The Nymph Wants to be Plundered - Chapter 40

It was impossible. His grip was ironclad around her hips, forcing her down into the chair, leaving no room for escape. Evelyn shook her head desperately, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“No…!”

But his voice was a velvet-dark taunt, curling around her like smoke.

“Then why confess it was your fault?”

“I—It wasn’t—!”

“Lying doesn’t suit you.” A rough thumb stroked the dip of her navel, making her flinch. “But this does. Soaking through your little slip already… Shouldn’t we verify just how honest you’re being?”

Before she could protest, his fingers slid beneath her skirt, skimming the feverish skin of her inner thigh. Just that—just the barest brush of his fingertips—and her knees jerked apart with a helpless tremor. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, pleased.

“Ah…!”

She was trapped. Even if she fought, even if she clenched her thighs shut, it wouldn’t matter. He owned this moment—owned her. His hand pushed higher, slipping under the delicate lace hem of her slip, and her vision swam when his fingers found the damp silk of her panties.

“Cassis—!”

No mercy. His palm pressed hard against her, the heat of him searing through the fabric, and she whimpered as his fingers traced the swollen outline of her s*x. A slow, deliberate stroke from top to bottom, and her hips jerked against his hand, betraying her.

“F**k,” he muttered, “you’re drenched.”

And she was. The proof was undeniable—her arousal had soaked through the thin barrier, slick and shameful under his touch. He hooked a finger beneath the lace, dragging it aside, and the sudden exposure made her gasp. Cool air kissed her flushed flesh, but not for long. His fingers returned, this time skin on skin, gliding through her wetness with a filthy, wet sound.

“Nngh—!”

Her back arched, her nails digging into the armrests, but he didn’t stop. One thick finger circled her c**t, teasing, before sliding lower, pressing against her entrance.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “was this what you wanted all along?”

She couldn’t answer—couldn’t think. Not when his fingertip pushed inside, just the barest intrusion, and her body clenched around him, greedy.

“God, you’re tight,” he growled. “Even like this, you suck me in…”

Another inch, and her thighs shook, her breath coming in ragged pants. He crooked his finger, and she cried out, her hips rolling helplessly against his hand.

“See?” His voice was dark with triumph. “You can’t even pretend anymore.”

“Cassis—Ah…! Please…!”

His fingers were relentless, stroking the swollen, dripping heat between her thighs with cruel precision. Even through the soaked silk of her panties, he could feel every shuddering pulse of her c**t, the way her body clenched around nothing—begging to be filled.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice rough with dark amusement. “Drenched just from being pressed against me like some desperate little thing.” His fingertip circled the stiff peak of her c**t, slow and taunting, before pressing down just hard enough to make her back arch off the chair. “Tell me, Evelyn—did you ache like this the entire time? Squirming in my arms, praying I’d slip a hand between your legs?”

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her thighs trembling as she tried—and failed—to close them around his invading hand. “I… I didn’t—!”

“Liar.” A sharp pinch to her c**t made her cry out, her hips jerking against his palm. “Your body doesn’t lie. Every slick, filthy twitch of it betrays you.” He dragged his middle finger along her slit, groaning at the sheer heat of her, the way her folds clung to his touch like she was already trying to milk him dry. “F**k. You’re dripping.”

Evelyn’s whimper was half-sob, half-plea. She was—her thighs glistened, her panties sheer with wetness, and when he finally slipped beneath the ruined fabric, her c**t clenched around nothing, starving.

Cassis exhaled sharply, his own c**k throbbing at the sight. Mine. All mine. The thought was a primal snarl in his blood.

But then—

A darker thought slithered in.

What if she had never been his to claim?

The image seared behind his eyes Evelyn, dead in some forgotten report. A nameless nymph, born and discarded before he ever knew her.

No.

His fingers dug into her hips, yanking her harder against his hand. “You’d have come untouched, wouldn’t you?” he growled, thrusting two fingers deep without warning. Her scream was muffled against his shoulder as her c**t fluttered, greedy and tight. “If I’d pushed you against the wall that night—if I’d f****d you right there in front of the entire court—you’d have soaked my fingers just like this.”

She sobbed, her walls spasming around his thrusting fingers. “Cassis—!”

“Say it.” He curled his fingers, dragging against that sweet, spongy spot inside her. “Tell me how badly you wanted it.”

Her climax hit like a storm—a broken, shuddering wail as her c**t squeezed, drenching his hand in proof.

And Cassis?

He watched, ravenously, as his little nymph fell apart.

“Cassis—! Ah…!”

His fingers were relentless, stroking the slick, swollen heat between her thighs with torturous precision. Even through the thin barrier of her underthings, he could trace every desperate throb of her flesh, the soaked fabric clinging obscenely to her folds. Drenched. Ruined. All for him.