The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 120: Punishment pt 2

I kissed her neck while I worked.

Kissed, bit, sucked, licked every inch of skin I could reach. Tasting river water and residual heat and something underneath that was purely her. Following the line of her throat down to her collarbone, across to her shoulder, back up to the sensitive spot just below her ear that made her breathing hitch in ways I felt more than heard.

She was grinding against me.

Small movements. Barely noticeable. Probably unintentional given how her hands had stopped pushing and started clinging instead, fingers digging into my shoulders like she needed the anchor.

But I noticed.

Felt every shift, every roll of her hips against mine, every point of friction that was sending signals straight to parts of my body that were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

My hips bucked in response.

Automatic, instinctive, responding to desire in ways my mind had stopped trying to control three minutes ago when she’d landed in my lap and made this entire situation inevitable.

Heat rose between us.

Not just her fire trying to return—that was still tamed, still dormant, still giving her the gift of cold she’d wanted. This was different. The kind of heat that came from bodies pressed together and breath coming faster and desire that had been building for weeks finally finding an outlet.

The first fastening gave way.

Then the second. Then the third.

The dress loosened gradually, revealing the undergown beneath, thin white fabric that was somehow even more transparent when wet, that hid absolutely nothing of the body underneath.

I laughed softly against her skin.

Couldn’t help it. The satisfaction of being right, of knowing we could warm each other up exactly the way I’d suggested, was too good not to acknowledge.

"See?" I said, lips moving against her collarbone. "I was right. We can warm each other up."

"I’m going to make you pay for this." Her voice was breathless. Shaky. Completely undermining the threat by sounding like she was already undone and we’d barely started.

I laughed again.

Pulled back just enough to look at her properly, flushed and disheveled and beautiful in ways that had nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with the fact that she was mine, finally, after weeks of dancing around this.

"I look forward to it."

My hands traveled under the loosened fabric.

Seeking skin. Seeking warmth. Under the chemise now, over ribs, mapping the line of her waist, the dip of her spine, the places where her body curved in ways that made my mouth go dry.

She grabbed my wrist as my hand slid higher.

Not stopping me, her grip wasn’t tight enough for that just holding on. Like she needed to ground herself while everything else tilted.

"This is a terrible idea," she said, but her fingers dug into my shoulders hard enough to contradict the words entirely.

"Probably." My thumb brushed the underside of her breast and she inhaled sharply. "Want me to stop?"

"I—" She cut herself off, jaw tightening with frustration. At me or herself, hard to tell.

"You’re insufferable."

"That’s not an answer."

"I know what it’s not." Her nails dug into my wrist but she still wasn’t pulling my hand away. "You’re doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" I was absolutely doing it on purpose. "Touching my wife?"

"I’m not your wife yet."

"Semantics." My hand moved higher and she made a sound that definitely wasn’t a protest. "And you’re still not telling me to stop.... Your Majesty."

She glared at me.

But her pupils were blown wide and her breathing was coming faster and she was pressing closer instead of pulling away, so the glare didn’t quite land the way she probably wanted it to.

"You’re irritating" she muttered.

"You always say that." I shifted my grip, thumb grazing her nipple through the thin wet fabric, and watched her eyes flutter.

"But I’m starting to think you don’t mean it."

"I mean it." But her voice cracked halfway through and we both heard it.

I leaned in, not to kiss her, but close enough that my breath hit her neck when I spoke.

"Liar."

She shuddered.

I felt the slight tremor. She couldn’t hide it when she was sitting in my lap like this, when I could feel every response, every tell she usually kept locked down.

My kisses turned more aggressive.

Proactive. Demanding. Licking paths across her skin, biting places that would probably bruise, sucking marks into her throat, arm, chest... that she’d see tomorrow and remember exactly how they got there.

Her hands were in my hair now.

Pulling. Hard enough to hurt but I didn’t care, welcomed it actually, wanted her to be rough with me the same way I was being rough with her.

The undergown shifted as I continued navigating the complicated layers, ties and ribbons and fastenings that some sadistic tailor had included just to torture people in situations exactly like this.

My hands reached her bare ass.

Finally. FINALLY

The contact made me groan against her neck, couldn’t help it, couldn’t contain the sound because she was soft and warm and real under my hands and I’d been fantasizing about this moment since Crimson Port when I’d pulled her onto my lap and realized exactly how perfectly she fit there.

I grabbed.

Both hands, firm grip, and pulled her harder against me while simultaneously making her grind down, creating friction that made both of us make sounds that probably echoed through the cave.

I could hear her wetness.

Small sounds of fabric and skin and desire that had nowhere to go except between us. Could feel the heat of her through the tattered cloth still clinging to my hips.

She gasped.

Louder this time. More desperate. Hands fisting in my hair and pulling hard enough that pain mixed with pleasure.

"Soren—" My name came out broken. Pleading.

My hand slid lower. Over the curve of her ass, down her thigh, then back up her inner thigh—deliberately, slowly, giving her time to understand where I was going.

"What are you doing?" The question came out strangled. Half protest, half plea.

"I heard you earlier." My fingers reached the hem between her legs and she went very still. "You said you were freezing. I’m simply helping you warm up."

"That’s not—" The words died when she realized what I was about to do.

Not pulling away. Not stopping me. Just frozen between wanting and not wanting to want.

"Breathe Your Majesty," I said against her shoulder.

"Don’t tell me to breathe—"

I touched her.

Just the barest brush of fingers against her entrance, testing, and she whimpered.

The Fire Queen who’d terrified an entire kingdom made that sound and then immediately looked furious about it.

"Don’t," she started.

"Don’t what?" I did it again, firmer this time, and her hips jerked forward involuntarily.

"Don’t feel how much you want this, Your Majesty? Little late for that."

"I’m going to kill you."

"Later." I slid two fingers inside her without warning and she nearly came off my lap entirely, gasping so loud it echoed. "Right now you’re going to let me have my way."

"That’s not—I don’t—" She couldn’t finish a sentence, hands scrabbling at my shoulders like she didn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

I started moving my fingers.

Slow. Steady. Watching her face while she fought to maintain some composure, some control, some shred of the armor she always wore.

She was failing spectacularly.

"You’re shaking," I observed.

"Shut up." Her voice was wrecked already. "Just—don’t talk."

"But you’re so responsive when I talk." I curved my fingers and she made another one of those desperate sounds. "See? Like that."

"I swear—"

"What?" I increased the pace slightly, just enough to make her breathing turn ragged.

"You’ll burn me? Not possible right now. You’ll kill me? You can’t even form complete sentences, Your Majesty. Are you sure you’re not enjoying this?"

She glared.

Tried to. Her eyes kept losing focus every time I hit that spot inside her that made her tighten around my fingers.

"I really do hate you," she managed.

"No, you don’t." I pressed up deliberately and watched her back arch, watched her lose the fight with her own body. "You hate that you can’t help but melt on top of me right now."

"That doesn’t—" Gasp. "—make any sense."

"Doesn’t have to."

She was close.

I could feel it. The way her walls wound tighter and tighter, the way her breathing had gone shallow and desperate, the way she’d stopped arguing and started just... taking what I was giving her.

My free hand came up, fingers wrapping around her jaw. Not forcing anything, just holding her attention.

"Look at me."

"No." But her eyes found mine anyway, hazy and dark and furious about how much she was feeling.

"I want to see the expression you’re making now ,Your Majesty," I said, voice gone low and rough because I was barely holding on myself, because watching her fall apart was destroying what little control I had left. "Want to see what you look like when you—"

"Don’t say it—"

I increased the pace. Put my thumb where she needed it most. Watched her pupils dilate and her lips part and her whole body start trembling.

"I want to see you come undone for me, Eris."

"That’s not—I’m not going to—" Her protest dissolved into a moan she clearly hadn’t meant to let out.

Her eyes started glowing.

Faint gold at first, then brighter. Molten. Divine fire breaking through the river’s seal just for this, just because pleasure was making her lose control of everything including her power.

"There you are," I murmured, fascinated, fingers never stopping their rhythm. "Don’t hold back, Your Majesty."

"I can’t—" She was barely coherent now.

"Yes, you can."

She broke.

Like a dam.

Came apart with a cry she tried to muffle against my shoulder, body seizing as her orgasm hit, clenching around my fingers so hard it almost hurt. Her eyes blazed gold... actual fire, actual light... and I felt heat radiate off her skin like the river’s hold on her fire had shattered entirely for those few seconds.

She gushed over my hand, soaking everything, shaking so hard I had to hold her upright.

Then she melted completely.

Boneless. Trembling. Breathing like she’d forgotten how and was just now remembering.

I held her with one arm while aftershocks made her twitch against me. My other hand, the one still wet from her.

I didn’t even think about before bringing to my mouth.

She lifted her head just in time to see me lick my fingers clean.

Her eyes went wide.

Then she buried her face against my neck, and I wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed or just too wrecked to look at me.

"You’re insane," she mumbled into my skin.

"You taste good." I wrapped both arms around her properly, ignored my own very insistent problem because this wasn’t about that. "Should’ve used my mouth."

"Don’t—" She shuddered. "Don’t say things like that."

"Why not?" I pressed a kiss to her hair. "It’s true. Next time I want—"

"There’s not going to be a next time." But there was no conviction in it. Just exhaustion and satisfaction and something softer she wouldn’t name.

"Liar," I said for the third time tonight.

She didn’t argue.