A few hours later I slowly opened my eyes, still wrapped in the sweet afterglow.
The first thing I felt was a warm, incredibly soft mouth gently sucking on my cock—slow, loving pulls mixed with a delicate tongue swirling around the sensitive head, carefully cleaning away every last trace of dried release. The gentle suction and silky wetness made my shaft throb and harden at once, sending lazy waves of pleasure through me.
Curious, I cracked my eyes open just enough to look down.
It was Liora—the same maid I had taken in the bathroom earlier. She knelt between my legs with quiet devotion, eyes half-closed in concentration as she cleaned me with her mouth.
I turned my head. Mira, the other maid who had been in the bathing pool, sat beside me with a gentle smile. The moment she saw my eyes open, her expression brightened.
"Young Master," she whispered warmly, "thank you so much for the premium healing potions…"
Liora slowly released me with a soft, wet sound, a thin string of saliva still connecting her lips to the tip. In a husky, grateful voice she murmured, "Yes, Young Master… we didn't know you cared about us that much. To thank you properly, I decided to wake you up like this."
I simply nodded, still floating in the afterglow.
I sat up slowly. The moment I moved, Liora leaned back and lay flat on the floor, spreading her legs. She wore nothing underneath—her smooth, puffy sex already glistening with fresh arousal.
I leaned forward, lined myself up, and slid in with one smooth thrust. She was soaking wet, her walls hugging every inch of me in warm, velvet heat. Liora let out a sweet, needy moan.
I stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, savoring the way she pulsed around me.
Then I glanced at Mira. She understood at once. Crawling forward, she straddled Liora's soft stomach, leaned in, and wrapped her arms around my neck.
I pulled her tight against me as our mouths met in a deep, hungry kiss—tongues sliding, lips moving with wet, desperate need. Only then did I start to move.
I gripped Liora's waist and began thrusting with slow, powerful strokes—almost withdrawing completely before sinking back in, the wet sound of it filling the room—while I kissed Mira above her, our tongues dancing, her soft breasts pressed to my chest.
The chamber filled with the soft slap of skin, Liora's broken moans, and the messy sounds of our kisses.
One blissful hour later, I finally stepped out of the room and closed the heavy door behind me with a soft click.
I had changed into a fresh set of elegant yet practical outdoor attire, suitable for work outside the private wing. I adjusted my collar and sleeves, still feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles and the warm, satisfied haze between my legs.
The moment I emerged into the corridor, Reginald stepped forward from the shadows.
"Young Master, are you heading out for work?"
I nodded once. "Yes. I'm going now. Let's go."
We began walking. Reginald fell into step beside me, calm and loyal as ever.
After a few minutes we arrived at a dark, dimly lit corridor deep within the estate. A massive ancient door loomed ahead, flanked by two guards.
I cleared my throat. "Ahem… hey. Stop playing hide-and-seek and open the door."
My voice echoed. No response.
I sighed with mild irritation. "Where did these guards disappear to?"
I waited a beat, then raised my voice. "You old bastard! Open the damn door already!"
An aged, dignified voice answered from inside: "Alright, you two. Open it."
The moment the command was given, the two guards dissolved their stealth magic. From head to toe they were cloaked in living shadow—slick black uniforms and skin swallowed by swirling darkness, leaving only their calm, glowing eyes visible. Not a trace of panic showed in their gaze.
I raised an eyebrow. They slowly heaved the heavy ancient door open.
Before stepping through, I pressed my palm against the side panel. A soft blue light scanned my fingerprint and recorded the exact date and time of entry—all data automatically logged in the Information Gathering and Spy House where I worked.
As I walked inside, I spoke to Reginald without looking back.
"Cut this month's intelligence report on the brothel's top courtesans to these two guards."
Reginald nodded silently.
The moment the words left my mouth, the guards' calm, glowing eyes widened in pure panic. They began to plead, but the heavy door had already swung shut behind me with a deep, final boom.
Inside the vast Information Gathering Hall, we continued walking. At first glance it looked almost identical to a grand library—towering bookshelves lined with ancient tomes, faded maps pinned across stone walls, rows of confidential scrolls, and glowing crystal orbs pulsing with captured secrets. Yet every document here held information powerful enough to topple empires.
The hall stretched on, but I ignored the scale and headed straight for the corridor I needed.
After a few minutes we reached an old, heavy wooden door. I knocked twice and called out, "Grandpa, open up."
From inside came an ancient, gravelly voice. "Door's open. Come in."
I didn't move. "Are you decent in there, Grandpa?"
A soft, breathy female moan answered instead.
I sighed and shrugged. "Of course not…"
We stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across rough stone walls. In the center, my grandfather—my real mother's father, the legendary spymaster Lord Valerian Nightshade—had a woman bent over his massive oak desk.
She was a striking spy in her late thirties: long raven hair cascading down her sweat-glistened back, full crimson lips parted, heavy breasts swaying with every thrust, and a thick, full ass that moved with the force of him. Her tight black spy leathers were yanked down to her knees, golden eyes half-lidded as he took her from behind without restraint.
The moment we entered, he froze mid-thrust, then slowly withdrew with a wet sound. Both of them quickly adjusted their clothes—him tucking himself away, her pulling up her leathers and smoothing her hair as if nothing had happened.
I walked straight to the sofa and sat down as if I had seen nothing unusual.
Reginald stepped forward and spoke in his usual calm, emotionless tone.
"Young Master was with the fourth wife of the house… and Lady Isolde Ravencrest gave him a handjob during the tea ceremony."
Grandpa's sharp eyes narrowed in understanding. He turned to the beautiful spy, who was still flushed and breathing hard.
"Block every trace of this information. Now."
She nodded respectfully, bowed low—giving one last view of her deep, heaving cleavage—and melted into the shadows, disappearing without a sound.