Chapter 104: Racheal’s Unique Taste [+18]

Damian walked into Racheal’s room and shut the door quietly behind him. He wore a bathrobe, dry but slightly disheveled, his hair left untended after his shower.

Unlike the others, her room had no bedside lamp. Yet the darkness posed no obstacle. Damian saw everything clearly, including the upper half of Racheal’s face peeking out from beneath the duvet, her eyes watching him shyly.

“Thank you for taking a shower first,” she muttered softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

A faint smile tugged at Damian’s lips.

Without waiting for his reply, she pulled the duvet aside, revealing the smooth expanse of her fair, bare skin. She tapped the space beside her gently, beckoning him closer.

Damian let the robe slip from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor as he revealed himself fully. Racheal’s gaze lingered, a soft smile forming as her eyes traced over him, watching as his body responded to her presence.

He moved toward the bed and lay beside her. In the next moment, she climbed onto him, her body aligning with his cock as she pressed close, drawing him into her pussy. She did not hesitate, letting his cock break into her moist pussy hole, her breath catching as she felt something hard drilling a whole in her.

A soft moan escaped her lips as she collapsed gently against his chest, her body trembling faintly before stilling. She did not rush. She remained there, resting against him, savoring the quiet intimacy she had grown accustomed to.

Unlike the others, Racheal was not driven by urgency or intensity. What she cherished was this, the stillness, the closeness, the unspoken bond. Nights with her were not about fleeting passion but lingering connection. She preferred to lie with him, to talk, to listen, to share the weight of their thoughts.

What could surpass this feeling?

They lay together in silence, her body moving in slow, subtle rhythm against his, unhurried and deliberate, as though following a quiet pulse only she could hear.

“This project you are working on with the gangster… what’s it about?” Racheal finally asked, breaking the silence.

Damian smiled faintly. He had expected this. While she rarely inserted herself into his human affairs openly, she was always the most curious, the one who sought to understand him beyond the surface.

More than once, he had found himself sharing things with her he would not say to anyone else. Though he loved all his wives equally, there was something uniquely grounding about her presence.

With a quiet smile, Damian began to explain Hazel’s plan to accelerate his growth through the creation of a church. Racheal listened intently, her curiosity deepening as she urged him to continue. He spoke of influence, of gathering followers, of the benefits he expected to gain, spiritual, financial, and charismatic.

He was building something vast, something that could shape the city itself. A structure of belief that would anchor his rise, feeding directly into his political ambitions.

Yet, as he spoke, it became clear her interest lay elsewhere.

“These benefits are nothing compared to the real price,” Racheal said, her face hovering inches above his.

“The real price? What’s that?” he asked.

“Faith,” she answered without hesitation.

Damian’s brow furrowed slightly at the word.

Something about it stirred him, though he could not explain why.

Sensing his confusion, Racheal’s expression tightened into a frown as she pushed herself upright. The sudden movement sent a ripple through both of them, drawing soft reactions that quickly dissolved the tension.

She steadied herself, her breathing slowing as she adjusted her posture, a faint flush coloring her face.

“Don’t tell me Hazel didn’t explain how this whole ’God’ thing works,” she said, a hint of irritation slipping into her tone.

Damian opened his mouth to respond, then paused before simply shaking his head.

Racheal sighed and muttered under her breath, her frustration spilling out for a moment before she composed herself.

“What do you think it takes to become a god?” she asked, her voice calmer now, but edged with intent.

Damian fell silent, turning the question over in his mind. He had grown up around religion, but belief had never taken root in him.

“Power?” he answered, though uncertainty colored his voice.

Racheal scoffed softly and shook her head, folding her arms loosely as she regarded him.

“Authority.”

The word struck him like a silent blow.

Something within him reacted instantly. His thoughts sharpened, his awareness narrowing as though the world had suddenly aligned around that single concept. His heart beat faster, his blood surging with an unfamiliar intensity.

It felt profound, yet just out of reach.

“Explain,” he said, his tone quieter now, more focused.

Racheal nodded slightly.

“Power doesn’t truly exist the way you think it does. What people call power is often just authority misunderstood.” She gestured faintly as she spoke. “Take your sin of lust. What you are gaining isn’t raw strength. It’s authority over that domain. The right to command it, shape it, enforce it.”

She leaned closer again, her gaze steady.

“The authority that elevates mortals, demons, angels, even beings like me into gods… that authority comes from mortals. Only mortals can grant it. Whether you take it through fear or earn it through faith makes no difference.”

Damian’s expression sharpened.

“Wait. What do you mean only mortals can give it?”

Racheal did not hesitate. She began explaining patiently, her voice steady and certain. She spoke of the vastness of the universe, of laws even gods must obey, of unseen balances that governed existence itself.

Then she revealed the core truth.

Gods did not simply rise by their own will. They depended on mortals. On their belief, their fear, their devotion. The universe itself enforced this dependency, perhaps as a restraint, or perhaps as protection.

“That is why mortals still exist,” Racheal said firmly. “If the heavens had no need for them, they would have crushed the earth long ago.”

Her certainty carried weight.

Damian felt it.

He understood then that this was no ordinary conversation. This was not something to be skimmed over or half understood. This was a foundation, something that could shape everything he was becoming.

And for the first time, he welcomed the depth of it.

He wanted to understand authority.

He wanted to understand what it truly meant to rise.

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