The Nymph Wants to be Plundered - Chapter 112

Cassis no longer spoke to her. It was as if he had abandoned the advantage of his intoxicatingly sweet voice, knowing Evelyn was easily drunk on it. Aside from pressing a crumpled handful of negligee—slipping from her fingers as her body tilted sharply to the right—back into her grasp, he did exactly as he pleased. His thick, wet tongue carved a deep path between her folds, licking upward with such force it felt like he might split her in two.

Eventually, she had no choice but to clutch the negligee in her hand as tightly as if it were the bedsheet.

“Ngh…!”

He drove his tongue deep inside, then rolled the plump flesh of her p***y between his lips before sucking hard. The pattern of the blackout curtains, so starkly clear before her eyes, began to blur. As her legs trembled, strength draining from them, his shoulders pressed close, bracing her so she couldn’t collapse.

All the while, his hands slid around to grope her quivering a*s, kneading without restraint. Each time his rough fingers dug in, squeezing hard enough to bruise, she couldn’t stand straight. Twisting helplessly, she let out thin, desperate whimpers. Is this what happens when you drink something you don’t even like? As Evelyn’s upper body sagged forward, he lifted her, an arm securing her waist.

“Haah… haa…”

Finally, stability returned. She didn’t even have the strength to complain about how maddening it was to endure this while standing. The negligee slipped down with a soft plop, but her exposed lower half still burned with need. Holding her close, he carried her somewhere, murmuring against her skin.

“You couldn’t hold out for long at all.”

Only then did she muster the audacity to speak—even though mere seconds ago, she had been on the verge of collapsing over his head, unable to take it.

“It was… too much. Ah, really… too much…”

A wicked grin curled at the corners of his mouth as she whined.

“You’re being overly dramatic, and we’ve barely even started.”

“Huh…?”

He had been right. Evelyn acted as if she had scrubbed away not just her body but the memories she should have retained—the scorching, passionate moments she had spent pressed against him. As if she had erased them all along with her illness. But that couldn’t be. A fruit ripened in his hands could never turn unripe again; it defied nature. And ripe fruit had to be devoured. Otherwise, filthy little insects would swarm.

A surge of stubborn possessiveness rose in him. Instead of taking Evelyn to the bed or the plush sofa, he chose somewhere else. Pity for her—today, luck simply wasn’t on Evelyn’s side.

The place where her panting body was laid down was a large, square table. Before Cassis had brought this nymph into his lonely bedroom, he had spent countless hours in his study, often not even stepping foot in the bedroom for days. He would nap in the library or, on the rare occasions he did come here, sleep only a few hours before leaving again. As a result, the table was practically untouched, nearly brand new.

Her eyes lifted as she realized her back was pressed against something just as unyielding as the terrace window. The familiar colors and the light fixture above told her…

“The… ceiling?”

“Stay down.”

It wasn’t the floor, and though not a bed, it was far steadier than the terrace window. But it wasn’t soft either, and the moment she squirmed uncomfortably, the negligée covering her legs was shoved up in one swift motion.

Since they’d moved locations mid-caress, his desire was far from spent. Cassis spread her legs again, burying his face between them—then, as if struck by a thought, pressed his sharp jaw firmly against the thatch of curls beneath.

“Hh—hng…!”

Her shallowly trembling abdomen jerked, making her hips buck beneath him. His hand, reaching upward, seized her b****t through the negligée, kneading without mercy. Evelyn gasped raggedly, soon drowning in fierce regret. Maybe I should’ve just endured behind the curtains after all.

As she writhed with a pout, the man’s jaw began sweeping over every curve of her pelvis like a furious wind—hard, relentless, electric, teasing her to madness. No, not her. A nymph. Driven wild. Her limp hand thumped weakly against the table in timid protest.

“Ah, ngh, Cassis, sss, hh, ah, please stop…!”

“No.”

Cassis genuinely enjoyed meticulously licking her neck down to her body then down to her p***y like it’s asking to be sucked. His expression was utterly relaxed, brows unknitted, and he took even greater pleasure in the relentless dance of his tongue and nose. The moments when her juices threatened to splash, forcing him to briefly close his eyes, were pure bliss.

How to put it…? The reactions were different. Of course, thrusting his c**k into that tight, wet hole and pounding her would undoubtedly be the peak of pleasure a man could grasp—but this was good, too. Deeply satisfying. The advantage of being able to clearly watch Evelyn’s body twitch repeatedly, spilling her fluids, was something he wouldn’t trade for anything.

…Ah. That’s right. That was it.

His chin nuzzled lower, sliding down until his hands pried apart her thighs, which had been barely closed. Her lower belly trembled as if anticipating something. But no matter how long she waited, nothing touched her, and Evelyn’s lips twitched.