The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 491: Lone Wolf and Swordsmanship (1)

Mikhailis kept his breathing slow, calm—an actor lying motionless after the curtain fall—yet inside his ribs his heart drummed like festival taiko. She is still here… five steps away…

A soft creak of leather, then the faint jingle of a sword‑belt unhooked. Cerys padded across the carpet, her boots silent hunters. Warm lamplight trimmed her silhouette; red ponytail a flick of flame, shoulders squared beneath travel‑stained cuirass.

"Sleeping beauty." The words brushed his ear, velvety and teasing. Breath warmed the shell, sent a shiver down his spine. A fingertip traced the edge of his jaw, slow enough that each millimetre felt counted.

Steady… keep steady.

"If you won't wake," she whispered, lips almost touching his lobe, "I'll have to wake you myself."

Her mouth found his—at first a ghostly tease, a feather-light whisper of touch. But his restraint snapped. His lips claimed hers, hunger raw and urgent. The blanket between them was a fragile barrier; one impatient tug and she spilled onto the bed, armor clinking against his thighs, her weight warm, solid, overwhelming.

Tongues met, tangled, exploring—each breath shared, stolen. Cerys's glove-clad fingers plunged into his hair, nails grazing his scalp. A shiver raced down his spine. His hand snaked to her waist, pulling her closer until cold metal greaves dug against his shins, the cool bite a contrast to the heat between them.

"You're wearing far too much," he growled into the kiss, voice rough with need.

A laugh vibrated against his mouth, husky, daring. "Then fix it."

Challenge met. His fingers danced over familiar buckles, their metallic clicks swallowed by the hungry clash of lips. Pauldrons tumbled away, vambraces clattered to the floor. Cerys shrugged free, helping him, her own hands roaming beneath his tunic, finding bare skin. Each breath between them was a gasped promise, each kiss fiercer than the last.

"You've gotten faster at this," she teased, voice husky, the heat in her tone unmistakable.

"Motivation helps," he quipped, sliding a hand under the edge of her tunic to find torch‑warmed skin, the soft, smooth heat of her flesh electrifying under his touch. His fingers traced the subtle curve of her waist, thumb brushing over a scar he knew well, but felt new each time.

Gloves hit the floor first, then the breastplate, clattering in a metallic chorus. Cerys straddled him, the thin undershirt hugging the soft curves and taut muscle beneath. Her hair spilled loose, a cascade of red that framed her fierce, hungry eyes. Mikhailis's hands traced her spine—silk over steel—fingertips exploring each dip and rise. A shuddering gasp escaped her, nails grazing his chest.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He arched slightly, letting the fabric slip free, and her palms swept across his bare chest, tracing the faint ridges of old scars, the firm plane of his abdomen, the heat radiating from his skin.

Their lips collided again, harder, tongues twisting together—hot, wet, tasting each other with a feverish intensity. His teeth nipped her lower lip, her gasp lost in his mouth. He rolled, twisting her beneath him, one knee pressing between her thighs, her body arching to meet him. Her hips shifted, a breathy, desperate moan slipping free.

Mikhailis's lips wandered, claiming the curve of her neck, teeth grazing the pulse that hammered just beneath the skin. His fingers slid beneath her tunic, tracing the smooth, heated skin of her back, feeling each shiver his touch provoked. Her nails raked his shoulders, leaving trails of fire.

"Not fast enough," he whispered, voice a low, rumbling growl against her ear. "I want to taste you more."

Cerys's reply came in a ragged, trembling whisper. "Then take me… make me feel it."

Her legs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together, heat radiating through the thin layers of fabric. Their mouths crashed together again, but this was no longer a simple kiss—it was a desperate clash, tongues meeting in a heated, wet dance. His tongue traced the curve of hers, teasing, coaxing, then plunging deeper, claiming every taste she offered. She answered in kind, her own tongue exploring, tasting the sweetness of his breath, the salt of his skin, and each flick of their tongues sent sparks racing through their veins.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, gripping, her nails grazing his scalp. A shiver ran down his spine, his own hands sliding lower, gripping her hips, pressing her against him. His lips trailed a searing path down her jawline, teeth grazing her ear, drawing a gasp that melted into a moan.

"I was… supposed to teach you swordsmanship," she gasped, her voice breathless, desperate, as his mouth continued its descent, kissing the sensitive skin of her neck. His tongue traced the racing pulse beneath her skin, savoring the taste of her.

"This is a lesson," he growled, voice thick with desire, his teeth grazing the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder.

"Not… this kind of swordplay." Her nails traced molten lines along his shoulder blades, pulling him even closer. Her thighs tightened, her hips rising to meet his, friction sparking with each movement.

"Too bad." He nipped at her collarbone, his mouth trailing lower, his tongue drawing heated circles against her skin. Her back arched beneath his touch, another breathless moan escaping her lips, her body pressing against his, seeking more.

She gripped his waist, guiding him closer. Heat bled through thin fabrics. Their kisses turned messy—devouring, desperate.

Mikhailis's lips crushed against Cerys's, and this time there was no gentleness, no hesitation—only heat. His tongue slipped past her lips, teasing, exploring, twisting with hers in a slow, deliberate dance. Cerys moaned against his mouth, her fingers curling tighter in his hair, pulling him closer. Each breath was shared, mingled, stolen—her warmth sinking into him, his hunger reflected in the way her tongue traced his, flicked, retreated, then boldly pushed back.

Their mouths moved together in a desperate rhythm, tongues tangling, tasting, learning the contours of each other all over again. Mikhailis's hands roamed, tracing the curve of her back, slipping beneath the thin fabric of her undershirt, feeling the heat of her bare skin. He traced the line of her spine, and she arched against him, pressing closer, her body molding to his as though she were trying to become part of him.

"Mikhailis…" she breathed between kisses, her voice a husky whisper that trembled with need. But his lips found hers again, silencing her, and her words melted into a gasp as his tongue teased hers, coaxing, inviting her to dance. She responded eagerly, her tongue curling around his, then pulling back just enough to nip at his lower lip before capturing him again.

His hands slipped to her waist, fingers pressing against the lean muscle beneath her skin, pulling her tighter against him. Cerys's breath hitched, and her own hands explored his chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt. Her fingertips traced the smooth, warm skin as her tongue pressed against his in a slow, sensual glide. Every stroke was a tease, a promise, a taste of something deeper.

Mikhailis pulled back just a fraction, just enough for their breaths to mingle, their lips brushing with each ragged inhale. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, and his smile was a wicked, playful thing. "Did you sneak in here just for this?" he whispered, his voice a low, teasing murmur, his lips grazing hers with each word. "Elowen wouldn't like that."

"Her Majesty is out at a meeting," Cerys breathed, her voice a mixture of breathlessness and daring. "She and the others—Serelith, Vyrelda, and Lira—they're all at the west border. They'll be staying there for a few days."

His grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "So that's why you're here…" He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You missed me."

Cerys's cheeks flushed, but her smile turned fierce, and she captured his mouth again, her tongue sweeping boldly against his, tasting him, challenging him. "Maybe I did," she whispered against his lips, then deepened the kiss, her tongue pushing past his, exploring the familiar warmth of his mouth.

Mikhailis responded with a growl, his hands sliding lower, gripping her thighs, pulling her onto his lap. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and she gasped as she felt his body pressing against her, hard and eager. His lips left hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, her neck, his tongue tracing the pulse that beat beneath her skin. His teeth grazed her collarbone, and she shivered, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"You planned this, didn't you?" he murmured against her skin, his breath hot, his tongue flicking over the sensitive spot beneath her ear. "Waited until Elowen was busy… snuck in here… hoping I'd be here."

"And you were," Cerys whispered, her voice catching as his lips traveled lower, tracing the curve of her neck. "I wanted… I needed…"