Chapter 66: Chapter 67: Jimagan’s Mischief (Part 1)
Jimagan and his two companions planned to spend the night at Saint John’s house. George intended to set off the next day to look for the local lord, which was reasonable, as the task was not urgent; after all, they had just dispersed over a hundred greenskin warriors that morning, and the area should be peaceful for a while.
Jimagan suspected that George had brought him to receive an education from Saint John as an excuse; he merely wanted to use the guise of the mission to come and see his idol.
Saint John agreed to George’s request to stay overnight, and although Jimagan thought Saint John’s house was poor enough to make one weep, it was one of the best in the village. There were two guest rooms available for overnight stays.
Even though the beds in the guest rooms were covered with straw and topped with a layer of linen, the conditions were harsh, but Jimagan was still looking forward to the arrival of night. Naturally, the two women would be sleeping in the same room.
“Thank you for Saint John’s poverty.”
She murmured to herself.
When little John learned that George was staying overnight, he was particularly delighted and clung to George, chatting away.
George patiently recounted the battles and stories he had experienced, allowing little John to touch his golden-bladed great sword and measuring the thickness of his armor with his fingers.
The entire afternoon was spent in little John’s laughter.
As the sun set.
Because of the news brought by George, the village militia patrolled the outskirts with torches, remaining vigilant.
After dinner, George, having finally satisfied little John’s curiosity, stepped outside and encountered Jimagan sitting on two chairs.
George approached, and Jimagan lazily glanced at him, giving no indication of wanting to share the chair. She wanted to make up for the time she had previously spent standing.
George could only squat down to talk to Jimagan:
“What do you think of Saint John?”
“Not bad,” Jimagan replied surprisingly well. “I like his son; he’s smart and mischievous. He even spoke up for me today; otherwise, I might have been treated as a beastly spectacle. A son is just like his father.”
“That’s good,” George said. “Actually, I feel somewhat disappointed.”
“Disappointed?”
“As I’ve grown up, I feel he isn’t as great as I once thought.”
“Why’s that?”
“Today he was constantly complaining to me,” George said. “He was clearly doing something beneficial for the local residents, yet he was always whining.”
“Tsk tsk, you have too high moral expectations,” Jimagan shook her head. “He has already prepared for his afterlife, planning to have his ashes scattered on this land. Yet you still expect him to be without complaints and to take pride in it? He’s already foolish enough.”
“I don’t like your foolish assessment.”
“Whatever.”
George put down his helmet and said, “You’re right; I have too high expectations. I think I projected too many unrealistic fantasies onto his image when I was a child.”
After the conversation.
A couple of hours later, the long-awaited night finally descended.
She couldn’t wait to rush to bed.
Her dark hair was still damp and unkempt. She hurried to her guest room, hand on the doorknob, ready to push it open, but hesitated.
It felt too easily within reach, making the usually suspicious Jimagan feel that such good fortune wouldn’t easily land on her.
She began to overthink.
Perhaps upon opening the door, she would find Saint Jenna had already left to sleep with George. Or maybe at that moment, a meteor would suddenly fall, or greenskins would launch a night raid, interrupting her good fortune.
Just like those comedic films where the lecherous male lead is always interrupted at the crucial moment before getting together with a beauty.
Jimagan took a deep breath and pushed the door open, catching a whiff of a woman’s scent.
Inside the room, a glowing orb hung from the ceiling, illuminating the small space brightly. The sheets had been changed to a fiery red velvet, and there were two soft feather pillows at the head of the bed.
Saint Jenna, already out of her silver robe, was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding a book in her hands. Her half-dry golden hair fell messily over her bare shoulders, and from the side, her white wrap showcased an alluring curve.
Jimagan’s tail slowly lifted; she suddenly felt that even if George pressed her to the ground and they engaged multiple times, it would be worthwhile.
Jenna looked up, her green eyes meeting Jimagan’s, and said:
“Jimagan, I want to read for a while; do you want to sleep?”
“Yes, of course.”
Jimagan closed the door and slid the lock down with a click, signaling that in this enclosed room, it was just her and Saint Jenna.
That click sounded like a spark igniting a roaring flame in her heart. It felt like locking a starving wolf in a pen with a plump sheep.
Jimagan showed no external signs as she walked to the bed.
Saint Jenna patted the empty spot next to her, gently asking, “Do you want to sleep inside or outside?”
She really thought she was the main wife…
Jimagan smiled and said, “Inside, Sister Jenna.”
With that, she sat down.
“Your hair is too wet; there’s a towel here, dry it well.”
Jimagan picked up the towel and clumsily wiped her hair, then lay down to sleep.
“Jimagan, don’t you ever tidy your hair before bed?”
“Lazy.”
“That’s not good; lazy women won’t be liked by anyone.”
“Oh.”
Jimagan had to sit up again, grab a comb, and tidy her long hair before lying back down, wrapping herself in a thin blanket. The only imperfection was that although they slept in the same bed, they had two separate covers.
“I’ll read for a while longer.”
“Mm.”
Jimagan closed her eyes slightly, her long eyelashes casting shadows over the excited glimmer in her golden eyes. The more critical the moment, the more patience she needed.
Ten minutes later, the light dimmed. She heard the sound of Saint Jenna’s body rubbing against the sheets, along with the rustle of placing down the book, and the lamps went dark. In the darkness, the sound of Saint Jenna burrowing into the blankets was especially enticing.
Jimagan waited patiently; she wanted to wait for Saint Jenna to enter a semi-sleep state, the best time to make her move when the mind was most muddled.
But lying in bed waiting was not an option, so she quietly turned around.
Saint Jenna’s back was in her sight, her smooth nape glowing softly in the dark, her bare shoulders slightly protruding from the soft red blanket.
Jimagan longed to kiss the skin adorned with a layer of glow.
Her golden hair was dry, layered and soft.
Jimagan’s fingers itched, as if wanting to kiss her hair and nibble on it.
Even from behind, she could see the outline of her exposed chest. She clenched her fist hard, suppressing her impulses.
She waited patiently, waiting.
Ten minutes felt particularly long.
Jimagan felt as if ten hours had passed. When she heard Saint Jenna’s breathing become regular, she finally couldn’t hold back any longer.
She reached out, her fingers brushing through the hair on her shoulder, gliding over her cheek.
“Mm…”
Saint Jenna, in a half-asleep state, let out a low sound.
Without hesitation, Jimagan’s sinful hand slipped directly into Saint Jenna’s wrap, soft and slippery…
Saint Jenna’s body trembled, and she suddenly opened her eyes wide.
