The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 178: Want r18

Oh gods,

That was the only coherent thought I could form. Because the man above me, the one I’d thought I understood, the one who teased and flirted and maintained careful control... looked absolutely insane.

His pupils had dilated until only a ring of glowing blue remained. His breathing had gone heavy, controlled but clearly taking effort. And the way he was looking at me suggested he was about to either destroy me or worship me, possibly both simultaneously.

Before I could formulate any kind of response, before I could attempt to negotiate or protest or do anything remotely intelligent, he moved.

One-handed... still pinning my wrists above my head with his other hand, he gripped the neckline of my shift and pulled.

The fabric ripped with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet forest, tearing apart to expose my breasts and stomach to the cool air and his absolutely scorching gaze.

Heat flooded my face, mortification and arousal mixing until I couldn’t distinguish between them. I was blushing so hard I probably looked like I’d been set on fire, and the way he was staring at me... drinking in every exposed inch like he was seeing something sacred... only made it worse.

I squirmed beneath him, trying to close my legs or shift away or do something to regain even a shred of dignity, but his position between my thighs made that impossible.

And gods help me, I was already getting too aroused.

I could feel it, the slow gathering slick between my legs that had nothing to do with my fire magic and everything to do with being completely exposed and pinned beneath someone who was looking at me like I was simultaneously the answer to every prayer and the most delicious sin he’d ever considered committing.

He watched me struggle, and his smile widened.

Not mocking. Not cruel. But satisfied. Pleased. Like watching me fight against my own desire was exactly what he’d been hoping to see.

His free hand, the one not currently keeping my wrists imprisoned, spread across my abdomen. His palm was large enough to span nearly my entire stomach, fingers stretching from just below my breasts to just above where I desperately needed him to touch.

The contrast between his cold skin and my overheated body made me gasp, made every nerve ending light up like I’d been struck by lightning.

He gripped my waist, his fingers pressing into flesh with enough pressure to hold me exactly where he wanted me, and then ground my hips against him.

I felt him. All of him. Hard and insistent through the barrier still separating us.

And my body... my traitorous, desperate body... responded by bucking up to meet him shamelessly, seeking friction, seeking pressure, seeking anything to relieve the ache building between my thighs.

"There you go Your Majesty," he murmured, his voice gone rough with desire. "Stop fighting it."

His hand began to travel lower, moving with infuriating slowness across my stomach, tracing the curve of my hip, sliding across my inner thigh with touches so light they barely qualified as contact.

Teasing. Deliberately teasing.

His fingers brushed against the edge of where my thighs met, close enough to where I was already dripping and desperate but not actually touching, and I made a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper.

When I glared at him... because even in this state I had some pride left... he smiled wider.

Then leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek. Soft. Almost affectionate. A stark contrast to everything else happening.

Another kiss to my other cheek. Then to the corner of my mouth, his lips barely brushing mine, my ears. His tongue traced a lazy circle there, not quite giving me what I suddenly wanted desperately.

"This," he whispered against my ears, "is what you get for making me mad. For suggesting I could ever want anyone else. For trying to push me away when we both know you don’t actually want me to leave."

I opened my mouth to protest, to argue, to maintain at least some semblance of dignity.

And that’s when his fingers finally... finally... traveled to where I needed them most.

They slid through the wetness that had been gathering there, dragging through slick folds with a touch that was simultaneously not enough and entirely too much. His fingertips brushed across my clit... barely, just the lightest pressure... before moving away again.

I tried to stifle the moan that wanted to escape, biting down on my lip hard enough to hurt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing how much he was affecting me.

He noticed immediately, of course. Noticed everything.

"Don’t try to drown it Your Majesty," he said, his voice carrying command despite being pitched low and rough with his own desire. "I want to hear you. Want to hear every sound you make. Every gasp. Every whimper. Every scream."

His fingers returned to my clit, this time applying more pressure, rubbing in slow circles that made my back arch off the moss, made my thighs tremble where they were still draped over his shoulders, made every coherent thought flee my mind.

"Better," he murmured approvingly when I couldn’t quite suppress the sound that escaped my throat. "Much better."

He continued his torment, fingers working with the kind of practiced precision that suggested he’d thought about this extensively. Applying perfect pressure to my clit, making me twitch and jolt with every deliberate touch, building sensation until I felt like I might actually combust from internal heat rather than external flame.

And then, with his eyes still locked on mine, still glowing with that unnatural ice-blue light, he spoke again, and his words nearly undid me completely.

"Can I tell you a secret Your Majesty?"

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

"I’ve lost count," he continued quietly, his voice gone dark and rough and absolutely devastating, "of how many times I’ve imagined what kind of face you’d make when I’m filling you up. When I’m buried so deep inside you that you can’t tell where I end and you begin. When I’m making you forget every careful word, every boundary, every reason you think we should stay apart."

His fingers pressed harder against my clit, circling with intention.

"I’ve imagined it while sitting through meetings, trying to focus on safe routes while remembering how you look the last time I laid eyes on you. I’ve imagined it while fighting, taking out frustration on beasts because I couldn’t take it out on you. I’ve imagined it every single night since you agreed to come to Nevareth, touching myself while thinking about touching you instead."

He leaned closer, his mouth near my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

"And now," he whispered, "now I finally get to find out if reality is even better than imagination."

His fingers slid lower, circling my entrance with touches that made me want to scream, and I realized with dawning horror and excitement that this was only the beginning.

That he was going to take me apart piece by piece until nothing remained but sensation and need and the absolute certainty that I was his.

And gods help me, I wanted it.

Wanted him.

Wanted everything he was offering even though I knew it would destroy me eventually.

But right now, in this moment, with his hands on my body and his eyes burning into mine, I couldn’t bring myself to care about eventually.

I only cared about now.