Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 191 - Consoling the Crying Lady with a Thick Load

Chapter 191: Chapter 191 - Consoling the Crying Lady with a Thick Load

The complete, heavy, full-body fall of a woman who had used up her reserves and was returning to the ground with the specific, invested weight of someone who had been somewhere significant.

He looked at her.

The Eye of Truth: Impregnation confirmed. Projected gestation: one month. Cultivation potential: exceptional. Void Return bloodline foundation + dual cultivation transfer energy = compound advantage.

He noted this.

Filed it.

He looked at her expression.

The amber eyes — half-open, looking at the stars, the specific, absent, genuinely-present quality of someone who was not asleep and was not entirely awake but was existing in the warm, settled territory between.

Her mouth was still open.

"Hnnng... Aahngg... Haahhh..."

The small, continuous, unintentional sound she was making was very soft.

He looked at her.

He placed his hands on her hips.

And turned her.

The flat, specific, unhurried turn — the physician’s turn, the minimum-disruption repositioning of a body that had recently finished something significant and was now being prepared for the next thing.

She was on her hands and knees.

Her head came up.

The amber eyes found the pond ahead of her — the flat, dark, ancient surface of the water, the stars in it, perfect and undistorted — and in the reflection she saw herself, and beside herself, the shape above her.

"This—" she started.

Her voice was a different voice from every voice she had arrived at this pond with.

"—Is not over," he said.

She heard him.

She felt.

The specific, warm, present, re-established contact of something against her that she had just spent the last considerable time accommodating and had arrived at an assessment of the size of and had filed that assessment with extreme clarity.

She turned her head.

She looked over her shoulder.

At him.

And at the specific, completely impossible physiological fact that what she was looking at was fully, unambiguously, completely ready to begin.

She stared.

"My husband—" she started.

"I know," he said.

"He can’t—after once, he—" She stopped. The Chief’s dignity, making one final effort. "He needs time."

"I don’t," he said.

She stared.

She looked at the water.

She felt the contact.

’—Aah~—’

"No," she said. Quiet. The specific, small, genuine protest of someone who was making a protest she fully understood the weight of. "Not again—I can’t—I’ve never—two times in—"

PAH.

’—AAAHN~!!!—’

The entry.

The full, complete, deep entry of someone who had decided the conversation was complete and was beginning the next subject.

She cried.

Not the Cortisol-manufactured tears. The honest tears — the specific, involuntary, physiologically-produced tears of a woman who was receiving at the full depth of something that was ten thousand years old in its understanding of this specific territory and had no confusion at all about where to go.

PAAH PAAH PAAH.

’—HAANN~!!! AHN~!!! AAAHN~!!!—’

Her arms buckled.

She caught herself — the Core Formation strength doing its work even now — and her elbows came down to the grass and she was in the specific, flat, forward-leaning position of someone whose arms had filed their best opinion and had been overruled by events.

He gripped her hips.

Both. The full, flat, functional grip of someone managing a pace rather than suggesting one.

PAAH PAAH PAAH PAAAH!

’—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AHN~!!! KYAAANGHHH~!!!—’

"You are a woman," he said, through the rhythm, with the flat, assessor’s register unchanged, "worth fucking."

She made a sound.

"—Please—" Her voice, broken. "—please don’t say—"

PAAH!

’—AAAHNN~!!!—’

"Worth—" PAAH "—fucking—" PAAH "—every—" PAAAH "—day."

’—HAANN~!!! AHN~!!! AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!—’

"He was not—" she tried. "He was not—he is a good—"

His hand came from her hip. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Forward. Underneath.

’—AAAHN~!!!—’

"—good man—" she tried.

His thumb.

’—AAAHNN~!!!! HAANN~!!!—’

"—I am not a good wife—" The sentence arriving, from the Cortisol and the situation and the specific, comprehensive weight of the night, in the broken, honest way sentences arrived when all the scaffolding had been removed. "—I was not enough—he—"

He stopped moving.

She felt the stillness.

She looked over her shoulder.

He was looking at her.

Not the assessor’s look. Something else — the flat, present, slightly different look of a man who had heard a sentence and was going to address it.

"You were enough," he said.

She blinked.

"More than enough," he said. "The problem was never you."

She stared at him.

The tears ran.

"You needed a husband," he said, "who knew what to do with you."

PAAH.

’—AAAHN~!!!—’

"He didn’t."

PAAH PAAH.

’—HAANN~!!! AHN~!!!—’

"I do."

PAAAH!

’—AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!—’

She cried through the event.

The specific, layered, mixed-category cry of a woman who was having the kind of night that revised everything and was expressing the revision through every available channel simultaneously — the tears and the sound and the light at her skin going warm again as the cultivation transfer continued to run and the meridians continued their incremental, patient, unhurried expansion toward the next boundary.

He pulled her up.

The specific, flat, backward pull — her back to his chest, his arms around her from behind, the same geometry as the earlier embrace but in the specific, present, weight-bearing version of it, his chest against her back.

He kissed her neck.

’—Aaahn~—’

His hands came forward.

Both.

He found both.

The full, warm, comprehensive grip of both hands closing on both heavy, natural, full masses of her chest — not gentle, not rough, the specific, thorough, present grip of someone who had decided these were theirs and was holding them accordingly.

He kneaded.

The full, rolling, comprehensive motion.

’—AAAHN~!!! AHN~! HAANN~!!!—’

PAAH PAAH PAAH.

He drove from below, kneading above, his mouth at her throat, the cultivation light warm between both their bodies, the gold-amber of an advancing base in the presence of an overabundant source.

She stopped trying to close her mouth.

She stopped trying to manage the sounds.

The Chief had filed her last objection somewhere in the middle of the previous session and had not been heard from since and the woman who remained was a thirty-five year old woman with a body that had been built by Void Return ambient qi and was expressing every year of that building with the flat, comprehensive, completely un-managed honesty of someone who had stopped asking permission from the relevant authorities.

PAAAH! PAAAH! PAAAH!

’—HAANN~!!! AAAHN~!!! AHN~!!! KYAAANGHHH~!!!—’

He released.

Again.

The deep, warm, permanent delivery of a second deposit into the specific, receiving warmth of a body that had been made maximally receptive by everything the last hour had contained, and she felt it, and her body expressed the feeling in the specific, comprehensive, going-to-the-ceiling-and-back way of something that had been addressed twice in the same evening by someone who understood what that required.

She fell.

The full, soft, heavy fall of a woman who had used up the reserves a second time.

He held her.

His arms around her from behind, her weight against his chest, both of them breathing in the specific, settled, post-event way of two bodies that had been somewhere significant and were returning.

She was crying.

"hic... sob... nnnghhh... W-why... snfff..."

Softly. The quiet, steady, almost-peaceful cry of someone who had run out of the sharp tears and was now in the longer tears, the specific, extended, processing tears of a woman who was working through something large.

He waited.