The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 138: Comfort and Consequences

His eyes softened.

That soft, genuine expression that made him look like the boy from his story instead of the emperor who commanded armies. Vulnerable in ways I rarely saw. Open in ways that made my chest feel tight.

I kept my hand over his mouth.

Not pressing hard. Just resting there. Protecting something he’d almost shared but shouldn’t have to. Letting him know without words that his secrets were safe, that I wouldn’t take more than he wanted to give.

His eyes searched mine.

Looking for something. Maybe sincerity. Maybe confirmation that I meant it. Maybe just trying to understand why I’d stopped him when most people would’ve demanded to know, would’ve used vulnerability as leverage.

Then he smiled against my palm.

Slow. Deliberate. That shift from grateful to something else entirely. Something that made my stomach flip and my pulse quicken and my brain start sending warning signals that I’d seen this expression before and it never ended well for my composure.

He grabbed my hand.

Pulled it away from his mouth with gentle but firm pressure. Held it between us for a moment. Just looking at my palm like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

Then he licked it.

Flat of his tongue dragging across my palm. Slow. Thorough. His eyes locked on mine the whole time like he was daring me to react, like he knew exactly what this would do to me and was doing it anyway because my reactions were apparently his favorite form of entertainment.

Heat shot straight to my core.

Immediate. Visceral. My body responding before my brain could catch up and remind it that we were in a cave, that we’d just had a serious conversation, that this was neither the time nor place for whatever he was planning.

But my body didn’t care about logic.

Just knew that his tongue was cold and wet and sliding between my fingers now, that the sensation was sending signals straight to places that had no business responding to something as simple as him licking my hand.

Traitor body.

"You have a very bad habit of licking people don’t you?!" I snapped, yanking my hand away.

Or trying to. He held on just long enough to make his point before releasing me.

His smile widened.

"Only you.... And I couldn’t help myself."

No remorse. No shame. Just honest admission that yes, he’d done it on purpose, and yes, he’d do it again given the opportunity.

I needed distance.

Needed space before this escalated into something we couldn’t take back. Before the heat building in my core became impossible to ignore. Before I forgot all the reasons why letting him touch me was complicated and just let him touch me anyway because apparently self-control wasn’t my strong suit when he looked at me like that.

"We should—" I started backing away.

He moved faster.

Arms wrapping around me before I’d taken two steps. Pulling me against him with enough force that the breath left my lungs. Pressing my body flush against his while one hand tangled in my hair and the other splayed across my lower back.

Then he buried his face in my chest.

Not gentle. Not tentative. Just diving straight in like he’d been thinking about it for hours and had finally found an excuse.

His tongue traced the valley between my breasts.

Through the fabric of my dress because apparently that wasn’t a barrier he cared about. Following the line where they pressed together, where the neckline dipped low enough to give him access.

I exhaled sharply.

Couldn’t help it. The sensation was too unexpected, too deliberate, too good for me to maintain composure.

He didn’t stop.

Traveled upward. Licking along my chest. Up my throat. Finding every sensitive spot and marking it with attention that made my knees weak and my hands clutch at his shoulders for support.

"Why are you trying to run away already your majesty?" he murmured against my skin.

Started backing me up. Step by step. Moving me without giving me time to protest or regain balance or do anything except stumble backward while he advanced.

My back hit the wall.

Frozen stone that should’ve been shocking, should’ve made me flinch away. Instead I barely noticed because Soren was pressed against my front and cold was the last thing I was feeling.

"I just told you my sad childhood story," he continued. Still pressing closer. Still touching everywhere he could reach. "I deserve some kind of comfort don’t you think Your Majesty?"

The audacity.

"This is your way of seeking comfort?"

Half-serious question. Half-challenge. Daring him to justify using vulnerability as an excuse to touch me.

He chuckled.

Low. Dark. That particular sound that meant I was in trouble and he was enjoying every second of it.

Then he spun me around.

Fast enough that I didn’t have time to resist. Strong enough that fighting would’ve been useless. Positioned me so I faced the wall, palms pressed flat against ice, his body pressed completely against my back.

"Yes," he said simply, breath ghosting the back of my neck.

Then slowly, his hand traveled up and wrapped around my throat.

Large enough to span the width. Gentle but firm. Not choking. Not threatening. Just holding. Possessive in a way that should’ve made me angry but instead sent another spike of heat straight between my legs.

My hand came up automatically.

Not to remove his. Just to hold it. To ground myself. To have something to grip when my other hand was pressed flat against frozen wall and my body was already trembling from anticipation of whatever came next.

His other hand traveled.

Slid down my side. Over my hip. Found the hem of my dress and lifted it with ease despite the heavy material. Cool air hit my legs as fabric bunched around my waist.

Then his fingers found my entrance.

I wore nothing underneath.

Practical undergarments weren’t something I’d thought about when getting dressed in a cave with limited options. Which meant there was no barrier when his fingers slid through wetness that absolutely betrayed how much I wanted this.

"Already so wet for me Your Majesty."

His tone was boyish. Playful. Like commenting on weather instead of the explicit evidence of my arousal coating his fingers.

He explored.

Not entering yet. Just sliding through slickness. Making everything wetter. Making sure I felt every touch, every deliberate stroke that wasn’t quite where I needed it.

"You—infuriating—" I tried to curse properly.

Came out half-moan instead. My vocabulary apparently abandoning me when his fingers were doing things that made thinking difficult and speaking impossible.

His hand shifted higher on my throat.

Not tightening. Just moving to my jaw. Tilting my head back slightly.

Two fingers pressed against my lips.

I tried to ask what he was doing.

Came out muffled when his fingers slid into my mouth before I could finish the question. Pressing down on my tongue. Filling space in ways that made speech impossible and protest unlikely.

"Don’t fight it, Your Majesty" he exhaled against my nape.

Voice rougher now. Losing that playful edge and gaining something darker. Hunger he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.

Then his other finger slipped inside me.

Easy. No resistance. Just smooth penetration that made my walls clench immediately, made my body try to pull him deeper, made sounds escape around the fingers in my mouth that I couldn’t suppress.

He worked me slowly.

Exploring. Finding spots that made my hips buck against him. Learning what rhythm made me tighten around him and what angle made my breathing change.

My knees threatened to give out.

Only his body pressed against mine kept me upright. Pinned between ice and him. Between cold that should hurt and heat that was definitely going to destroy me.

He added a second finger.

Stretching. Filling. Finding that spot inside that made everything white out for a second when he stroked it deliberately.

I clenched hard around him.

My body’s automatic response. Trying to keep him there. Trying to keep that pressure exactly where it was because it felt too good to lose.