Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 138- Not Yet Tried

Her face was flushed. Her dark hair had come loose from its travel band and spread against the formation stone beneath her with the specific dishevelment of a woman who has stopped managing her presentation as a priority.

Her eyes were sharp—still sharp, still Chen Yun, the incision of her attention unchanged—but behind the sharpness was something that had been under the sharpness for eleven months and was rising.

"I told you I’d kill you," she said.

"You can try afterward," he said.

He kissed her.

His hand moved between her thighs.

The sound she made into his mouth was involuntary and complete and he felt it against his lips—a vibration, the specific frequency of someone who has been waiting for this particular touch for considerably longer than they have been in this cave—and his fingers moved with the same deliberate certainty he had used on the princess, finding the warmth and the slickness and the evidence that her body had been conducting its own negotiations with her practitioner for the past two hours without her permission.

She was—

"—Ah—" She pulled back from the kiss to breathe. Her hand went to his wrist—not stopping, the same grip—her hips moved into his hand with the involuntary honesty of a body that has given up on pretending.

He worked her with his fingers and she made sounds against the cave floor—hands pressing flat against stone, head tilted back, the white line of her throat exposed—and the sounds rose by gradations, each one less managed than the last, the editorial layer stripped away piece by piece:

"Hn—hn—ah—"

"Aahn~—"

"—Aahn~—Nn~—!"

The demon sword pulsed.

She was close—he could feel it in the specific tension of her, the grip of her fingers on the stone—and he withdrew his hand.

She made a sound that was not the sounds of the last ten minutes. It was the sound of the person underneath all the sounds.

"—Don’t stop—" She said it before she could edit it. Then: her jaw pressing together, the reflexive recapture—

"Don’t do that," he said.

"Don’t do what."

"Take it back." He looked at her. "You said don’t stop." 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Her jaw moved.

"Then don’t stop," she said. Without taking it back.

He positioned himself.

The first inch made her breath stop entirely.

Not a sound—the absence of sound, the specific silence of a body encountering something and suspending all other processes for a moment to address it. He held there, watching her face.

Then: "—Nh~—"

He pressed further.

She was tight—Core Formation Late Stage physical refinement on a body that had been in the specific tightness of celibacy for eleven months, the grip of her around the first three inches of him absolute and precise—and the sounds she was making were the sounds of Chen Yun encountering something her considerable analytical framework had not been adequate preparation for.

"Ah—ah—it’s—"

"I know," he said.

"—It’s too—"

"I know," he said. And kept going.

Four inches. Five.

"—AAAHN~—!!"

Her back arched from the cave floor with the complete involuntary force of a Core Formation Late Stage cultivator discovering that her cultivation has not, in any way, prepared her for this—her hands going to his shoulders, gripping, the knuckles pale—and the sound she made was nothing like her speaking voice and nothing like the controlled register she had maintained for thirty-six hours in this Trial and entirely like what she was at this moment.

He gripped her hips.

And began.

PAAH.

"—Hn~—!"

PAAH.

"Aahn~—!"

Not slow, this time. Not the patient, careful, building rhythm he had used on the princess. Chen Yun’s body was demanding a different conversation—the demon path cultivator who had been managing alone for eleven months and had arrived at the end of that management, her hips rolling up into each thrust with the autonomous urgency of something that had stopped asking permission—and he gave her what her body was asking for.

PAAH PAAH.

"—Aaahn~—!! AHN~—!"

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her legs wrapped—the instinctive lock of a body trying to increase the contact, trying to pull him deeper—and the sounds coming from her had completely lost any relationship to composed or managed or edited. They were Chen Yun, the actual one, the one behind the pendant and the travel robes and eleven months of solitary discipline, making sounds that bounced off formation stone walls and filled the terminal chamber with the undeniable honesty of what was happening.

PAAH PAAH PAAH.

"AAHN~—! AHN~—AAHN~—!"

Wei Lingyue had stopped looking at the crown.

She was watching with both hands pressed flat against the dais, her silk robe still loose around her, the grey eyes not calculating but present—fully, completely present in a way that was producing warmth along her throat and the beginnings of something that told her the two hours of recovery since her own session had apparently been adequate.

PAAH PAAH.

He shifted.

Lifted her—one motion, her legs over his shoulders, the angle change absolute and immediate—and drove forward from the new position with his full weight behind it and Chen Yun made a sound that was not in the catalog of sounds a human body normally produced.

"HAAAHN~—!!"

PAAH PAAH PAAH PAAH.

"—AAAHN~—!! HAAAHN~—!! AHN AHN AHN~—!!"

The demon sword pulsed hard. All its sealed inscriptions active simultaneously—not threatening, not triggering, but resonating with the sound of its owner’s voice at a frequency the sealed array recognized as alive in a way it had not been alive in eleven months.

He gripped the full, heavy weight of her chest from above—both hands, the soft curves filling his palms in the new angle’s position, the bounce and swing of each thrust visible to anyone watching—and squeezed in the rhythm of his movement and she stopped forming words entirely and was simply sound.

PAAH PAAH PAAH.

"AAAHN~—!! HSSNN~—!! AHN~—!!"

Her inner walls clenched around him with the full precision of a Core Formation Late Stage cultivator losing structural control—absolute, complete, the grip of her around him like a fist—and the orgasm hit Chen Yun the way the demon path hit everything: no warning, no gradation, the full delivery all at once.

"AAAAAAHN~—!!"

Her spine arched so severely her shoulders left the cave floor.

Her legs locked.

Her hands found his forearms and pressed with the full cultivator’s grip.

And then she released—the specific shudder-and-collapse of a body that has arrived somewhere and spent everything getting there—and lay against the cave floor with her chest heaving and her eyes open and directed at the cave ceiling with the expression that Wei Lingyue had worn on the dais an hour ago.

The expression of no available words.

Cang looked down at her.

"Eleven months," he said.

"Don’t," she said.

He pulled out.

His cock—thick, still full—came to rest against her inner thigh and she felt the warmth of it and the weight of it and her cultivation sense registered the qi concentration in it with the automatic assessment of a cultivator encountering a high-density spiritual resource and produced a readout that briefly confused her.

Then: "—What—"

"Later," he said. He looked at Wei Lingyue. "Come here."

The princess arrived from the dais with the particular walk of a woman whose body has been through something and has formed a new relationship with its own center of gravity.

She settled beside Chen Yun on the cave floor, the silk robe still loose, and looked at Cang with the grey eyes that were not calculating and had not been calculating for approximately two hours.

"What did you need," she said.

He looked at her.

He looked at Chen Yun.