The young hypnotist's skills are still weak

Resistance and the Fires of Corruption

The moment hung between them—thick with tension, heavy with the scent of Reya’s arousal and the musk of Aslan’s growing dominance. His fingers had been so close, his mother’s body so pliant beneath his touch, her mind sinking deeper into the honeyed thrall of the Osiris ring’s whispers.

And then—

A flicker.

A resistance.

Reya’s breath hitched, her emerald eyes fluttering as if waking from a dream. She pulled back slightly, her fingers twitching away from the ring’s hypnotic glow, her lips pressing together in a thin line of maternal concern.

"A-Aslan," she murmured, her voice trembling—not with lust now, but with something else. Uncertainty. Discomfort. A mother’s instinct clawing its way through the fog of corruption.

The ring pulsed angrily against his finger, its power wavering. Aslan’s jaw tightened. No. Not yet.

"You’re…" Reya swallowed, her cheeks still flushed, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his touch, but her willpower—fragile as it was—had reasserted itself. "You’re a bit pent up, aren’t you?" She **** a laugh, though it came out breathless, uneven. "God, when was the last time you even went on a date? You should really find yourself a nice girlfriend, sweetheart."

The dismissal stung. The dismissal enraged him.

Aslan’s fingers curled into fists, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans, his balls heavy with need. The ring’s whispers turned sharp, venomous. "She resists. But she will break. All women break."

He exhaled slowly, forcing a smirk. "Girlfriends are boring, Mom," he purred, stepping closer again, letting his presence loom over her. His pheromones thickened the air—musky, intoxicating, laced with the aphrodisiac poison of his incubus transformation. "Why settle for some inexperienced girl when I could have…" His gaze dragged down her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips. "...something far more fulfilling?"

Reya’s breath caught. Her nipples hardened beneath her blouse, betraying her even as she tried to deny it. "A-Aslan, that’s—"

"Natural?" he finished for her, his voice a velvet growl. "Inevitable?" His hand rose again, fingertips brushing her collarbone, tracing the line of her throat. The ring’s energy coiled around her, seeping into her skin, her pulse. "You felt it too. That pull. That need."

She shuddered. Her thighs pressed together, her pussy clenching around nothing, already wet, already aching. But her will—her damned, stubborn will—held.

"N-No," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction. "This isn’t… we can’t…"

Aslan leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me to stop," he challenged, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Tell me you don’t want this. And I’ll walk away."

A test. A trap.

Reya’s lips parted. The words lodged in her throat.

She couldn’t say it.

Because she did want it.

The ring’s power might have faltered, but the seed had been planted. Her body remembered his touch. Her mind craved his corruption. And Aslan?

He could be patient.

For now.

With a smirk, he pulled back, letting her stew in her own desire, in the shame of her silent admission. "Thought so," he murmured, before turning and sauntering toward his room, leaving her standing there—flushed, trembling, and utterly ruined.

The battle wasn’t over.

But the war had only just begun.