I'm in Love with the Villainess!-Chapter 125: Teasing the Temptress (1)

(A/N: As the discord has decided, I’ll be using more blunt and crude language for Chapters like this!)

The first kiss wasn’t desperate.

That was what surprised me.

With how thick the air had gotten, with divine and demonic energy grinding against each other, I’d expected something frantic.

Teeth. Hunger. Losing control.

Instead, Evelina leaned in slowly.

On purpose.

Her lips brushed mine once—light, testing. Warm and soft. A warning pretending to be restraint.

My hand was still on her cheek. I felt her lashes flutter. I felt her breath hitch, not from doubt, but from how hard she was holding herself back.

I kissed her properly.

And everything reacted.

A faint vibration ran through the floor under us. The curtains drew in tighter, cutting us off until there was nothing but dark red silk, heat, and the smell of her.

Her fingers fisted in the front of my shirt.

For a moment, she let me take control.

That alone went straight to my cock.

I stepped forward, and she backed up without breaking the kiss. One step, then two. The back of her knees hit the edge of the waiting bed and her body dipped, her hips brushing mine.

Still, she didn’t go down.

Her hands slid up over my shoulders and locked behind my neck. The hem of her uniform rode slightly higher along her thighs with the movement, flashing the dark band of her stockings above the edge of immaculate white. Her tail wrapped low around my thigh again, tight and possessive, holding me there, staking a claim.

I pulled back first.

Barely.

Her mouth followed mine for half a second before she caught herself, a soft, frustrated sound slipping out of her throat, like she hated letting me go even that much.

"There it is," I said.

Even if my demonic authority was faltering, I was still in a magical high after everything that had happened.

We now both have equal agency—I’m free to do what I want, and so is she.

That meant I was gonna tease her first...

Her eyes opened slowly. Dark, wide, and intense.

"What is?" she asked. Her voice had gone softer.

"That look."

Not the villain act.

Not the succubus routine.

The look that said she wanted me, not my magic, not a win.

Just me.

Color moved into her cheeks.

She tried to smirk. "You’re imagining things."

"Am I?"

Her grip tightened in the fabric of my shirt and the front of her uniform. One of the top buttons had come undone somewhere between breaths, the stiff line of her neckline now a little crooked, a little more human.

The glow around her wavered.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," she said quietly.

"You brought me to your version of a honeymoon suite," I said against her skin. "We passed ’safe’ a while ago."

She huffed out a short, shaky laugh.

Her control slipped again. Emotions clouded the fact that she could take control at any moment as long as she willed it.

I let my mouth move lower, slow on purpose. Down her throat, where her pulse hammered, hard and uneven under warm skin.

Her head tipped back before she stopped it.

The sound she made then was softer.

The room reacted.

The bed behind her dipped when she finally let herself fall back. I followed, one knee on the mattress, caging her in without pinning her.

I wanted her to notice the difference compared to back in the medical district.

Her hands moved from my shoulders to my chest, fingers spreading like she needed to make sure I was actually there. Solid. Present. Hers, at least right now. The skirt of her uniform had ridden up around her thighs, white fabric wrinkled instead of perfectly pressed, like even the outfit couldn’t keep pretending this was clinical.

"You’re unusually gentle," she said. Her breathing was uneven.

"Let down?"

Her eyes sharpened.

"Don’t push it."

I smiled against her skin, then looked at her.

Her dark hair framed her face. Magic flickered along her horns, dimmer now, less wild. The divine traces still sparked at the edges, but they weren’t striking out anymore.

My hand slid from her face, thumb dragging over the soft curve of her cheek, down the line of her throat. I felt every swallow. I followed the dip of her collarbone, then lower, over the steady lift and fall of her chest.

The thin fabric between us didn’t hide her heat. I felt how tight her breathing had gotten, the way her body was already coiled under my hand, strung tight and ready to snap.

Her breath hitched again, sharper this time, catching high in her throat.

"Cael," she said my name like it was half warning, half plea, half prayer. It shook a little at the edges.

I paused.

Not because I had to.

Because I wanted her to feel it, the pause, each stretched-out second, my hand hovering right where she burned for contact and not giving it. I wanted her to know exactly where my fingers were, and exactly where they weren’t.

Wanted her to know what it felt like when she pulled the same shit on me.

Even I could be petty like that, even to her.

Our breaths met in the narrow space between us. I could taste how hard she was holding back, as clearly as her scent—sweet, dark, wrong in a way that twisted low in my gut.

Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the color of her eyes.

The succubus side of her was pressing at the cage. I saw it in the set of her jaw, the faint tremor in her throat, the way her nails dug harder into my shirt, wrinkling the fabric, the way her tail had gone rigid and tight, the tip wrapped around my wrist like it was afraid I’d leave.

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t pounce.

Didn’t flip us and take what she was built to devour.

She waited.

"For someone who feeds on desire," I said quietly, brushing my thumb along the edge of her jaw, following the soft line to the corner of her lips, "you’re very good at letting me starve you."

Her lips parted on a tiny, broken sound. Not a word. Not a full moan.

Just need.

I felt the shift.

Her hands moved again, slower now. Not dragging me down like she was drowning.

Tracing.

She followed my shoulders with her fingertips, pressing into muscle, running down my arms, over my chest. Like she was taking inventory, memorizing what she intended to claim.

"If I lose control," she whispered, eyes locked to mine, voice rough from holding back, "I won’t stop at teasing."

Her thumbs brushed along my ribs, claws just under the skin.

"I won’t be gentle. Even you might be overwhelmed..." She giggled.

"I know."

The admission hung between us.

Heavy.

Honest.

An open door.

I leaned down and kissed her again. This time there was nothing careful about it, just pressure and need. I didn’t rush. I drove in slow, letting the tension climb, my grip and the pull of her mouth getting harsher with every pass.

Her lips opened, and I went in harder, testing how far she’d let me push. My tongue slid against hers, hesitant for a second, then rougher as she gave in, that crack in her control tearing wider.

I pressed closer, and her body arched into me, reacting to the pressure I applied. Fabric scraped against fabric, too thin to hide the way her nipples tightened under my palm when I let my hand move lower, thumb catching the peak through the cloth.

She gasped into my mouth, hips jerking up before she stopped herself, tail clamping tighter around my wrist.

The bed dipped harder under us, reacting to the shift in weight, creaking at the sudden, desperate press of our bodies.

"Y-You’re taking too long."

Evelina suddenly let out a dangerous murmur, still wrapped around my tongue.

Looked like she was going to forcefully end my little teasing game...

Unless of course...?

[Eye of the Profaned (Unique)]

- Profaned Prince (Activated)