulled out a neatly folded bundle of fabric— unmistakable crest of Albino’s School of Wizardry and Witchcraft embroidered in shimmering thread over the left breast.

She unfolded it slowly.

The uniform was elegant, tailored, scandalously form-fitting.

Nayla held the blouse up against her chest, letting the fabric drape over her obscene curves.

The material stretched taut across her breasts immediately—barely containing them.

She arched a brow at Aiden.

“Well?” she purred. “What do you think, Husband?”

Aiden’s gaze darkened as it raked over her—imagining the uniform stretched tight across every impossible inch of her body.

“You’ll look breathtaking in it,” he said, voice low and rough.

“Every professor, every student… they’re going to forget how to breathe the second you walk in.”

Nayla’s smile turned slow, wicked.

She leaned in close—lips brushing his ear, breath hot.

“Should I… shed everything I’m wearing right now?” she whispered, voice dripping honey and sin.

“Strip down naked in the middle of the backyard… and let you watch me slide into this little uniform piece by piece? Let you see exactly how it clings to every curve… how it barely holds my breasts… how the skirt rides up my thighs the moment I move?”

Aiden’s grip on her hip tightened—hard enough to bruise.

His cock—already half-hard from the earlier teasing—swelled fully beneath her, pressing insistently against her core through their clothes.

Nayla let out a soft, pleased moan—hips rolling once, grinding down against him.

“Or maybe…” she continued, voice breathy, teasing, “I should bend over this bench right now… hike the skirt up… and let you fuck me while I’m still wearing the school colors. Let everyone who looks out the window tomorrow morning see exactly what kind of ’student’ I’ll be.”

Aiden groaned—low, tortured—hands sliding up to cup both of her breasts through the thin gown, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp.

“You’re going to get us in trouble before we even step foot on campus,” he rasped.

Nayla laughed—soft, wicked—then leaned in and kissed him.

Deep.

Filthy.

Tongues sliding, teeth nipping, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths like the world had narrowed to just this bench, this moment, this heat.

When they finally parted—both breathing hard—she rested her forehead against his.

“Later,” Aiden growled, voice thick with promise.

“We’ll do all of that later. Right now…”

He pulled her closer—crushing her against his chest—and kissed her again.

Slower this time.

Deeper.

Like he was trying to pour every filthy fantasy into her mouth.

Nayla melted against him—arms wrapping around his neck, fingers threading into his hair—moaning softly as his hands roamed her body again.

One palm slid down to grip her hip—squeezing the plush flesh there—while the other returned to her breast, kneading roughly, thumb flicking her nipple until it stood painfully hard against the silk.

She whimpered into the kiss—hips grinding down against his hardness in slow, needy circles.

—

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