Chapter 21: Resurrecting Through Hand Job!

Chapter 21 - Resurrecting Through Hand Job!Alice's hand trembled like she was about to defuse a bomb—with her bare hands—and the bomb was hot, pulsing, and shaped like a green, thorny club straight out of an adult-themed fairy tale. She tried to get a grip, but the damn thing was thick, throbbing, and flexing like it was auditioning for a solo in an opera. Her palm pressed against the thorn-like ridges spiraling up the shaft, expecting pain—but instead, they were soft, rubbery, almost inviting, as if crafted purely to tease and please. 'Gods help me... it's made for a woman's pleasure...' Her breath hitched as a vivid image flashed in her mind—those textured ridges rubbing against her insides, slow and deep— "Shit! Shit! Focus, Alice!" She shook her head hard, trying to banish the mental image. Now wasn't the time for fantasy. A man was on the brink of a blood-deprivation-induced coma, and she was a healer. She had a duty. A sacred calling. She inhaled like she was about to jump off a cliff, then grabbed it again. Gently, reverently, like it was a holy relic—and began to stroke. Then—moan. Raedon's lips parted, and a soft sound escaped. A sound that shot through Alice like lightning and settled low in her belly. Alice's eyes lit up like festival lanterns. "Aha! This is the cure! Damn thing's hoarding every drop of blood like it's a treasure chest." That moan of relief—it stirred something in her. All the guilt, all the hesitation, melted away like snow on a fire. Why was she second-guessing herself? She wasn't doing this for pleasure. This was a rescue mission. She was a professional. A healer. A hero, damn it. She bit her lip and kept going. It wasn't like she was cheating on her husband or something, right. Right? Gulp. Alice couldn't help but make a mental comparison between Alex's so-called "mighty sword" and the actual monster now standing in proud in front of her own eyes. The difference was so laughable it felt like watching a level-100 boss trying to squeeze into a tutorial dungeon. 'He really convinced me two inches is the height of any mankind, huh?—I ought to slap myself.' She bit her lip, her hand now moving with more curiosity than caution, trying to coax a reaction out of Raedon, who, for all his groaning and twitching, still looked like he was in a coma. "Come on, Raedon. Don't flatline on me now." She adjusted her position with the grace of a cat burglar and resumed her mission, now kneeling near his feet like she was rewiring a divine furnace. Then, with the kind of determination usually reserved for saving kingdoms or unclogging cursed toilets, she reached her free hand out and grabbed the beast. Two hands. It took two whole hands to wrap around it. "Damn," she muttered, cheeks flushed. "From two fingers to, two hands...Shit." She started pumping, fast and focused, like she was trying to crank-start a lawnmower possessed by lust demons. Her hands were working overtime, and her cleavage sparkled with sweat—like holy water, but sexier. Raedon, unconscious or not, was feeling it. His eyebrows twitched, his lips parted, and his hips gave the tiniest of traitorous jerks. It was like his body was trying to log back into the mortal plane just to say: "Nice." "Come on, come on... Resurrect already..." Meanwhile, someone—namely Raedon—was fighting for his goddamn life. Inside, it was like a battlefield. No swords, no magic—just raw, throbbing lust and a pair of hands pumping him like she was trying to save the village with every stroke. The thorns, those godforsaken pleasure spikes he thought were just for women's enjoyment, turns out they were dual-purpose. And now they were acting like tiny orgasm landmines going off every time her palm glided across them. 'F-Fuck...' He mentally groaned, barely holding on as his toes curled in another dimension. 'Dammit! She's milking me like hell! I won't last at this rate!' His thoughts were a desperate chant now, sweat forming on his imaginary brow. He bit down on his cheek—internally, spiritually, erotically—trying to hold onto sanity. He had this plan, this noble, dignified idea that he'd endure long enough for her to switch it up, maybe throw in some mouth action or something. But nope. His body was built for breeding. But his stamina was built like a glass cannon. He was losing fast. 'Dammit! But I'm not going down from just—just HANDS! I'm stronger than this!' He grit his teeth and braced himself as another wave of sinful euphoria slammed into him. And just as he was about to scream into the void— [10 bonus Lust Points Gained!] 'Not now, dammit!' He mentally screamed at the system. 'You think I care about exp bonuses while my soul is ascending?!' He wasn't even doing anything, and yet points were racking up like he hit the jackpot at a pervy slot machine.