Chapter 184: In the Garden (R-18)

Damon walked calmly through the inner garden, his mood noticeably lighter than minutes before. There was something in the air that morning—the smell of damp earth, the distant song of demonic birds—that left him strangely at peace.

Then he saw her.

Esther was kneeling among the flowerbeds, focused on watering the flowers. Her simple work dress contrasted with her usual rigid and controlled posture. Every movement was precise, economical, almost military. The water trickled slowly down the dark petals, reflecting the soft sunlight.

Damon paused for a moment, observing.

A crooked smile appeared on his face.

He approached silently and, in an impulsive gesture, enveloped Ester from behind, pulling her against his chest in a firm but careful embrace.

“Damon,” she said immediately, her voice cold, almost automatic. “Let go.”

She tried to pull away, nudging him with her elbow, but he didn’t budge immediately.

“Hey, calm down,” he said, chuckling softly. “You’re acting like I’m a stranger.”

“That’s not appropriate,” she replied, turning her face away. “We’re in the middle of the garden.”

“We’ve done far less ’appropriate’ things,” he retorted casually. “Including together. And not just once.”

Esther’s body stiffened.

Her face flushed.

“This…this doesn’t change anything,” she said, clearly uncomfortable. “Just let go.”

Damon tilted his head, bringing his face close to her neck. There was no hurry in the gesture, no force. Just closeness. Intimacy.

“You don’t have to be so cold to me all the time,” he murmured. “After everything.”

She pressed her lips together, clearly struggling to maintain her composure.

“You’re impossible,” she said, her voice lower now. “Go away, Damon.”

He smiled at that.

Instead of pulling away, he placed a light kiss on the curve of her neck—nothing invasive, nothing rushed. Just enough to make her hold her breath for a second.

Then he leaned in a little closer and spoke close to her ear, his voice low, full of sincere warmth:

“But I miss you, darling.”

For a moment, Esther didn’t answer.

The hand holding the watering can trembled slightly, and a few drops of water fell outside the flowerbed. She closed her eyes for a brief second, as if gathering strength.

“You…” she began, but the sentence died before it could form.

She turned suddenly, finally managing to break free from the embrace. Her face was visibly flushed, her eyes avoiding his.

“Go away,” she repeated, pointing to the garden path. “Now.”

Damon raised his hands in surrender, still smiling.

“Alright,” he said. “I understand.”

He took a step back, then another, without taking his eyes off her.

Ester turned abruptly, her face still hot, ready to say something—anything—that would restore the distance she insisted on maintaining.

She didn’t have time.

Damon gently pulled her arm and kissed her.

It wasn’t a careful kiss like the previous one. It was firm, decisive, full of everything he had been holding back since last night. There was no violence in the gesture, only certainty. His hand rested securely on her waist, keeping her close, as if saying without words that he didn’t intend to back down this time.

For an instant—just one—Ester’s body froze.

Then she reacted.

The watering can slipped from her fingers and fell onto the damp earth with a muffled sound. Her tense shoulders relaxed almost against her will, and the breath she’d been holding escaped in an involuntary sigh. The resistance that always came first… simply didn’t appear.

She responded.

Not hastily, nor urgently, but with a silent surrender, like someone who finally stopped fighting something too obvious to ignore. Her hand closed on the fabric of Damon’s clothes, seeking support, confirmation—or perhaps just something to hold onto while the world lost a little of its balance.

Damon smiled against her lips, a short, satisfied, almost provocative smile.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low as the kiss broke for a second. “You feel it too.”

Ester closed her eyes, her forehead resting on his chest for a brief moment. When she spoke, her voice was no longer cold. Just restrained.

“You’re not making things easy…” he said, but there was no real reproach there.

He chuckled softly, gently running his thumb along the side of her face in a surprisingly gentle gesture.

“I never intended to make things easy,” he replied. “Just to be honest.”

She took a deep breath, still too close for someone who moments before had told him to leave. She didn’t pull away immediately. Nor did she kiss him again.

“Damon…” she began, opening her eyes. “This complicates things.”

“Everything that matters always gets complicated,” he replied, without irony.

For a few seconds, they remained like that, close, surrounded by the silence of the garden and the distant sound of water still dripping from the fallen watering can. Then Ester pulled away slowly, enough to regain control—but not enough to pretend nothing had happened.

“If anyone sees…” she said, straightening her posture.

“I’ll take responsibility,” he replied immediately. “Is the great ex-general of the empire afraid some of the maids will see you like this?” he joked.

Esther narrowed her eyes instantly, her composure returning like a blade being sheathed.

“I’m going to kill you,” she said, in a low, absolutely serious tone… and completely useless against his smile.

Damon laughed, openly, without any sign of fear.

“You won’t,” he replied easily. “If that were the case, I’d be on the ground a long time ago.”

She took a step forward, clearly ready to retort—but Damon was faster. He gripped her arm firmly enough to guide her, not to hurt her, and pulled her away from the main garden path, leading her to a secluded spot among the tall hedges and ancient statues, where the light barely reached and the sounds of the mansion faded into the distance.

“Damon!” she protested, more out of formality than any real intention to escape.

“Calm down,” he said, lowering his voice. “No one can see here. I promise.”

She crossed her arms immediately, trying to regain her lost authority, but the blush on her face completely betrayed her.

“You’re unbearable,” she murmured.

“And you’re still here,” he replied, with a wry smile.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. The tension wasn’t aggressive—it was electric. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission, only for existence.

Damon approached slowly this time, giving her time. He didn’t touch her immediately. He just leaned in, speaking softly:

“If you tell me to stop… I’ll stop.”

Ester didn’t answer.

She didn’t move away.

That was answer enough.

He lightly touched her arm, then her waist, carefully guiding her until she was leaning against the cold stone of the statue behind them. Damon didn’t rush forward. He leaned in, brushing his lips against the side of her face, moving upwards slowly, in a gesture that was more provocation than attack.

Ester closed her eyes for a second.

“You do this on purpose,” she said, her voice faltering only slightly.

“I do,” he admitted. “Because you feel it. Even when you pretend you don’t.”

She let out a short, surrendered sigh, and finally looked up at him.

“One day this will get you into trouble,” she murmured.

“Probably,” he replied. “But not today.”

Damon rested his forehead against hers for an instant, long enough for the world to seem to shrink around them. Then he slowly moved up to her lips, in a calm kiss, without urgency, without dominance—just presence.

Ester responded.

Damon grasped her maid’s dress, moving upwards slowly, past her thigh, inside her skirt, searching for what he longed for. He reached her panties, already feeling the dampness, the heat.

“Hmm…” he said, smiling. “Someone’s excited…”

He gave her thigh a light nibble, teasing her.

“Damon…” she whispered, trying not to lose her composure, but already trembling all over from his closeness. “Don’t do that…”

“Do what?” he teased, moving his hand upwards. “This?”

He reached exactly where she didn’t want him to, and squeezed his hard penis through his pants. She writhed, biting her lip to keep from moaning.

“Damon, stop it…” she whispered, but she was already soaked.

He chuckled softly, teasing her, enjoying how she reacted.

“I can feel how much you want it…” he said, showing her his index finger, wet with her moisture. “It’s even hard for me to resist…”

He crouched down slowly, rubbing his face against her leg, going very slowly, without rushing. He made the whole journey, from her thigh to the middle of her panties. Her eyes widened, and she held her breath.

“Damon…” she said, but didn’t have a chance to say anything more.

He pressed his lips against her panties, biting lightly, sucking, massaging with his tongue. He moved her panties up and down, revealing her pussy. Two fingers went in slowly, in just one hole. She writhed, putting her fists on her statue-like chest behind her. Her thighs trembled.

“Damon…” she moaned, exhausted. “Oh… it’s too much…”

He didn’t stop, thrusting deep, from side to side, more and more. Hearing her growing moans. He accelerated the back and forth of his fingers, playing, dominating, controlling. She pulled his tailbone with her nails, out of shame and lust. She couldn’t take it anymore, and came hard. She came like crazy. She let out a sharp scream that echoed in the garden.

Damon slowed the back and forth, his fingers sliding out. He wiped it on her panties, laughing, as if to say, “Look at the mess you made…”

“That’s… delicious…” he murmured. “Come for me…”

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