The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 497: The Lovely Lone Wolf (1)

Rodion's voice—disguised in a deep, dramatic tone—echoed from the screen. "Survivors must reach the mall, but beware of the infected swarms hiding beneath the food court…"

His voice was laced with an exaggerated tension, and Mikhailis chuckled quietly. The AI certainly enjoyed his new role.

Cerys didn't seem to notice him yet. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted as she leaned forward, clearly immersed in the gory, tension-filled scene. A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth, and she muttered something under her breath as a survivor on the screen narrowly escaped a lunging zombie.

Mikhailis leaned against the doorframe, a soft smile curling his lips. "You know, most knights spend their free time polishing swords."

Cerys's head snapped around, her wide eyes narrowing for a heartbeat before softening with recognition. "Mikhailis! I didn't hear you—" Her face brightened, and she patted the cushion beside her. "Come, sit with me!"

He obliged, dropping onto the couch beside her. His still-damp hair left faint dark spots on the cushion, but he barely noticed. "Zombie movies, Cerys? Really?"

"They're thrilling!" she replied, practically glowing with enthusiasm. "The survival, the desperate choices. It's like training without the bruises."

"Training, huh?" He chuckled, leaning back. "And here I thought you preferred hunting bandits."

"This is… stress relief." Her voice softened, her head resting against his shoulder. "I've finished my duties for the day. As your personal knight, I should stay close. So here I am."

She shifted, settling more comfortably, her head slipping from his shoulder to his lap. Mikhailis's fingers instinctively traced down her side, slipping beneath her tunic until his palm rested against the warm, soft skin of her stomach. Cerys stiffened for a heartbeat, her breath catching—then she relaxed, a faint blush touching her cheeks.

"You're shameless, you know," she whispered, but there was no heat in her words—only a playful challenge.

"And you let me," he murmured, his thumb tracing lazy circles over her stomach, dipping just beneath the hem of her tunic. The soft rise of her mounds was tantalizingly close.

Cerys's focus shifted back to the screen, though her breathing was slightly quicker, her cheeks tinged with warmth. "Rodion is the best storyteller. He knows how to set the atmosphere."

"Indeed," Mikhailis grinned, watching as the screen showed a survivor being cornered by a horde of the undead.

Rodion's voice continued, dramatically ominous. "And yet, the darkness conceals more than the infected…"

Mikhailis's fingers drifted a little higher, brushing just beneath her chest. Cerys squirmed slightly, biting her lip, but didn't stop him.

"M-Mikhailis… trying to distract me?" she teased, but her voice was softer, breathier.

"Just keeping you warm," he whispered, his lips brushing a soft kiss to her temple.

A soft shiver ran down her spine, and her hand moved to cover his, not to stop him, but to guide him—sliding his palm directly over the soft, tender curve of her chest. Her heartbeat was fast beneath his touch.

"Maybe I don't mind," she whispered, leaning into his touch, her voice barely above a breath.

He leaned down, his lips grazing her ear, his voice a warm murmur. "Would you rather I stop?"

"Don't you dare." Her voice was firm, though her cheeks were practically glowing.

He laughed, his hand gently kneading, drawing soft gasps from her. "Bold as ever, Cerys."

Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, though her focus was clearly faltering. She shifted slightly, her hips pressing closer against his thigh. "I-I'm just… watching…"

"Yes, watching," he teased, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles. "Such focus."

"Mikhailis…" she whimpered, her voice caught between amusement and a soft, breathy plea.

The movie continued, but Cerys was no longer watching. Her body leaned into his touch, and her head tilted slightly, exposing the soft curve of her neck. He couldn't resist—his lips brushed against her skin, warm and tender. She shivered, her breath catching, and her fingers curled against his thigh.

The movie reached a tense climax—Rodion's voice describing the survivor's narrow escape—but the tension in the room was entirely different. Cerys's lips parted, her breathing soft and quick, her chest rising against his palm. She arched subtly, her body pressing into his touch, and her eyes fluttered closed.

"M-Mikhailis…" she whispered, voice a soft, desperate murmur. "You… you're really bad at watching movies."

"Hmm," he murmured against her neck. "I'd argue I'm very good at multitasking."

A breathy laugh escaped her, melting into a soft gasp as his fingers teased beneath the fabric, brushing against sensitive skin. Her head tilted back, resting more comfortably against his lap, and she turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing against his waist.

"Mikhailis…" she whispered, but whatever she meant to say next dissolved into a soft moan as his lips found the hollow of her throat.

But then the credits began to roll. Cerys's focus returned, and she shifted slightly, her head tilting to look up at him, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed.

"You're… really warm," she whispered, her voice softer now.

"And you're really comfortable," he replied, his fingers gently brushing through her hair.

Silence settled over them—not awkward, but warm, shared, a quiet intimacy. Cerys leaned against him, her body curled comfortably in his lap. His fingers traced idle patterns along her side, and her hand rested against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

Finally, Cerys whispered, "Your Highness… Mikhailis... thank you. For letting me… just be here."

He leaned down, kissing her softly, a warm, lingering kiss. "You don't need to thank me."

She sighed, her eyes closing, and she nuzzled against his lap. "Somehow near you... I feel like I'm at my most comfortable state…"

His smile softened, and his fingers continued their gentle caress. "Then stay. As long as you like."

Her breathing slowed, growing softer, and eventually, she dozed off in his lap. He smiled, feeling the warmth of her cheek against his thigh, the slow rise and fall of her breathing. Peace settled over him.

But then, she shifted slightly, her forehead pressing against something firm, and she murmured, half-asleep. "It would all be better if this wasn't poking me…"

Mikhailis blinked, then chuckled, a faint heat touching his cheeks. The slight tent in his pants was all too obvious now. But as she shifted again, her cheek brushed against it, her nose almost nudging the fabric. His heart skipped a beat, a pulse of warmth rushing through his veins. He tried to stay calm, but every little movement she made only worsened his predicament.

Her gaze lowered, and she blinked, her cheeks slowly coloring. "That's… a bit… um… big."

Mikhailis chuckled, though there was a slight strain to his voice now, an attempt to keep his composure. "Natural reaction, I assure you."

"Natural, yes… but it's… right in front of my mouth…" she murmured, her voice a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. Her warm breath tickled against the strained fabric, and Mikhailis felt a fresh wave of heat rise in his cheeks. His breath quickened, and he fought to keep his tone steady.

"I can… shift a bit if it's bothering you," he offered, though he didn't actually move. Part of him hoped she'd take that as an invitation rather than a retreat.

But Cerys just murmured something unintelligible and nuzzled closer, her cheek pressing against the offending warmth without a hint of shame. Her soft, warm skin pressed against the stiff fabric, and the pressure only intensified the ache. Mikhailis sighed, leaning back, a fond, slightly nervous smile on his lips.

"No…" she whispered, her voice softer, almost teasing now. "It's… not bothering me."

Her breath brushed against the fabric again, warm and steady, and he felt himself throb beneath the thin layer of his pants. Cerys's cheek pressed against it, and then, as if drawn by some strange, sleepy curiosity, she turned slightly, her lips brushing against the bulge.

Mikhailis's breath caught, a faint shiver running down his spine. "Cerys…"

She didn't answer at first, her half-lidded gaze fixed on the large, straining outline in front of her. Her blush deepened, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned in closer, her lips grazing the warm fabric, and her fingers moved instinctively, pressing gently against the bulge.

Her touch sent a spark of heat through him, and he let out a soft, shaky breath. "Cerys, you… you don't have to…"

"I want to," she whispered, her voice barely audible. There was a timid curiosity in her eyes, but also something else—something bolder. Her fingers traced the outline, feeling the thick, pulsing heat beneath the fabric, and her breathing quickened.

Mikhailis's hand rested on the back of her head, his fingers gently curling through her crimson hair, but he didn't push her—he didn't need to. She was moving on her own, her lips pressing soft, tentative kisses along the length, her warm breath seeping through the fabric.

A low, rumbling groan escaped his lips, his chest tightening with every kiss she placed. "C-Cerys…"