Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 171 - If She Wakes, She Gets Screwed

Chapter 171: Chapter 171 - If She Wakes, She Gets Screwed

"’Mmh~ don’t pinch them... shhh~~’"

Celia’s eyes opened.

Not the gradual kind. The immediate kind. The specific, full-upright jolt of consciousness that happened when the thing that woke you was something your sleeping brain had filed as ’requires assessment’ rather than ’can be ignored.’

She lay on the fold-out and stared at the ceiling.

The cabin was dark. The porthole showed the island’s silhouette — closer now, the black shape of it pressing up against the deep grey of four in the morning sky.

She heard Nara’s voice again.

Low. Specific. The quality of it carrying the exact frequency of someone trying very hard to keep a sound smaller than the sound wanted to be.

"’Hn — too deep, wait — ’wait—’"

Celia’s mouth fell open.

She lay completely still.

Her brain ran the calculation. The narrow bed. Three feet away. The specific, rhythmic quality of the cabin’s ambient sounds that had changed in the last — she didn’t know how long. How long had she been asleep. How long had this been—

"’Shhh~~ — your cock is — ngh~ — I said ’wait—’"

’They are having sex.’

The thought was flat. Clinical. The straightforward conclusion of available evidence.

And then: ’on the same bed I watched her fall asleep on.’

She turned her head very slowly.

The narrow bed was three feet away.

The blanket moved.

The specific, rhythmic movement of a blanket over two people who were doing something that required rhythm, the fabric shifting with a regularity that had no other explanation. Nara’s brown hair visible at the top. One hand gripping the edge of the mattress with the white-knuckled intent of something load-bearing.

PAH.

Soft. Almost inaudible. The cabin’s ambient sounds covering most of it, the blanket absorbing the rest.

"’Mm~♡ — your — hmm~ — it’s too — hn~—’"

Celia’s face was hot.

She faced the wall. Back to them. The fold-out was not a barrier. Three feet was not a barrier. The sounds were—

She pressed her eyes shut.

The sounds kept coming.

"’Please — gentle — you’ll tear me open, I’m serious — hn~ — it hurts when you — HMN~♡—’"

The last one louder than it was supposed to be. Barely caught in time, muffled into something, the quality of it suggesting a pillow had been involved.

Celia’s hand gripped the edge of the fold-out.

She should — what. Tell them to stop. Wake up. Cough. Do anything that communicated awareness so the two of them three feet away would understand she was conscious and in the room.

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

PAH. PAH.

The sound of it in the cabin. Small but undeniable. The specific, quiet percussion of two bodies at something.

"’Your — it’s too big, I told you — don’t — hn~♡ — don’t move it like that, it hits — ’HMN~♡’—’"

Celia’s jaw clenched.

The heat she was feeling was not supposed to be here. She located it and filed a formal objection and the heat did not respond to the filing. It sat between her thighs with the specific, inconvenient warmth of a body that had been running on a mild sedative all evening and was now running on pheromones, which she didn’t know she was breathing, which were filling the cabin with the specific, low-level chemistry of a body that produced them as naturally as it produced warmth.

The air tasted like something.

She’d noticed it when she’d woken up. Attributed it to the ocean. To the recycled air of a ship’s cabin. To anything except what it actually was.

She breathed it in again.

Her thighs pressed together.

"’Slow down — celia is right there — if she wakes up—’" Nara’s voice, hushed, urgent, carrying the specific, breathless quality of someone managing two competing concerns simultaneously. "’She’ll hear—’"

"’Then be quiet.’"

His voice. Low. The specific, unhurried register of someone who was not concerned about the variable being discussed.

"’I ’can’t’ be quiet when you—’ hn~♡ ’—when you do it like—’"

PAH. PAH.

"’HMN~♡♡—’"

Celia pressed her face into the fold-out’s pillow.

The pillow smelled like ship laundry detergent and the faint, accumulated warmth of a person who’d been sleeping on it. She breathed into it and tried to make the breathing even and the breathing was not even, it was the specific, shallow breathing of a body that was receiving too much stimulus and was not processing it adequately.

The bed springs.

She could hear them now that she was listening for sounds and couldn’t stop listening. The low, rhythmic compression and release of the narrow mattress three feet away. The fold-out she was on had its own springs and they were doing their own small communication in response to the shifting weight distribution of a cabin that was no longer as still as it had been.

"’Your cock is — please — hn~♡ — please don’t go all the way in, it—’"

PAH!

"’HMFGH~♡♡—’"

The sound into what Celia correctly identified as the pillow again. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

She curled tighter.

Her hand — she noticed it after it had already moved, the specific, body-acting-without-authorization experience of finding your own hand somewhere it had relocated without your participation. At her breast. Through the fabric of her top. Pressing.

She moved it away.

Pressed her palm flat against the fold-out mattress instead.

The mattress was warm in the way that surfaces were warm when the air around them had been warm for a while. The cabin air was warm. The specific, sealed warmth of an enclosed space where bodies had been present for hours and the temperature had climbed accordingly.

She breathed.

PAH. PAH. PAH.

Three in quick succession. The rhythm changing.

"’Ngh~♡ — ngh~♡ — slow — slow down — if you do it fast, I’ll—’" Nara’s voice climbing in pitch, losing the fight against volume that she’d been managing, the words starting to lose their shape. "’—I’m going to make noise—’"

"’I know,’" he said.

"’Raven—’"

PAH! PAH!

"’NNH~♡♡ — HMGH~♡ — stop stop stop—’"

She wasn’t saying stop like she wanted to stop.

Celia understood this. She understood it in the specific, humiliating way of a person who had watched enough to have context for what the word sounded like when it meant stop and what it sounded like when it meant something else entirely.

It sounded like something else entirely.

Her hand moved again.

This time she let it.

It found the hem of her sleep shorts. The waistband. She was monitoring herself doing this with the specific, detached observation of someone who has decided that pretending they’re asleep means they’re technically not responsible for anything they do during the pretending.

She was trembling.

The specific, whole-body tremor of someone whose nervous system has been running a sustained, elevated signal for the last twenty minutes and has used up its available containment.

The air.

She breathed in and the air tasted like before, that low warm taste of something her body recognized as ’want’ even when her brain was trying to run a different classification.

"’Too deep — too — HN~♡—’"

PAH! PAH! PAHH!

"’HNGH~♡♡ — AAHNGH~♡♡ —’"

That last one was louder than anything that had come before it.

Celia’s eyes opened.

Her hand was between her thighs.

She stared at the wall and she did not move her hand and she breathed in shallow, quiet increments that she was controlling very carefully so they didn’t make sound.

Nara’s voice, broken and small and trying to be smaller:

"’I’m — I’m going to — hn~ — you’re hitting — it hits every time you — hmm~♡ — please — slow — Celia is ’right there—’"

"’If she wakes up,’" Raven said, low and utterly conversational, "’I’ll fuck her too.’"