The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Taking a slow breath, he let his hand brush against her knee—just the faintest touch, testing, waiting. No resistance. No rejection. His confidence edged forward. His fingertips danced upward, tracing the soft curve of her thigh, slipping beneath the silken hem. Her muscles tensed for an instant, but her expression never changed. Cold, composed, perfect.

You won't let me see, huh? Then I'll make you show it.

Mikhailis's fingers curled gently, finding the warm, damp heat beneath the fabric. A slow, gentle caress, just enough pressure to tease. His touch traced lazy circles, feeling her slick warmth grow beneath his fingertips. Still, Lira's face remained a perfect porcelain mask. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest betrayed her.

His lips curved. Playing the statue, are we? Let's see how long you can hold that. His touch grew firmer, his fingers slipping through the warm slickness, exploring with a deliberate, practiced motion. Her thighs tightened for a moment, then relaxed, but her gaze never left the window.

"Lira…" he whispered, voice a soft, teasing murmur, barely louder than the soft clatter of the carriage wheels.

Her lips pressed together, then parted, a subtle shiver dancing along her cheek. But her voice, when it came, was even, almost cold. "Is there something you require, Master?"

His thumb found a sensitive spot, tracing slow, deliberate circles. A tremor ran through her, but her face remained composed. Only her breath quickened, the rise and fall of her chest betraying her.

"Oh, nothing," he whispered, leaning closer, his lips a breath away from her ear. "Just making sure you're comfortable."

Her eyes narrowed, but a faint, rosy warmth dusted her cheeks. "I am perfectly comfortable," she whispered, though her voice carried a faint, wavering edge.

"Really?" His fingers continued their delicate dance, exploring, teasing, pressing just enough to coax warmth and wetness. He leaned even closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Your body says otherwise."

A soft, barely audible sigh slipped from her lips, but she caught it, jaw tightening. Her gaze stayed frozen on the window, her lashes fluttering. Mikhailis's touch grew more daring, his fingers pressing deeper, his thumb circling faster. Her thighs shifted, pressing ever so slightly against his hand.

Her mask was cracking.

Mikhailis's free hand rose, brushing against her cheek, tracing the elegant line of her jaw. "Lira," he whispered again, this time with a note of gentle command.

Her gaze broke from the window, her dark eyes meeting his for the first time. Calm, cold… but beneath the surface, a faint shimmer of hunger, of struggle. Her lips parted, but she said nothing.

Gently, Mikhailis leaned in, his lips brushing against hers—a soft, feather-light touch. No response. Just the warmth of her skin, the faint, sweet scent of her breath mingling with his own. But he didn't retreat. He lingered, pressing a little closer, his lips grazing hers, coaxing, teasing.

Then he kissed her—gentle at first, a soft caress that became a slow, deliberate press. No passion, not yet—only a test. Would she pull away? Would she resist?

Nothing. No rejection. But no response either. Her lips were soft, warm, but still, her body like a statue even as his fingers moved with practiced skill beneath her skirt.

So that's how you want to play it. His lips pressed harder, tracing along her lower lip, nibbling just enough to tease. Still, she stayed cold, like a marble sculpture—except for the heat pooling beneath his touch.

He drew back, only an inch. "Lira," he whispered, voice laced with playful challenge. "Are you really this indifferent?"

Her gaze flicked to his, her eyes narrowing. But her breath came faster, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that betrayed her. "Master, I am perfectly—"

He didn't let her finish. His lips crushed against hers, harder, demanding. His hand beneath her skirt grew bolder, his fingers curling, pressing, exploring the slick heat with calculated expertise. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, slow, teasing. Still, her lips stayed stubbornly closed.

Stubborn as ever… His fingers quickened, his thumb brushing that sensitive spot with a firmer, rhythmic touch. Her thighs trembled. Her lips quivered.

"Mmh…" The faintest sound slipped from her, a tiny, almost imperceptible moan.

He smiled against her lips. Got you.

His kiss deepened, and at last, her lips parted. Not fully, not willingly—but enough. His tongue slipped inside, tracing along hers, teasing. Still she stayed passive, refusing to play along.

But Mikhailis wasn't one to give up. His kiss became a dance—gentle at first, coaxing, then bolder. His tongue traced the roof of her mouth, swept along her teeth, then danced against her tongue, each touch electric. His hand beneath her skirt matched the rhythm, a slow, sensual beat that sent warmth flooding through her.

"Mmh… nn…" A faint, muffled gasp slipped free. Her breath came faster, her cheeks flushed a deeper pink. But her hands stayed folded in her lap, her gaze fixed forward.

Until one hand moved.

Slowly, like a flower unfurling, her fingers slid to his cheek, then tangled in his hair, gripping, pulling him closer. Her lips pressed back, their kiss growing hungrier. Her tongue, once still, danced against his, exploring, daring, craving. The soft, wet sounds of their kiss filled the carriage—"Mmm… slrp… mhh… slrp…"

Mikhailis's hand beneath her skirt pressed harder, his fingers moving faster, feeling the heat building, the wetness pooling. Lira's breath turned to quiet gasps between their kisses. Her other hand found his collar, fingers gripping tight, her body pressing subtly against his.

"Mmhh… slrp… mmm…" Their lips parted briefly, a thread of warmth linking them. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath hot against his lips.

"This…" she whispered, voice shaking with the faintest tremor. "This doesn't mean I've forgiven you yet."

Mikhailis's lips curved in a confident, teasing smile. "I know," he whispered, his fingers pressing just right, drawing another soft, trembling gasp from her. "I will just have to please you more."

Mikhailis leaned in again, and this time there was no hesitation, no testing, no teasing. His lips crashed against Lira's with a hunger that matched the pounding of his heart. His fingers continued their delicate, practiced dance beneath her skirt, tracing slow, teasing circles, each touch drawing a soft, muffled gasp from her. But it was the kiss—the deep, fierce kiss—that shattered her last fragments of control.

"Mmh… slrp… mhh… mmm…" Their lips moved in a feverish dance, her tongue meeting his, teasing, twisting. Her fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tightly, her body pressing against him. Her calm, icy demeanor melted, replaced by a fierce, desperate hunger. Her breath mingled with his, warm and sweet, her cheeks flushing a deep pink.

Mikhailis's tongue traced the roof of her mouth, swept along her teeth, then danced against hers, each touch electric. His lips sealed around hers, sucking gently, then pulling away just enough to catch her lower lip between his teeth, a soft, playful nibble that drew a tiny, trembling moan from her.

"Mmhh… slrp… mhh…!" The wet, needy sounds of their kiss filled the carriage, drowning out the rhythmic clatter of the wheels. Lira's hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing her chest against his, her pulse racing beneath her soft, delicate skin.

She was beautiful—utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful. Her long black ponytail, always so neat and elegant, now swayed with her every shuddering breath. Strands of silky black hair clung to her flushed cheeks, and her dark eyes, usually calm and sharp, now shimmered with a feverish light. Her maid uniform—so prim, so perfect—only made her wild, desperate expression all the more alluring.

Mikhailis's hands slid to her waist, and with a slow, effortless motion, he lifted her, pulling her onto his lap. She didn't resist—didn't even hesitate. Her legs straddled his hips, her body pressing against him, her warm, damp heat rubbing against the hardness beneath his trousers. A jolt shot through her, her lips parting in a sharp, gasping moan.

"M-Mmmhh…!" Her voice was a trembling, desperate whisper, muffled by his mouth. But even as she gasped, she didn't pull away. Her hips shifted instinctively, grinding against the hard, pulsing heat pressing against her. Her fingers curled tighter in his hair, her breath a frantic, needy melody.

But Mikhailis wasn't done teasing. His hands moved to her waist, guiding her gentle rocking motion, pressing her against him, feeling the warmth and wetness soak through her delicate undergarments. He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, his voice a low, teasing whisper. "Getting impatient, Lira?"

She glared at him, but her glare wavered, her lips trembling. "Y-You… reckless… shameless…" But her voice was weak, breathless, each word shaking. Her fingers traced his cheek, then slid down to his collar, gripping tight.

Then, with a swift, frustrated motion, her hand slipped between them, her fingers finding the strained, pulsing tent beneath his trousers. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks as her fingers curled around his length, feeling the hard, searing warmth through the thin fabric. Her voice came in a trembling whisper. "I… I haven't even tasted it for so long… yet those two…" Her breath hitched. "Even though I… I was the first… after Her Majesty."

Mikhailis's teasing smile softened. "Sorry, okay?"