God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem Chapter 520 Did You Wet Your Pants?

The mont I shut the door, I let out a soft laugh, the kind of quiet, self-satisfied chuckle you only make when you know you've gotten away with sothing outrageous. The box was tucked snugly under my arm, and I made my way toward the living room with what I thought was all the stealth of a thief in the night.

I was halfway there when I felt it. That heavy, unspoken tension in the air. My instincts scread at to look up, and when I did, I froze.

Camila stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, her blouse still clinging damply to her skin. Her hair hung in soft, dishevelled waves around her flushed face, but it was her eyes that stopped cold.

They were narrowed, glinting like shards of ice. Cold. Calculating. Dangerous.

...And locked on .

"Well, well." She began, her voice low and sharp, each word laced with venom. "Look who's crawling back silently like he did nothing wrong. Care to explain yourself, Mr Kafka?"

I opened my mouth to respond, so half-baked excuse ready to tumble out, but she took a single step forward, her bare feet silent against the floor. She reached up and caught my ear between her fingers with a precision that bordered on surgical, tugging down just enough to make her point.

"C-Camila!" I yelped, stamring her na out in my panic. "Wait! Wait! Let's talk about this!"

Her grip tightened, and I winced, trying to shift without losing the box or my dignity. "Talk about what, Kafka?" She asked mockingly, her tone dripping with sarcastic curiosity. "How you just humiliated in front of that poor delivery girl? How you made a complete spectacle of ?" She leaned in closer, her gaze boring into mine like twin daggers. "Give one good reason why I shouldn't pinch your ear so hard it starts bleeding."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. "Okay, okay! I have reasons! Great reasons!" I blurted, raising my free hand in a gesture of surrender. "First of all, today's supposed to be a good day, right? You planned sothing special for , a pleasant surprise, sothing you put your heart into. Do you really want to ruin that by turning it into a bloodbath?...I an, imagine trying to enjoy whatever you've got planned with bleeding all over the place. That's not exactly festive."

Her brow arched slightly, but her grip didn't loosen. I scrambled to continue.

"Second." I said quickly. "If you pinch my ear and I bleed, you're going to feel so guilty afterward that you'll have to take care of . And do you really want to add 'Kafka's nursemaid' to your list of responsibilities today? I an, you've already had a lot on your plate.

Her lips tightened into a thin line, her expression sohow colder than before.

"Third!" I pressed on, desperation creeping into my voice. "You love too much to actually hurt , Camila...Admit it. Deep down, you know it's true. You'd never forgive yourself if you caused actual pain."

Her gaze didn't waver, but I saw the faintest flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She was thinking about it. Her fingers twitched against my ear, and for a mont, I thought she might actually go through with it.

But then she let out a long, exasperated sigh and released .

"Damn you, Kafka." Camila muttered, rubbing her temple as though I'd given her the worst headache of her life. "You're lucky I can't stand seeing you hurt. Otherwise..." She trailed off, her tone thick with warning, leaving the rest unsaid but perfectly clear.

I didn't waste a second. The mont she released , I placed the box carefully on the table, keeping my movents slow and deliberate, like a man treading on thin ice. Then, before she could change her mind—or worse, rember to follow through on her earlier threat—I slipped behind her.

Her shoulders were still tense, her arms crossed in lingering frustration. Gently, I placed my hands on her neck, my thumbs pressing lightly into the stiff muscles there.

She tensed at first, a sharp inhale the only sign of her surprise, but as I worked my fingers into her skin, her shoulders began to relax bit by bit.

"Of course, you couldn't bear to hurt , my dear Camila." I murmured, letting my voice drop into a softer, more soothing tone. "Because you're rciful. Kind beyond reason. A paragon of forgiveness."

Her brows furrowed slightly, but she didn't stop , so I pressed on.

"Honestly..." I continued kneading her shoulders with care. "Your rcy knows no bounds. You're the kind of person who'd stop. traffic to help an ant cross the road. The kind who'd bake cookies for soone who just keyed your car...Why, you're practically a saint!"

At that, she turned her head slightly, one perfectly arched brow lifting in disbelief. "A saint?" She repeated dryly, her lips twitching as though fighting the urge to smile.

"Yes! A saint!" I said earnestly, leaning in slightly as though confiding in her. "The kind of saint legends are written about. They'll build statues in your honour soday, Camila—marble ones, with inscriptions about your infinite patience for foolish n like ."

She let out a soft snort, clearly trying to hold back her amusent. "Is that so?" She asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

"It is." I said, my hands continuing their gentle rhythm along her neck and shoulders.

Camila then turned fully to face now, her brow still raised, but there was a spark of mischief in her eyes. "Only rciful and kind?" She asked, her tone cheeky. "Not...anything else?"

Ah, I knew what she wanted, and I wasn't about to disappoint.

"Of course, you're more than that!" I said imdiately, stepping closer, my hands sliding down to rest lightly on her arms. "You're beautiful, Camila. No, that's an understatent. You're breathtaking. You're..." I paused, letting my eyes soften as I tilted my head slightly.

"I'm what?" She looked back and asked, her voice teasing.

"You're the moon." I said dramatically, sweeping my arm as though painting a picture in the air. "Bright, radiant, untouchable. Every star in the sky envies you."

"...When you walk into a room, it's like night giving way to a perfect silver glow. People can't help but stop and stare, drawn in by your beauty like moths to a fla."

That did it. Her lips parted for a mont, as though caught off guard, before she burst into laughter—a warm, genuine sound that made my chest ache in the best way.

"The moon, huh?" She asked, shaking her head as her laughter trailed off into a soft chuckle. "That's...quite the comparison, Kafka."

I grinned, leaning just a bit closer. "Well, I don't think the sun would do you justice. The moon suits you better—mysterious, captivating, impossible to look away from."

Her cheeks flushed faintly, but she tilted her head at , her eyes narrowing slightly as though scrutinising . "You're laying it on a bit thick." She said, though her voice was light, teasing.

"Thick? Maybe." I admitted, letting my hands drop to my sides. "But it's all true."

Her gaze lingered on for a mont longer before she sighed, shaking her head again. "You're such a cheeky brat, Kakfa...Always finding ways to give a headache." She muttered, though there was no bite in her words. "But I'll give you this—you're good at getting out of trouble."

I offered her my best grin, prepared to ride this victory all the way to safety, but before I could respond, Camila's eyes flicked around the room. Her brow furrowed slightly, the sharp edge of her practical mind kicking back in.

"Wait..." She said, looking toward the hallway. "Where's Bella? Weren't you two supposed to be fixing the leak in the bathroom? Or did she sohow manage to flood the place instead?"

"Mom?" As if summoned by the words, a small, trembling voice called out from the hallway.

Camila's head snapped toward the sound, her brows lifting in surprise. I turned, following her gaze, and there was Bella, slowly making her way into the living room from the bathroom.

Her steps were hesitant, almost sheepish, and as she stepped fully into the light, the reason for her hesitance beca obvious.

Her hair was slightly damp and clinging to her face, her cheeks were flushed, and her pants—oh, her pants were unmistakably wet in several places, dark patches spreading unevenly across the fabric, probably from her love juice that splashed all over the place.

Camila's eyes widened for a mont before narrowing into a sharp, incredulous squint.

"Bella..." She said slowly, her tone teetering between concern and exasperation. "Don't tell ...Did you actually pee yourself in the bathroom?"

Bella's face turned a deeper shade of red, her hands imdiately flying to cover the wet patches on her thighs. "What? No! Of course not!" She stamred, her voice a high-pitched mix of fluster and defiance.

Camila crossed her arms, tilting her head with a look of mock disbelief.

"Are you sure? Because I'm seeing wet pants and I'm seeing you trembling. And, oh yeah, you were literally in the bathroom, a step away from the toilet. Do you need diapers, Bella? I think I still have your old ones sowhere. Because this is a little—how should I put it?—childish."

Bella's mouth dropped open, her embarrassnt shifting into full-blown indignation. "I didn't pee myself, Mom!" She snapped, her voice cracking slightly as she stomped her foot.

Camila raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the outburst.

"Oh? Then how do you explain..." She gestured vaguely at Bella's pants, the teasing smirk on her face only making the poor girl more flustered.

Bella huffed, crossing her arms in a mirror of her mother's pose before letting her eyes drop—and then they landed on Camila's pants. Her expression shifted instantly, the responses in her head turning before her lips curled into a sly smile.

"You shouldn't be saying anything, Mom." She said, her voice gaining confidence. "Look at your pants! They're also drenched!"

Camila blinked, glancing down at herself as if she'd montarily forgotten the state she was in. Her pants clung to her thighs, the damp patches from earlier far too obvious to deny.

"So maybe you need diapers too, huh?" Bella let out a triumphant little harumph, her chin tilting up as if she'd won the greatest argunt of her life.

Camila's jaw dropped, and for a mont, she seed at a complete loss for words. Her gaze shifted to Bella's smug expression before snapping to , her narrowed eyes boring into mine.

The silent accusation in her stare was deafening, and she seed to be saying: This is entirely your fault.