Dangerous Matriarch

"Then... huh... I'm sorry, Matriarch, but I can't say such vulgar words."

Artis shook his head, trying to look as pure as a monk on his first day of vows, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"Fu~ fu~ vulgar words?"

The Matriarch's teasing voice coiled around him like silk.

"So you are thinking something vulgar, huh?"

He glanced up, only to catch her milky, delicate hand sliding over her shoulder as she cracked her neck, her crimson robe slipping ever so slightly to reveal a sinful curve of skin.

She looked like she'd walked straight out of a forbidden fantasy, and his brain short-circuited for a solid two seconds.

"Well... maybe a little," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, "but not like that! It's just that, uh, my thoughts ran wild for a second. Nothing serious, Matriarch!"

"Hooo... so your thoughts are wild, are they?"