The Centigor gripped Al's thighs and stood him up in the water.
In this position, his face was perfectly level with her chest.
He looked at the gash—it had faded slightly but was still oozing a bit of blood.
He couldn't back out now.
Alina's red eyes were shimmering with maternal lust.
Her beautiful face, still streaked with a bit of blood, was soft and shy as she waited in anticipation.
The boy slowly lowered his head, approaching her as if she were a delicate noblewoman.
His hot breath hit her skin, making the Centigor shudder and her legs go soft.
Al leaned in, his hands gripping her muscular arms.
Their bodies were pressed together without a gap, both of them trembling.
Finally, his tongue touched her. Her skin felt different from the goat-girls—firmer, yet yielding.
It was elastic and soft at the same time.
The wound tasted faintly of salt and iron—a mix of blood and sweat.
Surprisingly, Al didn't find it repulsive. It made his heart race even faster.
He closed his eyes, trying to recite every moral lesson he had ever learned, but the temptation was too great.
His hands instinctively tightened on her arms.
She draped her arms around his neck, relaxing her body and letting him do as he pleased.
The Centigor panted heavily, looking down at the small head working so diligently at her breast.
The feeling of this "youngling" focusing so intensely on her body made her soul shake.
It was a joy far greater than claiming a trophy from a fallen enemy.
As she watched Al, a searing desire ignited in her chest.
The world felt like it was spinning. She wanted to swallow him whole.
In a daze, she imagined she was in a different kind of battle with the boy.
She imagined him pinned beneath her, panting and letting out soft, youthful moans.
Then the positions shifted—he was the master, riding behind her, breaching her defenses with a violent, hot flood.
In her mind, the struggle lasted for ages; in reality, only a moment had passed.
Al kept telling himself: It's just for healing. Saliva is a disinfectant... (A myth from seventy years ago, but he clung to it).
He tried his best to serve her, staying focused on the wound.
But Alina didn't want him to stop there.
She was the one in control now.
She couldn't see Al's face clearly, but she couldn't stop imagining how he looked when he was suckling the goat-girls earlier.
Her desire found its focus.
Suddenly, her hands moved to the back of Al's head.
At first, he thought it was a caress, but then her grip tightened, forcing him downward.
He looked up at her, confused, thinking she wanted him to stop.
But he was stunned by the raw, manic expression on her face.
She was so excited she could barely speak clearly.
"The... the wound is further down, too."
He couldn't use the "healing" excuse anymore.
Her peaks—the ultimate goal of any child's craving—were right there.
"Hurry."
She sounded displeased by his hesitation. For the first time, she used a commanding tone.
As mentioned before, Al was never one to make his own decisions.
Never.
He slowly moved his face down the slope of her breast until his nose brushed against the dark crimson tip.
The Centigor let out a sharp, needy hum from the back of her throat.
She pressed him into her body, as if trying to push him inside her heart.
He took the peak into his mouth.
Practice makes perfect. With the experience he gained from the goat-girls and his body's natural instincts, he found his rhythm immediately.
He began to suckle, pulling hard on her tender nipple.
His other hand drifted down, finding her other, neglected breast and beginning to knead the soft flesh.
Alina let out a loud, melodic cry of pleasure.
With every moan and gasp, her entire body shuddered.
She stood up in the spring, her four legs wobbling as she paced back and forth to keep her balance.
Once he had her nipple in his mouth, everything else—the mystery of the Blood Mother, the conspiracy of the End Times, his past life—faded into nothing.
Happiness was a switch, and it was currently flipped "on" by his tongue and his hands.
He drank greedily, listening to her beautiful moans.
His own body felt like jelly, except for one specific part that was becoming rock-hard.
The stimulation pushed him to the edge.
He wanted to throw caution to the wind and drive his currently undersized body into her.
He wanted to breach her, to dump his very soul into her warm, wet core.
Their bodies were practically glued together.
If Al could have seen her from behind, he would have seen her thick, muscular haunches twitching.
Her pink flower was opening and closing in an unconscious, desperate craving.
Her fiery mane was whipping back and forth in excitement.
If Al's "model" weren't so drastically smaller than hers, she probably would have forced him to mount her right then and there.
She would have made him her husband before fulfilling her duties as a "mother."
By the time Al finished "serving" both of her peaks, he was exhausted.
The Centigor's own body had gone limp. Al had to use all his strength just to cling to her so he wouldn't fall into the water.
She suddenly pulled him up and crashed her lips against his.
She kissed him violently, as if trying to reclaim everything he had "taken" from her.
Then, a god decided they had seen enough.
A classic, booming roar exploded in the ears of both the boy and the Centigor.
Alina shivered and her strength left her, but she still held onto Al.
The boy snapped back to reality. The cold spring water and the Blood Mother's fury cleared their minds.
Al looked up at the Centigor's face.
She was flushed, shy, and carried a strange, lingering afterglow.
In her fiery red eyes, Al saw his own reflection.
His left eye showed a world of blood and slaughter.
But his right eye... the image had shifted.
He saw a shimmering purple palace.
Behind a translucent veil, a feminine silhouette giggled softly.
A slender, pale arm reached out and gestured slightly, as if she had just finished watching a very entertaining play.