I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me-Chapter 412: Speaking with Fulvia *

"Wait," Fulvia whispered.

He paused, surprised by the grip. Though her touch was light, it carried more weight than she perhaps intended.

"Stay." She said.

Nathan slowly turned his head toward the figure sprawled across the bed—Fulvia. The soft flicker of candlelight painted her silhouette in warm golden hues, her long light brown hair splayed like wildfire across the pillow. Her fingers, slender yet insistent, reached out and gently gripped his arm, halting his retreat.

"Do you need something else?" Nathan asked quietly, his voice steady but gentle.

He could see it clearly—her glassy eyes, the flushed tint blooming across her cheeks, and the faint, unfocused sway in her movements. She was intoxicated. He had wanted to speak with her, truly, to share something more meaningful. But looking at her now, he knew this wasn’t the moment. Not when she was in such a state.

"I need you to accompany me for the night, Septimius," Fulvia said, her voice soft, slurred, and soaked in warmth. A tipsy smile tugged at her lips, playful and inviting, though tinged with genuine longing.

"You’re drunk, Fulvia," Nathan said, not accusingly, but with a calm sobriety.

Fulvia’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened with a flash of defiance in her wine-touched eyes. "Even drunk, I’m not stupid, Septimius," she murmured. Her hand slid lower, pulling gently at his sleeve. "Now lay down with me."

For a moment, he hesitated—torn between sensibility and fatigue. But the day had been long and exhausting. War-weary thoughts clung to his mind like cobwebs. And perhaps, just for this moment, he allowed himself to surrender—not to desire, but to the need for peace, for quiet.

Wordlessly, he eased down onto the bed beside her.

Fulvia turned toward him immediately, her body instinctively drawn to his. The folds of her Roman tunic slipped slightly as she moved, revealing a generous view of her cleavage. Her breasts, soft and full, pressed against the bed linens, threatening to spill free. It was clear she wore nothing beneath the fabric. The candlelight caressed her curves, casting shadows that danced along the edges of her body.

Nathan’s eyes lingered for a heartbeat too long. He wasn’t blind—Fulvia was breathtaking. Even through his hardened heart, carved by vengeance and loss, he could not deny her beauty. There was a disarming softness to her tonight, a vulnerability that made her even more alluring.

"What do you want in your life, Septimius?" she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now. More sincere.

Nathan blinked, the question catching him off guard. He turned his gaze toward the ceiling for a moment, the shadows of flickering flames painting abstract memories across his vision. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

What did he want?

There was a time—not so long ago—when he would have answered without hesitation. Vengeance. Retribution. Blood. Two years ago, that was all he had. That single driving force had kept him alive through madness and fire.

But things had changed.

So much had changed since then.

He’d met women—extraordinary women—who had reshaped the contours of his broken heart. And after the horrors of the Trojan War, after standing at the edge of annihilation and somehow walking back from it, his perspective had shifted. Revenge no longer sat as the sole monarch of his desires.

"I want to live peacefully," Nathan said at last, his voice low, thoughtful. "With all my women. Somewhere far away, where no one can ever hurt us again."

The words lingered in the air like incense smoke, warm and wistful.

He could already see it in his mind. Not in Tenebria—not in that cursed, blood-stained kingdom. No, this place he envisioned was untouched by war, hidden from the madness of empires and divine conspiracies.

A home.

A real one.

A castle nestled in the arms of nature, perhaps surrounded by forests or mountains, far from the chaos of the world. A place where laughter echoed through wide halls, where children’s feet pounded down corridors, and his women could live freely—not as pawns or rulers, but simply as themselves.

Of course, he knew that some of them had obligations—to their people, their thrones, their bloodlines. But responsibilities didn’t mean imprisonment. He didn’t expect them to stay by his side always—but he would build something that always awaited their return.

Yet, for all his dreaming, Nathan knew one thing stood in the way of that peace. A threat that loomed like a blade at the back of his neck.

The Divine Knights.

Even now, his hatred for them hadn’t fully faded. It was no longer an obsession—no longer the all-consuming fire it had once been—but the danger they posed was still very real. They were unstable, unpredictable, and far too powerful to be allowed to roam free. Their existence was a sword constantly hanging above his dreams.

Before he could ever think about peace—before the castle, the children, the quiet—he had to eliminate that threat.

They had to die.

Only then could his vision of sanctuary truly begin.

"That’s a beautiful dream, Septimius," Fulvia said softly, her voice carrying a trace of wistfulness. "But I don’t think peace suits you. Not entirely. I see you more as a conqueror... someone leading armies, draped in banners, feared by kings and followed by legions."

Her eyes, half-lidded from wine but still sharp, met his with an unsettling certainty. She wasn’t mocking him—there was admiration in her voice, and perhaps something deeper. Fascination.

"You hold a very high opinion of me," Nathan replied dryly, raising an eyebrow.

He didn’t laugh. If anything, he found her assumption slightly amusing—because it told him she didn’t really know him. Not yet. Not fully.

"I have good eyes when it comes to understanding men," Fulvia replied smoothly, reclining back on one elbow. The candlelight shimmered against her bare shoulder as her tunic slipped further down her arm.

"And what about you?" Nathan asked, his voice calm but curious. "What’s your dream then? To marry someone powerful? A man with titles and wealth, enough influence in the Senate to shield you from the real world? Live out your days in luxury and safety, surrounded by servants and silk?"

His words weren’t cruel—but they carried a faint edge of irony. From what he had gathered so far, that did seem to be the life she was aiming for.

"Is that so wrong?" Fulvia shot back, her lips twitching into a half-smile. "All I ever wanted was a little excitement in this otherwise dull, repetitive life. I thought Marcus Antoinus would give me that. He’s always in the middle of everything, always the center of Rome’s attention..."

"Behind Caesar," Nathan added.

Fulvia burst out laughing, the sound soft and melodic, filling the chamber with warmth. She turned her gaze back to him, playful and strangely honest.

"Do you hate Marcus Antoinus?" she asked, clearly intrigued by his tone.

"Hate?" Nathan repeated. He gave it a moment’s thought, then shook his head. "He isn’t significant enough for me to hate. But if I had to choose—between letting him live or seeing him die—I’d choose the latter."

His answer was blunt. Unapologetic. And true.

Fulvia’s expression shifted—just slightly. Her smile remained, but her eyes gleamed with something darker now. "That’s funny... I’d choose the same," she whispered.

Nathan tilted his head and gave her a crooked smile. "You’re fiercer than you look."

It was said partly in jest, but part of him was genuinely surprised. Speaking so casually—so carelessly—about the death of a man like Marcus Antoinus was dangerous. Treasonous, even. Roman nobility didn’t tolerate such thoughts, let alone whisper them in darkened bedrooms.

And yet here she was, not only agreeing with him but doing so without hesitation. Perhaps she wasn’t just a bored aristocrat after all.

Fulvia’s expression changed again—this time more deliberate. Her gaze turned smoldering as she sat up, the folds of her tunic shifting once more, revealing more of her smooth skin beneath. Then, in one sudden, fluid motion, she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist with surprising grace for someone supposedly drunk.

Nathan blinked and stared up at her, his expression unreadable. Her face hovered just above his, her long hair cascading down to brush his cheeks.

"You’re drunk," he said again, calmly but firmly. "I’m not going to sleep with someone who won’t remember it in the morning."

He meant it. The last thing he needed was to wake up to accusations or regrets—or worse, tears. Though truthfully, something about Fulvia told him she wasn’t that kind of woman. Even intoxicated, her mind seemed sharp, her movements intentional.

"Then maybe you should take advantage of me before I come to my senses," she whispered.

Her hand slid downward with a sultry ease, grazing across his chest, then his stomach, before boldly reaching toward the bulge beneath his pants. The contact was electric—firm, deliberate.

Nathan’s breath caught for a moment, not from shock, but from restraint.

He reached out and caught her wrist, his fingers wrapping around her with a deliberate slowness that belied the sudden flash in his eyes as he looked up at her. For a heartbeat, there was stillness—a breath caught in tension—then everything shifted.

With a swift, fluid movement, Nathan pulled, twisting their positions effortlessly. The world tilted. Fulvia let out a surprised gasp as her back hit the mattress, her hair spilling across the pillows in a soft halo. Nathan was over her, above her, his weight pressing her gently down, the heat of his body suffusing the space between them with a molten, electric anticipation.

He didn’t speak, didn’t waste time with pleasantries or questions. His hands moved to the hem of her skirt and pushed it upward in one smooth motion, baring her thighs—those supple, pale curves that tensed ever so slightly under his touch. He peeled the fabric higher until it bunched at her waist, revealing her soft mound nestled in a faint trace of silken curls.

Her pussy was gorgeous—plush, glistening, lips full and parted slightly as though inviting him in, breathing in sync with her shallow, uneven gasps. His eyes drank her in. There was no pretense now, no battle of words, no clever façade—just raw, vulnerable heat.

He hooked his arms around her legs and pulled her down toward the edge of the bed, her hips sliding over the sheets until her sex was perfectly positioned for him. Then he lowered his head.

His mouth met her with a hunger barely leashed.

"Mmmmh..." he growled softly, tongue flattening against her slit and sliding upward in a slow, deliberate lick.

"Haaaan~!" Fulvia’s cry burst out of her, startled and helpless, one hand flying to his hair, threading through it with trembling fingers as her thighs instinctively opened wider. She tilted her hips toward his mouth, body arching at the contact, the warm wet suck of his lips on her most intimate skin.

He pulled back slightly, chuckling against her, the vibration rippling through her clit like sparks. "Has anyone ever licked this sweet little pussy of yours before, Fulvia?"

"I... maybe... haaaa~hn❤️!" Her answer was torn in half as his tongue slipped between her folds again, finding her clit with the tip and circling it lazily.

She was so soft, so warm, already glistening with arousal.

Her moans came quicker now, rising from her chest in breathless gasps as he teased and tasted her. Every flick of his tongue, every suck, every nip was calculated to unravel her. He could feel it—her thighs tensing, her hips grinding gently against his mouth despite herself, her belly trembling beneath her shuddering breath.

It wasn’t long before he felt it—the subtle flutter of her inner muscles, the fresh heat flooding his tongue. She gasped sharply, spine arching.

"Ohhh... oh—haaa—" she stuttered, voice breaking into helpless cries as her orgasm crested over her. It wasn’t a shattering climax, not yet. It was small, soft, almost shy—her first, maybe.

Nathan pulled back slightly, lips glistening with her taste, and looked up at her with a slow, knowing smile. "You’re a virgin, aren’t you?"

Fulvia looked away, unable or unwilling to answer.

His smirk widened, something dark and triumphant gleaming in his gaze. "Yet you dared to act so arrogant with me..."

He dipped his head again without waiting for permission, and this time he didn’t go slow. His tongue drove deep between her folds, licking in strong, rhythmic strokes, then sealing his lips around her swollen clit and sucking hard. His fingers gripped her thighs to hold her in place, thumbs digging into her soft skin as her body writhed under the onslaught of sensation.

"Ahhh! HaaaAAAN~! ❤️❤️!" she screamed, voice cracking as pleasure crashed through her in a white-hot wave. Her thighs clamped around his head, heels digging into the bed as she tried to ride it out, but Nathan didn’t stop—didn’t even pause. He moaned into her, tongue fucking her faster, lips and mouth merciless.

Fulvia’s hands scrabbled at his hair, her entire body shaking as the orgasm tore through her harder than anything she’d ever felt—raw, overwhelming, addictive.

Her juices poured out in sudden pulses, slicking his face, and Nathan lapped them up greedily, tasting her like nectar, like ambrosia, moaning low in his throat as he sucked every last drop, tongue exploring her trembling pussy, slow now, tender, savoring her flavor.

Her legs fell open limply, her breath ragged, chest heaving, lips parted. She looked utterly wrecked, her face flushed, eyes glassy.

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