I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 415: Bumping into the wrong time (1)

Nathan lay sprawled on the soft linen sheets, his muscled frame half-draped across the warm body of Fulvia, who still trembled gently beneath the aftershocks of their first time. Her breath came ragged and shallow, chest rising in uneven waves, nipples tight with the afterglow, skin dewed in sweat. Her lips remained parted, glistening, as if her body still hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

She looked undone. Beautifully undone.

Nathan, meanwhile, was calm. Too calm, perhaps. His breathing had already slowed to a steady rhythm, as if the act had barely nudged his stamina—because it hadn’t. Compared to Fulvia’s mortal frame, flushed and spent, his own body held a resilience she couldn’t match. He could’ve kept going. He wanted to keep going.

If left to his own hunger, he would’ve stayed inside her all night—changing angles, pace, grip, tempo, learning every sound she could make and pushing her there again and again. But she wasn’t built for that. Not yet. And he wouldn’t break her just to satisfy the gnawing throb of need still curling low in his gut.

No. That wasn’t who he was.

Fulvia was a mortal woman—ordinary in muscle and sinew, no matter how extraordinary her moans had sounded. She wasn’t like Scylla, whose monstrous strength could take three hours of pounding and still smirk as if to dare for more. She wasn’t like Khione, either—Khione, who pulled at his essence when they fucked, as if her body siphoned off his power every time she clenched around him. It wasn’t just sex with her. It was survival. A goddess’s cunt was a battlefield, and his stamina—though immense—could only stretch so far.

But Fulvia… her softness was different. Vulnerable. Mortal. Intoxicating in another way entirely.

“Sex is truly… amazing,” Fulvia finally whispered, her voice husky and awestruck, like she still didn’t fully believe what had just happened to her. She swallowed hard, her throat clicking, body glowing in a flush that ran from her cheeks to the tips of her toes. Her thighs quivered beneath the sheet, and her hips shifted slightly, as if even the ghost of his touch still echoed inside her.

Nathan chuckled, and without thinking, pulled the blanket up a bit to cover her face. Not for modesty—she was stunning like this, hair tousled, lips kiss-swollen, body still arched slightly with tension—but because the door had no lock. The thought of some nosy servant barging in and seeing her like this, laid bare in his arms, made him frown. Not that he was ashamed. He just wanted to keep this moment for himself.

“You’re saying that now?” he murmured with a teasing smile. “I didn’t hear you talking much when I had your legs over my shoulders.”

“I—I should have done this sooner,” Fulvia said, the words tumbling out with sudden urgency. “I wasted ten years of my life…”

Nathan blinked. “Ten years?”

“I lost my innocence at twelve,” she said bluntly, matter-of-fact in the way only Romans could be. “I should’ve started actually having sex right after that. Consensually. Not… what I had.”

Nathan’s breath hitched just slightly. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Twelve?” he repeated. “That’s… kind of early, don’t you think?”

She turned her head toward him, blinking lazily with a soft smile. “Too soon? Maybe by your standards. I don’t know how things work in Alexandria, but here in Rome it’s different.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. Alexandria. She assumed that’s where he was from. Close enough. Certainly easier than explaining he came from another world—one where twelve was still childhood, sacred and unviolated. Back in America, sex at twelve wasn’t just frowned on—it was trauma. Illegal. Unthinkable.

But here?

In his high school, he’d seen kids fooling around behind gym bleachers or in locker rooms, sneaking into janitor closets for five-minute trysts. Fourteen, fifteen—sure. Even sixteen felt young, but it was where most started. Twelve, though?

His stomach twisted, but not from judgment—more from the chasm between their two worlds.

“With whom?” he asked finally, his voice dry. “What, a seventy-year-old senator with bad breath and a sweaty toga?”

Fulvia giggled, the laugh bubbling up from her chest like it surprised even her. “That’s fair, Septimius,” she said, using the name she thought belonged to him. “But if I’d met you when I was twelve…” Her voice dropped to a honeyed purr, her smile slow and tender. “I’d have definitely given myself to you.”

Nathan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The image was too strange—her small and unformed, him even younger, just a boy of ten in his own world at the time. Still playing with trading cards, for god’s sake. Not remotely a man.

Instead of responding, he reached out and brushed a damp lock of hair off her cheek. Her skin was flushed, slightly sticky with sweat, but he found the contact grounding. She leaned into his touch instinctively, her eyelids fluttering closed, a soft hum escaping her lips.

“Mmh…”

She shifted beneath the sheets, one hand drifting down between them, brushing lightly over her own belly. Her fingertips trailed lower, and Nathan watched as her breath caught again.

“We should probably sleep,” Nathan murmured, attempting to forestall another round of her affectionate pleading. Her lips quivered in question before she could voice another request—yet he could not bring himself to refuse her entirely. For all her outward confidence, Fulvia was the most… ordinary woman he had ever known. And he meant to tread lightly.

Her blue eyes softened into a shy smile. She inched closer, as though the distance between them were measured in heartbeats rather than feet. “So gentlemanly of you, Septimius,” she teased, tracing idle patterns across the silken sheets. “I might just fall for you.”

He offered her a small, crooked smile. “I don’t advise that,” he replied, though the warmth in his voice belied his words. Fulvia had no inkling the role he planned to play in the Empire’s fate and who he really was.

She laughed softly, exhaustion and contentment in equal measure, before settling her head on his chest. The steady beat of his heart lulled them both into silence.

Dawn crept in through the towering arched window, gilding the chamber in pale gold. Nathan awoke to find Fulvia already watching him, her light brown curls spilling over the pillow like a midnight pool.

“You are so strange, Septimius,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her temples.

“As you are, inviting me into your bed barely an hour after we met,” Nathan said, stretching leisurely, the linen sleeves slipping down his arms.

Fulvia winced as she tried to stand, pressing her hand between her thighs. A low groan escaped her lips. “It still hurts,” she admitted, flush of embarrassment rising in her cheeks. “I think I’ll stay here for a day or two. I don’t want anyone to know what happened.”

Nathan’s brow furrowed with concern. Even Rome’s most oblivious courtiers would notice her stumbling gait. Then he remembered the woman he’d met yesterday—a a certain Hero.

“Wait,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I know someone who can help. You’ll be on your feet by tomorrow.”

Fulvia’s hand shot out, grasping his arm. “Can I trust this person?”

“Absolutely,” Nathan replied, his tone steady. Elin Berg, with her SSS-Rank Healing Skill and compassionate heart, would never betray a secret. She owed him for saving that slave enough of a debt to ensure her silence and her skill.

“Stay here,” he said, offering her a reassuring nod before slipping from the chamber. Now, all that remained was to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the Senate castle and find Elin Berg—his only hope of keeping Fulvia’s reputation unblemished.

Since the Heroes of Amun-Ra were distinguished guests of the Empire, Nathan was certain they were residing somewhere within this vast marble maze of the Senate Castle. The real question was—where?

He moved down the dim corridor, boots quiet against the ancient stone. Almost immediately, his ears were assaulted by a cacophony of muffled moans and rhythmic creaking from the chambers lining both sides of the hallway. Some doors were firmly shut, others lazily ajar, leaving little to the imagination. The air was thick with the scent of incense, wine, and sweat.

A den of decadence.

The infamous reputation of the Roman elite for indulgence wasn’t exaggerated—it was being flaunted at every corner. It was as if the very walls of the Senate Castle whispered of excess and carnal sin, saturated with centuries of lustful history. Nathan didn’t flinch; he merely noted it with a blank expression. There was no shock in him anymore—only quiet calculation.

Where was Scylla?

He had left her to roam the city, to gather information in her own way. But if he knew her—and he did—she was likely avoiding this place altogether. No doubt, the suffocating aura of arrogance and moral rot permeating the castle had agitated her.

Scylla was too wild, too primal for such an environment. It wouldn’t surprise Nathan if she had already considered tearing someone apart for a misplaced touch or an inappropriate glance. If that were the case, she might have simply left and returned to Tenebria on her own accord. It wouldn’t be unlike her.

Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to bring Charybdis instead—calmer, more reserved. She possessed a quiet strength and a sense of restraint that made her far more suitable for navigating the halls of power. Scylla… was a beast in chains, and she hated every second of it. She was like Medea in that point but Medea was clearly the most dangerous of the three.

As Nathan moved deeper into the winding corridors, he suddenly heard the soft, stifled sound of someone sobbing.

A woman.

He paused, his ears sharpening, and followed the sound. It led him to a secluded alcove near an ornamental column. There, slumped against the wall, was a woman in an elegant, wine-colored toga.

He recognized her instantly—Servilia. The mother of Brutus. And, if rumors held truth—which they usually did in the shadows of power—the not so hidden lover of Julius Caesar himself.

Her back was to him, her shoulders trembling as she wiped tears from her eyes. Nathan stayed silent, not out of politeness, but curiosity. Whatever had broken her to tears in a place like this must have cut deep.

Then she straightened, inhaled sharply, and began to walk off—only to collide directly into him.

She looked up, startled, her tear-streaked face freezing the moment she recognized him. Her gaze turned cold, sharp as a dagger. She didn’t utter a word. With an expression devoid of warmth, she brushed past him and disappeared into the shadows without so much as a backward glance.

Nathan watched her go, then turned his attention to the spot where she had been crouched. It was simply a wall… or so it seemed at first glance.

There was a narrow crack—an almost imperceptibly open door leading to a chamber beyond.

Curiosity piqued, Nathan stepped forward and gently pushed the door open.

And the scene he stumbled upon quite shocked him.

Lustful moans echoed off the walls as two bodies moved in frantic rhythm. A woman—completely naked—was on her knees, her hands gripping the edge of a couch, her back arched as a man took her from behind with unabashed vigor.

The man’s face was instantly recognizable.

Julius Caesar.

His infamous grin stretched from ear to ear, his golden laurels catching the low light. And the woman?

Nathan’s eyes narrowed.

It was Johanna.

The very same Johanna who served as the classroom teacher and spiritual guide to the Heroes of Amun-Ra. Her blonde hair was disheveled, sticking to her flushed skin as she moaned Caesar’s name, her voice thick with pleasure.