Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 151: Master* (4)

She still twitched beneath him.

Little spasms. Soft tremors rippling through her thighs and stomach, as if the aftershocks of her climax were still echoing through her bones.

Damien didn't move.

Not yet.

He remained buried inside her, still warm, still throbbing faintly in the wet heat that now cradled him like it had been made to.

He looked down.

And there she was.

Elysia.

His Elysia.

Eyes fluttering, lashes trembling faintly against flushed cheeks. Her mouth—usually drawn, guarded, silent—was parted now, lips slightly wet from her own panting breaths. Her chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves, nipples still taut against his skin, her arms splayed weakly to the side as though she'd forgotten how to hold herself together.

And her expression—

Dazed.

She wasn't lost. Not exactly. But the usual iron discipline in her features had been melted away, softened by the unfamiliar weight of pleasure. Vulnerability clung to her like a second skin, pale and bare and breathtaking.

He exhaled slowly.

That look…

That was what he wanted.

That was what he lived for.

Not just the moans. Not just the heat or the tightness or the rush of release—but this.

The aftermath. The moment she couldn't hide anymore. The second she felt.

Elysia blinked—slow, heavy, unfocused.

Her lips moved slightly. No sound came. She didn't seem to notice. Or care.

Of course she didn't.

This was her first time.

Not just sex.

But the feeling.

The ache. The fullness. The sensation of being stretched open, used, wanted. The hot throb still pulsing inside her womb from the weight of his release.

Damien brushed a strand of hair from her damp temple, fingers gentle as they traced along the line of her face. Her skin was so soft here. Her body, always so composed and still in motion, now lay loose beneath him. Undone.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Then her jaw. Then her collarbone.

"You did well," he murmured, lips dragging over her skin. "Better than I could've imagined."

Another twitch.

Her thighs gave a small, involuntary jerk beneath him, and Damien didn't miss it. The faint tension that rippled through her stomach again. The sharp intake of breath she tried to keep quiet as his fingers brushed across her skin.

She was still sensitive.

Raw from the climax. Open in a way that made her shiver with every light touch.

His gaze drifted lower.

Between her thighs—where his cock still rested inside her, softening slowly—he could see it.

His cum.

Leaking from her.

The thick, white warmth slid slowly from the parted seam of her folds, tracing its way down over the curve of her ass and pooling onto the sheets below.

Elysia noticed, too.

Her hand moved.

Sluggish. Curious.

She touched herself there—fingers brushing the slick mess between her legs, gathering it in the tips of her fingers like she didn't quite know what to do with it.

"This is Master's…" she murmured.

The words came out in a daze—barely above a whisper. But the sound of it…

Fuck.

Damien's breath hitched.

Blood surged low, fast and unrelenting. His cock, still buried inside her moments ago, stirred.

Twitched.

And began to harden.

He clenched his jaw as the heat rushed back into his body with a vengeance, already swelling again with need. He wasn't ready to stop. Not yet.

One round—especially a first one—was never enough.

He'd trained since dawn. Sweat still clung to his back, and the ache in his muscles from the day's work hadn't faded. But none of it mattered now.

Not when she was here.

Naked. Open. Covered in his cum and still moaning with the echo of his name in her throat.

His breath deepened.

And then—Elysia's eyes moved.

Her gaze shifted downward.

And she saw it.

Her breath caught.

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

Because there he was again.

Hard.

Thick.

Rising.

The same cock that had just taken her virginity, now standing again, fully erect and slick with her release.

Damien watched her watching him. Watched the subtle parting of her lips. The way her eyes widened—just slightly—as if her body was reacting before her mind could catch up.

He leaned down, voice husky against her ear.

"You didn't think I was done, did you?"

Elysia looked up at him.

And for a breathless second, all she did was see him. Not as a noble. Not as a burden. Not even as her master.

But as Damien.

This Damien.

The one above her now—lean, commanding, eyes dark with a desire that didn't wane after the first release. The one who had taken her so thoroughly she still felt the echo of it in her bones. The one whose heat remained inside her, thick and warm and unmistakably his.

She understood something now.

Just a glimpse. But enough.

This man wasn't someone who stopped after once. This man didn't take what he wanted and move on. No—he devoured. He claimed. He lingered.

And gods help her, she liked it.

The realization—new and terrifying and impossible to name—coiled around her insides like something warm. Something aching.

And before she could stop herself, she moved.

Her arms lifted, slowly, still trembling. Her body was flushed, her thighs still damp with his seed, her legs spread open in invitation even as her breath quivered.

Her lips parted.

"P-please…"

It came out barely above a whisper.

Damien stilled.

His eyes widened a little, not from shock—but from something else. Something deeper.

"Oh…"

A low breath left his throat.

He stared down at her, chest rising with something sharp and possessive. His cock twitched again—hard now, impossibly so—and his brow arched, the corner of his mouth lifting into the shadow of a smirk.

"You're adorable like this," he said softly.

Elysia flushed.

She hadn't meant to say it like that. Not in that voice. Not with her arms open like she was begging to be taken. But she couldn't help it. Her body betrayed her now more than ever—willing, wet, waiting.

Damien lowered himself slowly.

A shadow over her. A heat that made her breath catch.

His body pressed into hers, bare skin meeting bare skin again, the weight of him comforting and heavy and intimate in a way that made her arms curl tighter around his shoulders.

He dipped lower, lips ghosting along her cheek, her jaw, her throat.

And then—

"When a meal like this is presented to me…" he whispered, voice like silk over smoke, "…how can I refuse?"

And then—he kissed her.

No rush. No hunger, not at first. Just lips locking over hers like they belonged there. His tongue slipped between her lips with quiet command, curling with hers, tasting the remains of her breath like he intended to drink all of it.

His hips shifted against her—but he didn't push in.

Not yet.

Instead, his hand slid lower.

Between her thighs.

His fingers found her again, tracing her swollen folds with reverent slowness, dipping into the slick heat already beginning to pool again. She was wet—still wet from before—but he wanted more.

Needed more.

Because this time…

He wasn't sure if he could be gentle.

So he prepared her. Worshiped her with his hands.

His middle finger eased between her folds, spreading her gently, and Elysia shivered as the contact stirred another moan from her lips. His thumb found her clit, circling in slow, coaxing strokes, and she gasped against his mouth, hips rising to meet his touch.

"Mnh—Master…"

The sound of her voice saying that—soft, pleading, still hoarse from the first time—sent a fresh bolt of heat down his spine.

But he wasn't done.

His mouth lowered again, this time dragging down to her chest.

He kissed between her breasts first—slow and lingering—before turning his attention to one of her soft, flushed nipples. They weren't large, but they were perfectly shaped—smooth, firm, sensitive.

He loved her breasts.

Not for size. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

But for reaction.

Because the second his lips wrapped around one, she arched. A sharp gasp left her throat as he sucked, slow and deliberate, flicking his tongue across the peak and then biting—lightly. Testing.

"Ahhh—!"

Her back lifted off the bed, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Good.

She was feeling again.

His hand below didn't stop—two fingers now, sliding between her folds, dipping inside just enough to make her slicker, warmer, more ready.

Then he positioned himself again.

The blunt, swollen head of his cock pressed against her soaked entrance, not with the careful reverence of the first time, but with a steadier hunger—controlled, but unmistakably ravenous.

And Elysia felt it instantly.

The pressure.

Gods, the pressure.

It was different now. Not a stretch—but a claim. Like her body had been hollowed out for the sole purpose of being filled again, and Damien—damn him—fit too perfectly.

"Ah—!"

The sound tore from her before she could stop it. Her thighs tensed around his hips, her hands flying up to brace against his shoulders as he pushed—slow, deep, deliberate.

Inch by inch.

Every pulse of his cock glided over her inner walls like a brand, slick with her arousal, thick with renewed heat. And her body remembered. Oh, it remembered. The ache. The fullness. The way his girth dragged against the sorest parts of her, reigniting every nerve she thought had gone numb from the first time.

But it hadn't gone numb.

It had only started.

Damien stilled.

His gaze snapped to hers, and there it was again—that flicker. That thing in his eyes that always made her breath catch. Not anger. Not control. But… want.

Dangerous. Tender. Devouring.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, hips rocking forward with another inch that made her stomach twist in blissful knots.

"Say it."

Her hands curled into his back, nails dragging down the sweat-dampened skin of his spine as her breath shook.

"Master."

He groaned.

That sound. Raw. Deep.

And then—he moved.

All at once.

His hips snapped forward, burying his cock to the hilt in one fierce, claiming thrust that made her back arch, made her vision white out behind her lashes.

"Aaah—!"

She cried out, her thighs trembling, her walls clutching around him with needy, frantic pulses as he bottomed out inside her.

It was too much.

And yet not enough.

The heat. The stretch. The obscene fullness of his length throbbing inside her again—it made her want to sob. Made her hips roll up to meet his without thinking. She wanted him. All of him. Not the restraint. Not the slow, reverent first time.

This.

This fierce second time.

This hungry, possessive grind of his body into hers, deeper and hotter and rougher than before.

Damien pulled back—slow, dragging his length from her inch by inch until only the tip remained—and then thrust forward again with punishing precision.

Elysia screamed.

It wasn't pain.

It was too good to be pain.

Her body spasmed around him, liquid heat flooding her core as he began to move—slow at first, deep, then faster. Rougher. Like he couldn't hold back anymore. Like he didn't want to.

The bed creaked beneath them. Their skin slapped together with every thrust, wet and raw and utterly indecent, and still he drove into her. Again. Again. Every stroke deeper, every sound she made more broken, more desperate.

And the night went on just like that.