The Villainess Wants To Retire Chapter 119: Punishment

She moved.

Instinct, maybe, or panic at how close I was getting, how much space I was taking up, how the air between us had gone thick with want that neither of us could deny anymore.

She tried to pull back, to create distance, but her body was still weak from the river’s healing, still rembering what it ant to almost die, and the movent made her lose balance entirely.

I caught her.

Of course I caught her.

Hands closing around her waist, pulling her toward instead of letting her fall, and sohow, sohow, the logic of it all conspired to land her exactly where every forbidden part of had been imagining her:

Straddling my lap.

Facing .

Close enough that I could count her eyelashes and catalog every shade of color in her eyes and feel the warmth still radiating from her skin despite the river’s cold.

She froze.

I felt it. Every muscle going taut, every tendon locking into place like her body couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee or just stay there and see what happened next.

My hand found hers.

Closed around it. Fingers threading together in a grip that was probably too tight but I couldn’t make myself loosen it, couldn’t risk her pulling away when I’d finally gotten her this close.

The tension between us was suffocating.

Physical. Tangible. So thick I could barely think through it, could barely rember why patience was important when every nerve in my body was screaming at to close the remaining distance and show her exactly what wanting soone felt like when you’d spent decades believing you were incapable of the emotion.

My restraint was cracking.

Fracturing. Splintering into pieces that were getting harder to hold together with each passing second, with each breath she took that I could feel against my lips, with each slight shift of her body that reminded she was right there and all I had to do was—

My lips hovered over hers.

Barely an inch away. Close enough that our breaths mingled, that I could taste the ghost of her on my tongue without actually touching her, that the anticipation alone was enough to make my hands shake and my heart try to break through my ribs.

This was punishnt.

Not for her. For .

Because I was the one suffering, the one holding back when every instinct demanded I take what I wanted, the one being tortured by proximity and possibility and the knowledge that she’d let if I just...

Her eyes closed.

Slowly. Completely. Lashes fluttering down to rest against her cheeks in a gesture of surrender that was so uncharacteristic of her, so trusting, that it nearly destroyed the last threads of my control.

She wanted this.

Wanted .

The realization hit like lightning, like vindication, like every prayer I’d never bothered to speak being answered by a god who’d decided I deserved rcy after all.

I smiled.

Small and private and entirely for myself, because knowing she wanted this, knowing I wasn’t alone in this desperate, clawing need—was enough to make feel invincible.

But I willed myself to stop.

Not because I didn’t want her. Gods, I wanted her so badly it felt like wanting itself had been redefined, like every previous desire I’d experienced was just practice for this mont.

But it wasn’t the right ti yet.

She needed to acknowledge it first. Needed to say out loud that she wanted , that this wasn’t just chemistry or convenience or the inevitable result of spending too much ti in close quarters.

I needed to hear her admit it.

So I pulled back.

At the last possible second, when our lips were practically brushing, when one more heartbeat would have closed the distance entirely.

My thumb ca up instead.

Brushed across her lips. Soft. Deliberate. Tracing their shape like I was morizing them through touch, learning what they felt like so I could imagine it later when I was alone and she was asleep and I had nothing to do but rember this mont.

"You seem excited to be punished by , Your Majesty."

The words ca out low. Teasing. Laced with satisfaction that I didn’t bother hiding because she had been excited, had wanted it, had closed her eyes and waited for to kiss her like it was inevitable.

Eris’s eyes snapped open.

Wide. Mortified. The kind of sha that ca from being caught wanting sothing you’d convinced yourself you shouldn’t want.

Color flooded her face again, deeper this ti, spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the neckline of her soaked dress and she tried to scramble off my lap like distance would sohow erase what had just happened.

I didn’t let her.

My hands tightened on her waist, holding her in place with a grip that was firm but not painful, possessive but not cruel.

"I never said I’d let you go," I pointed out, voice reasonable despite the fact that nothing about this situation was reasonable.

She fought back imdiately.

Hands pushing against my chest, trying to create space I refused to give her, glaring at with eyes that promised violence and retribution and creative uses of fire once her power returned.

"You—" she started, voice sharp.

I moved before she could finish.

Leaned in and bit down gently on the curve where her neck t her shoulder, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to distract, to redirect her anger into sothing else entirely.

She gasped.

Soft. Startled. A sound I’d never heard her make before and imdiately wanted to hear again.

"There are many other ways to punish you," I murmured against her skin, lips barely lifting from where I’d bitten. "And we have days to explore them all."

My hands started moving.

Traveling across her body with deliberate intent, mapping every curve and plane and place where her soaked dress clung like a second skin. Finding the fastenings of her imperial gown—hooks hidden along the side, laces at the back, clasps that required nimble fingers and patience I was rapidly running out of.