Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 148: Master*

Elysia lay still.

Flat against the sheets, breath short and ragged, her pulse thundering in her ears like war drums—but she wasn't fighting.

She didn't know what this was.

Her body—this vessel honed in silence, shaped in duty—felt foreign now. Every nerve was awake, every inch of skin prickling with a sensitivity she didn't recognize. It wasn't pain. It wasn't fear.

It was something else.

Something warmer.

Something worse.

She didn't understand it—but it coiled through her belly and down the insides of her thighs like heat trapped under armor, seeping deeper with every second she spent beneath his eyes.

They terrified her.

Not because it was dangerous.

But because part of her wanted it.

Wanted him.

Elysia felt her arms shift, almost of their own accord, crossing over her chest in a slow, defensive curl. Not combat-ready. Just… hiding. As if that could shield her from the truth rising through her ribs like a tide she couldn't hold back.

She didn't know this.

She didn't know herself.

And that—more than anything—made her feel defenseless.

"Are you still hesitant?" Damien asked.

His voice cut through the silence, warm and sharp all at once. It didn't press. Didn't mock.

But it saw her.

And her answer—

Was silence.

Elysia stared up at him, lips parted but useless, heart in her throat, lungs forgetting how to breathe in even intervals.

Damien exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head as he began to climb over the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"Heh… you're quite cute," he murmured.

And then—

He kissed her again.

There was no build-up this time. No slow draw. No teasing

There was no build-up this time. No slow draw. No teasing brush of lips.

Just want.

His mouth met hers with heat and hunger, swallowing her gasp as he took control—his tongue sliding against hers, deeper now, bolder. He didn't wait for her to respond. He didn't need to.

Because she already had.

Her body arched before she meant it to.

Her arms trembled.

And his hands—

They slid up her sides, fingers tracing the lines of her waist, her ribs, her trembling arms still half-crossed over her chest. But he didn't stop at the barriers. He eased them aside, gently, relentlessly, like he was peeling away the last fragments of armor she didn't know she'd kept.

His mouth stayed locked to hers—tongue pushing deeper, licking the roof of her mouth, swirling slow against hers in patterns she couldn't anticipate.

Her limbs slackened. Her breath faltered. Her mind went blank under the heat of it, the intimacy of it, the quiet violence of being wanted so deeply it stole the language right from her.

She didn't even notice at first.

The shift of cloth.

The whisper of fabric sliding over skin.

But then—

A breeze against her stomach.

A sensation she didn't understand across her shoulders.

Her shirt was gone.

Elysia froze.

Her breath caught high in her chest, lungs refusing to drop the air where it needed to go. Her fingers twitched at her sides, caught between flight and surrender. The shirt—gone. Just gone. And she hadn't even noticed. How could she not have noticed?

But then his mouth was still on hers, and her mind was not on her clothes.

"Mmmfff…"

The moan slipped out of her, muffled between their lips, unintentional but raw. Damien didn't stop—he swallowed it, coaxed it deeper with the roll of his tongue and the tilt of his head, kissing her with a hunger that undid her bones.

She couldn't breathe.

She didn't want to.

Her back arched again, involuntary, a silent plea for more contact, more heat, more of that impossible pressure winding through her like a bowstring pulled taut.

They drifted lower now, calloused fingertips gliding with devastating slowness over her stomach, just above the waistline of her pants. He traced small, spiraling patterns around her navel, and her whole body twitched at the sensation.

"Mmf… ah…"

It wasn't just heat. It wasn't just lust. It was exposure. It was a kind of knowing that undid her.

She squeezed her thighs together instinctively, but he noticed. Of course he noticed.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he whispered, low and amused, voice brushing the edge of a growl. His breath danced against her skin as he kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lower, grazing her neck with lips that alternated between soft and firm.

"You've been holding all this in, haven't you, Elysia?" he murmured. "All that strength. All that control. I wonder what it looks like when you let it go…"

She shook her head, barely a movement, but it felt like a denial of something terrifying. Terrifying because it was true.

Damien didn't mock her for it.

He just kept touching her.

His hand slipped higher, fingers trailing up the underside of her ribs now, up her trembling arms, until they reached her wrists—still faintly crossed over her chest. Still clinging to the illusion of defense.

He paused there.

Letting her feel the weight of his touch. Letting her make the decision.

Her arms slackened.

And he moved them. Slowly. Gently. He peeled them away from her chest and guided them down, leaving her bare beneath his gaze. Beneath his mouth.

"You're beautiful like this," he said, and it didn't sound like flattery. It sounded like hunger.

Her breath came sharp through her nose as his hands curved back down her torso—then up again, following the lines of her waist to the swell of her breasts.

She whimpered.

"Ahh… mmfff—…"

His hands cupped her, fingers splaying over the soft skin as his thumbs began a slow, deliberate ascent. Up. Up. Until they brushed the peaks.

Elysia cried out softly, hips jerking against the mattress, and he leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear.

"You're shaking," he murmured.

She was. God, she was shaking. And it wasn't fear.

Not anymore.

"You want me to stop?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

She couldn't.

Her mouth was open, but the only sound that came was a moan—low and broken.

"Didn't think so," Damien said, and kissed her ear.

Then he pinched—just lightly, experimentally—and her entire body arched.

"Ah—hnng—!"

Her voice broke into something helpless, and the sound of it only made him smile against her throat, his teeth grazing her skin.

"Good girl," Damien breathed against her throat, and the words sank into her skin like heat. Like sin.

His mouth didn't stop there.

He dragged it lower—lips grazing down her neck, slow enough to make her gasp, open-mouthed and soft, before his teeth sank gently into the curve where shoulder met collarbone.

She twitched.

"Mmf—ahh…"

He kissed the spot afterward, slow and warm, as if to soothe it—but then another mark came. And another. He dotted them down her neck like a trail only he could follow, and Elysia's body obeyed before her mind could keep up, angling toward him, baring more of herself like offering.

Her breasts ached under his touch now—thumbs rubbing, rolling, coaxing shudders from her chest with every breath she failed to steady. And when he pinched again—firmer this time, dragging out the tension—she cried out and clutched at the sheets, nails curling into them like claws.

"Ahhh—hnnnn… Damien—"

But his name dissolved halfway, swallowed by another wave of sensation.

And then—

His hands moved.

Lower.

Her stomach tensed in anticipation, each muscle along her abdomen fluttering with the ache of what was coming. The warmth of his fingers slid down over her navel, over the slight tremble of her hips, until they dipped beneath the waistband of her pants.

Elysia's thighs parted before she could stop them.

The first brush was too much.

His fingertips slid between her folds, gentle at first—barely grazing her, just enough to test the slickness waiting for him there.

She moaned, sharp and high.

"Mmnnnhh—…!"

"Oh?" Damien's voice was low, velvet around something rough. "Already wet for me?"

Her face flushed—burning now, chest rising and falling in fast, shallow bursts as she squirmed beneath his hand. She couldn't answer. Couldn't think.

So he answered for her.

"You're soaked," he whispered, fingers stroking her again, a little deeper now, coating themselves in her arousal.

Then—he slid in.

Just one finger.

Slow.

Elysia choked on a cry, back arching hard against the bed.

"A-ahh—!"

Her body clamped around him instantly—tight, impossibly tight, the instinctive recoil of something untouched.

He exhaled a groan of his own, low in his throat.

"Oh, Elysia…"

Her body was trembling now—hips twitching, fingers white-knuckled in the sheets, her breath broken into ragged gasps.

And then—

"Y-young master…!"

The words spilled out before she could stop them, a habit, a plea. Something between reverence and desperation.

Damien stilled.

Then—he laughed.

Dark. Soft. Dangerous.

"Mm… no, no. That won't do," he murmured.

He curled his finger inside her—just slightly—and the shock of sensation made her jolt, her body clutching around him in helpless reflex.

"Ahhh—!"

She couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

Only tremble.

He leaned close again, lips grazing the shell of her ear, voice almost gentle.

"Shouldn't you change how you address me now?"

"E-eh?" she breathed, wide-eyed, blinking through the haze. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

He thrust his finger a little deeper—slow, firm, unrelenting—and twisted it with deliberate care, dragging it along her walls until he found the spot that made her jerk.

"Aahh—!"

Her cry broke the air again, half-wail, half-moan.

Then he whispered it.

Right into her ear.

"Master. You're going to call me that from now on."