Cold (2)
“You must not turn around under any circumstances.”
“Yes.”
Lowen began removing Ariel’s sweat-dampened habit.
A soft rustle of fabric whispered past her smooth skin. He peeled the garment away with painstaking care, keeping his hands from touching her flesh as much as humanly possible.
Because the habit was a single one-piece rather than separate top and bottom, he had to lift it from the hem of the skirt upward. The fabric slid along her thighs until it caught snugly at her hips.
The proportions were absurd. That such a petite frame could possess childbearing hips capable of stirring the most primal urge to breed defied all reason.
When he raised the hem that had snagged on her hips up to her waist, Ariel’s plump, peach-like buttocks came into full view—lush and inviting.
“......”
Today, at least, she was wearing proper underwear. White lace panties adorned with a cute little ribbon clung tightly along the rounded curve of her rear. Soft flesh bulged enticingly at the boundary where fabric met skin.
“Bishop Lowen?”
Lowen, who had frozen with his hands still while staring down at her backside, cleared his throat and forced himself to continue.
“Ahem, ahem… I’ll be finished shortly.”
The soft line of her waist curved like a drawn bow. The groove of her spine was etched with perfect clarity. This was the first time he had ever observed Ariel’s body so slowly, so thoroughly. Places where muscle stood out in clean definition; places softly filled with pliant fat. Even from behind, one could tell the proportions were truly beautiful—if not perfect.
That said, it was genuinely ridiculous that he had already examined the pink interior of her vagina long before ever getting a proper look at her backside.
The hem climbing along her spine caught on something heavy.
“Auuu… Bishop Lowen… please don’t pull so hard…”
When the fabric refused to budge and he applied a little more force, Ariel reacted at once. The hem had snagged on the underside of her breasts; pulling in that state had lifted them and caused her pain.
“Ah… I’m sorry.”
Lowen slipped the fabric free as carefully as peeling the skin from a fruit. The heavy weight that had been caught rose, grew heavier still, then swayed and dropped with a soft, full jiggle.
He already knew Ariel was large-breasted, yet he had never imagined they would be so full that they would spill outward to the sides even when viewed from behind. Was her chest so abundant because it was packed with love and the desire to embrace others? From buttocks to breasts, it was a thoroughly lewd body. With a figure like that, wasn’t it only natural that she would grow lewd?
“Please raise your arms.”
Ariel lifted both hands high above her head.
“Hoo…”
At last the habit came free. Lowen paused a moment to admire the bare line of her back. Her skin was so smooth that the trails left by rolling sweat glittered as if polished to a sheen.
“I’ll wipe away the sweat before I change you into fresh clothes.”
“Yes.”
He swept her long hair forward over her shoulders and began drying her back with a clean towel.
“Ah… hnnn……”
When the cloth passed over her side, Ariel flinched at the waist and let out a hot breath.
“Euk… haang……”
The sounds she made were lewd even though she hadn’t intended them. Every stroke of the towel along her flank drew a small moan and a twitch of her body. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, yet it felt as though he were.
After finishing her sides he swept the towel across the small of her back.
“Hyaang…!”
He had only wiped away the sweat moistening that spot, yet Ariel trembled from the waist.
Oh God…
Lately he found himself calling on the divine with alarming frequency. At this rate he might actually develop genuine faith and end up with divine power of his own.
“B-Bishop Lowen… that tickles… hnn…”
Judging solely by her reactions, one would think every place he wiped was an erogenous zone. Better finish this quickly. The gentle strokes became a swift pass of the towel over her back.
“Haang… th-there… that’s a sensitive spot… ang… hngk…”
The place he was wiping was neither her buttocks nor her crotch—it was simply her back. Everyone had different ticklish spots, but people did not normally make sounds like that merely from being tickled. A suspicion rose that Ariel might be sexually enjoying the situation.
“Saintess, please stop making those strange noises.”
“Nehe?”
Ariel tilted her head as if to say, Aren’t you being a little too sensitive about this, Bishop Lowen?
“Did I make strange noises?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I must have done it without realizing.”
Lowen resumed wiping; Ariel covered her mouth with both hands.
“Hnn… hup… auuu… euk…”
Muffling the sounds only made them damper and more lewd. If not for her status as a Saintess he would already have pounced. How was anyone supposed to endure when she was letting out moans that stirred a man’s heart while her body—itself a provocation to the loins—twitched and tempted him? Of course Lowen could endure it; he had undergone endurance training and torture training in the knight order. With any other woman in the same situation he would probably have been numb. Yet some alluring aura radiated from Ariel that made restraint difficult even as he held on.
And thinking of yesterday, this was a light situation by comparison. Yesterday had been truly dangerous. She had been dressed in something lewd with her buttocks fully exposed; it had been a razor’s edge.
What would happen if he took the Saintess’s virginity?
The answer arrived at once. They would call it blasphemy. Every Holy Knight of the Holy See would come for Lowen’s head; the Empire would join the hunt, and no matter where he fled they would pursue him relentlessly. In the end he would be caught, and after that he would mount the guillotine.
Thunk!
He would never even return to his wretched days as a knight; his head would simply go flying. The image of his own severed neck was enough to quiet the restless stirring in his chest.
“Please wipe the front yourself, Saintess.”
Having finished her entire back, Lowen held out the towel.
“Please wipe the front too, Bishop Lowen.”
“You should wipe it yourself, Saintess.”
“Please. I want Bishop Lowen to do it.”
“Wipe it yourself, Saintess.”
He refused firmly.
“You said you’d indulge my whims just this once. I’ve made up my mind. Today I’m going to act as spoiled as I want with Bishop Lowen.”
He had intended to grant every request for today, yet on second thought, giving her everything she asked would only spoil her further. It would be the path to turning her into an even more hopeless Saintess rather than the ideal one he aimed for.
“Even so, I would prefer that you not forget you yourself are a Saintess.”
“I only asked you to wipe away my sweat?”
Ariel turned and looked up at him.
“Or is it that Bishop Lowen…”
Eyes lifted coyly. Purple irises moist and hazy. Her lips hesitated, then parted slightly.
“…sees me as that kind of object?”
Her large eyes rippled quietly, like a lake into which a single raindrop had fallen. The background blurred until only Ariel stood out in sharp relief. The more he blinked, the more the world washed into white, and only she sparkled.
Lowen, frozen in a daze, put on a serious face and reached toward her.
“Saintess…”
He brushed her cascading hair aside, stroked the tip of a finger up her cheek, and laid his palm against her forehead.
“You’re burning up. Your fever has gotten worse.”
He decided to put off wiping the front, dressed her in nightclothes, and laid her down on the bed.
“I’ll go downstairs for a moment. Please rest.”
With that he left the bedroom.
It was irritating. The image of Ariel’s beautiful face looking up at him kept flickering behind his eyes, setting every nerve on edge.
Ariel stared fixedly at the door he had closed behind him.
“Umm……”
She placed a hand on her own forehead. There was a fever, but nothing that deserved to be called a fireball. In fact, thanks to proper sleep and food, it had eased a little. Yet something had definitely been hot.
“The fireball was Bishop Lowen’s hand, wasn’t it…?”
She tossed and turned on the bed, then pulled a pillow into her arms.
“Was I being too mischievous…?”
Asking him to change her clothes, asking him to wipe the front—those hadn’t really been whims so much as a sulky fit of pique. It was because of Lowen’s gentle demeanor. They had sucked each other’s genitals, exchanged semen and love juices; yesterday she had been dressed lewdly with her buttocks and lower belly exposed—yet Lowen remained always the same. He showed not the slightest embarrassment, as if completely unbothered by any of it, and only smiled kindly. So she had gotten a little sulky.
“Because it felt like I was the only idiot being conscious of it……”
She liked Lowen, but only with the kind of affection a Saintess who loved everyone would feel. Still, she wished he would be more conscious of her. She herself could not pinpoint exactly where that wish came from, yet she hoped he would cast aside the pretense and show his true feelings.
The Lowen she watched always wore a mask of a smile to hide himself—before the people who visited the cathedral, before Clea who had stayed there not long ago, and even before Ariel.
Other people would never know. That a chill lurked inside his warm smile. That behind his cheerful expression lay a side of exhaustion.
Only Ariel knew. That behind his white smile stretched a black snowfield. That behind his black clerical robes hid a white emptiness.
“Only I know… only I know, right…”
She closed her eyes. Then she opened them.
“U… umm…”
She felt as if she had only blinked, yet before she knew it faint moonlight had entered the room and dyed everything indigo. Her body felt light. The throbbing headache was gone as if washed away. Her throat was still rough from dryness, but not enough to make her frown.
Ariel lifted the lukewarm towel from her forehead and sat up.
“Huh?”
Lowen was there. He sat in a chair with his arms crossed, sound asleep.
So as not to wake him, she quietly left the bed, fetched another chair, and stealthily settled beside him.
“Thank you.”
Ariel rested her head on Lowen’s shoulder and slowly closed her eyes.