Daoist Gentle Dream had faced death, slaughter, and heavenly tribulations without flinching.
She had been surrounded by the most handsome men, the most fearsome warriors, the most cunning emperors, and none had ever stirred even a fraction of desire in her heart.
Yet now—now she was trembling, her body betraying her, and Riley Mason wasn't even touching her.
It wasn't just his physical presence, nor his obscene size—it was the way he moved, the effortless dominance in his touch, the sheer control in his every motion.
His lovers melted under him, writhing and crying out in pleasure, lost in a bliss that seemed almost otherworldly.
Each sigh, each moan, each whispered plea for more sent another jolt of heat straight to her core.
She bit her lip, fighting the shudder that threatened to escape her body.
"This is ridiculous. I am Daoist Gentle Dream. I have ascended beyond mortal temptations. I should not—no, I cannot—be feeling this way."
