Strongest Incubus System

Damon’s room was partially lit by the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows, drawing golden streaks on the wooden floor and the bed where some clothes were already laid out. He moved around the space with calm concentration, folding shirts, attaching leather straps to a small travel bag, and mentally checking everything he would need to take to Arven. It wasn’t a long trip, but the nature of the mission demanded attention. He wouldn’t go as a warrior, nor as an official emissary. He would go as an observer, and that required discretion. On the table near the window were some daggers, a small metal vial containing crystallized ice powder that he had prepared himself, and Morgana’s letter folded again, a constant reminder of the reason for his departure.

He finished closing one of the bags and placed it on the bed, running a hand through his hair while taking a deep breath. The mansion was still under reconstruction; the smell of new wood mixed with broken stone still lingered there, and leaving the place at that moment brought a strange feeling. Still, he knew he had no choice. If there was something wrong with Arven, it was best to find out before the situation became irreversible.

The bedroom door opened without warning.

Damon didn’t turn around immediately, assuming it might be one of the servants or perhaps Aria bringing some information from Elizabeth. He continued adjusting the leather buckle of his backpack until he felt arms slide around his waist from behind, a firm embrace that pressed her body against his back.

He stopped.

Aria rested her face between his shoulder blades for a moment, breathing deeply as if absorbing his scent, and the silence that formed between them had something heavier than a simple goodbye.

”So it’s true,” she murmured against the fabric of his shirt.

Damon let out a small sigh and placed his hands on her arms, without pushing her away. ”Has Elizabeth already spread the news throughout the whole house?”

”She didn’t need to,” Aria replied, her voice carrying a mixed tone of irritation and something deeper. ”You walking around with that suicide mission look on your face was enough.”

He let out a small, low, short laugh, more at the comment than genuine humor. ”It’s not suicidal.”

”It’s Arven,” she retorted immediately.

Damon didn’t respond to that. Instead, he turned his head slightly, as if trying to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, but Aria still remained behind him, her body pressed against his with an insistence that wasn’t casual.

There were a few seconds of silence before she spoke again.

”And there’s something else.”

The tone changed.

It wasn’t just concern anymore.

There was frustration there.

A contained heat that had been building up for some time.

Damon sensed it even before she said it.

”You haven’t touched me in a while,” Aria finally said, her voice low but firm, as if she were tired of pretending it didn’t matter.

Damon let out a breath through his nose, something close to a tired laugh, tilting his head slightly back. ”Aria...”

”Don’t try to escape,” she interrupted, tightening her arms around him for a moment. ”I know things have gotten... chaotic. I know you almost destroyed half the house, that Elizabeth is freaking out about politics, that Esther exists and complicates everything.”

The name didn’t come loaded with hatred.

But it did come loaded with something very close to jealousy.

”But still,” she continued, releasing him just enough so he could turn around, ”it’s been a long time since you’ve had time.”

Damon finally turned to face her, resting his hands on the edge of the table behind him. There was a slight smile at the corner of his lips, not of mockery, but of someone who recognized the truth in what was being said. ”It’s been a while since I’ve had time,” he replied, with an almost provocative calmness.

Aria narrowed her eyes.

That definitely wasn’t the answer she wanted.

”And you think that’s funny?”

”A little,” he admitted.

She was silent for a second, assessing him.

Then, suddenly, she lunged forward.

Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him hard enough to make him lose his balance against the table. Before he could say anything, Aria turned him completely around and kissed him.

It wasn’t a hesitant kiss.

It was direct.

Strong.

Lascivious.

Her mouth met his with pent-up urgency, as if all the jealousy, frustration, and desire she’d been holding back had decided to manifest itself in that single gesture. Damon let out a low sound of surprise against her lips, but didn’t take a second to respond.

His hands instinctively moved to her waist, holding her as the kiss deepened, the heat between them contrasting with the tranquil afternoon light that still filtered through the room. Aria pressed her body against his, her fingers closing on the fabric of his shirt as if ensuring he wouldn’t simply laugh and pull away.

When they finally separated for a brief moment to breathe, she kept her face close to his, her eyes shining with a mixture of defiance and desire.

”I hate when you just decide you don’t have time,” she murmured.

Damon was still smiling slightly, his breathing a little heavier now.

”I haven’t decided,” he replied.

Aria tilted her head.

”Then decide now.”

There was a second of silence.

The tension in the air was almost palpable.

Damon looked at the backpack on the bed, at the daggers on the table, at Morgana’s letter still partially visible among the objects.

Then he looked back at Aria.

And his smile grew a little wider.

”Looks like I have a few minutes.”

Aria let out a low, hoarse laugh as Damon grabbed her by the waist and lifted her forcefully, throwing her onto the bed with an impact that made the folded clothes fly aside. She didn’t have time to react before he was on top of her, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of her hips, his hands already gripping the hem of her shirt.

”A few minutes?” she teased, breathless, as he pulled the fabric up, exposing the smooth skin of her belly. ”Is that all you’ve got?”

”It’s all you need,” he replied, his deep voice laden with a promise that sent a shiver down her spine.

In one fluid movement, he ripped off her blouse completely, throwing it aside. Aria arched her back, helping him as his hands slid down to the clasp of her bra. The clasp gave way, and he pulled the fabric aside, freeing her breasts. The afternoon light glided over her warm, golden skin, and Damon didn’t hesitate—he leaned down and brought his mouth to one nipple, sucking hard while his free hand squeezed the other.

Aria moaned, her fingers digging into his hair, pulling it lightly. ”There’s no point in trying to distract me with just that,” she whispered, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Damon released her breast with a wet snap, moving up to her neck, nibbling at her jawline before capturing her lips again in a deep, devouring kiss. Meanwhile, his hands worked on the zipper of her pants, pulling the fabric down along with her panties in an impatient motion. Aria lifted her hips, allowing him to remove them completely, leaving her utterly naked beneath him.

He pulled away for a moment, just long enough to appreciate the sight—her lying amidst the disheveled clothes, her breasts heaving, her legs spread, her skin flushed. His dark eyes scanned every inch with raw possessiveness.

”You’re beautiful when you’re jealous,” he murmured, his voice husky.

”I’m not jealous,” Aria retorted, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her. ”I’m angry.”

”Whatever,” he replied, and then lowered himself.

His arms wrapped around her thighs, spreading them even further apart, and before Aria could say anything more, he buried his face between her legs.

The first contact of his hot, wet tongue against her clitoris made Aria gasp violently, a loud, involuntary moan escaping her throat. Her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles turning white. Damon wasn’t gentle—there was no delicacy there, only hunger. He sucked on her voraciously, his tongue pressing, circling, sucking, while his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, keeping her open and exposed.

”Damon...” she moaned, her body trembling under his relentless thrust. ”Like this... you’re going to... ah, fuck...”

He responded with a low growl, vibrating against her, and then inserted two fingers inside her, curving them upwards at the exact spot that made her scream. Aria lifted her hips, trying to pull even closer, but he held her still, controlling every movement as his tongue and fingers worked in a wild, perfect rhythm. She could feel the orgasm building rapidly, an electric tension that started at the base of her spine and spread like wildfire.

”No... wait...” she tried, but it was too late.

The trembling began, violent, uncontrollable, and she exploded with a muffled cry against her own arm, her body heaving beneath his mouth as the wave of pleasure swept over her. Damon didn’t stop—he continued licking, smoothing, drinking in every tremor, until she was weak, breathless, her muscles relaxing in a state of pure surrender.

Only then did he stand up, abruptly removing his shirt. Aria could barely focus her eyes on him, her vision still blurry, but she saw him unbutton his trousers, freeing his already hard and impatient erection. He positioned himself between her legs, grasping the base of his member, and rubbed the large, wet head against her still-throbbing entrance.

”Are you still angry?” he asked, his voice rough, his dark eyes fixed on hers.

Aria took a deep breath, lifting her hips to meet his pressure. ”Yes,” she whispered defiantly. ”And are you going to do something about it?”

Damon grinned, a wild, predatory smile.

”I will.”

And then he thrust, entering all at once, deep, to the hilt.

Aria cried out, her inner muscles contracting around him, still sensitive from the previous orgasm. He filled her completely, every inch, and for a moment they both stood still, just breathing, feeling the intense and almost brutal connection.

Then Damon began to move.

It wasn’t slow, nor gentle. It was deep, powerful, each thrust an affirmation, a reconquest. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her against him with each thrust, and Aria’s moans mingled with the low grunts that escaped him. The bed creaked in rhythm with them, a primal and urgent sound.

He leaned forward, capturing her lips in another dirty kiss, while he continued to fuck with increasing force. Aria wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels pressing into his back, pulling him even deeper with each movement.

”Is this...is this what you wanted?” Damon growled against her mouth, his breath hot and panting.

”More,” she moaned, her fingers scratching his back. ”Harder.”

He complied with her request, increasing the pace, the thrusts so deep she felt each one in her womb. The heat built up inside her again, faster this time, more intense, fueled by fury, desire, the need to make his presence felt.

”I’ll miss you in Arven,” he whispered, his eyes closed for a moment, his forehead pressed against hers.

”Then leave me something to remember it by,” Aria retorted, her body already trembling on the verge of another climax.

Damon clenched his teeth, the rhythm becoming uncontrolled, animalistic. Aria felt his tension, the imminence of her own release, and it pushed her over the edge. She came with a muffled cry against his shoulder, her body contracting violently around him, and it was enough for Damon to lose control.

With a low roar, he buried himself to the hilt and exploded inside her, hot and deep, each spurt accompanied by a strong tremor of her body. He remained there for a long moment, panting, still inside her, while the waves of pleasure slowly dissipated.

The afternoon light was now dimmer, painting the room in shades of amber. The sound of their heavy breathing filled the silence. Damon finally moved, pulling out of her and rolling onto his side, lying on his back beside her.

Aria turned her head, observing his profile, sweat trickling down his temple. ”A few minutes, huh?” she murmured, a hint of irony in her husky voice.

Damon chuckled softly, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. ”I’m efficient.”

She smiled, closing her eyes for a moment. His scent, the warmth of his body, the sensation of him still dripping between her thighs—all of it was a powerful reminder, a mark. When she opened her eyes again, her expression was more serious.

”Come back in one piece, Arven,” she said, without looking at him.