The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 579: The Merchant and The New Firm (End)

Rhea didn’t rise to the tease, her hands moving with practiced grace. Her fingers slipped over the ties of his cloak, unfastening it with the same silent precision she had once shown with a blade. The cloak slid from his shoulders, pooling at his feet, leaving him in his travel tunic and leather trousers.

As she turned to fetch a clean uniform, Mikhailis studied her. She no longer wore her full knight’s armor. Instead, her attire struck a balance between practicality and elegance—an asymmetrical silver-and-blue tunic that hinted at a dress but stopped at her thighs, paired with knee-high leather boots. A single, ornate silver gauntlet adorned her left forearm—functional, enchanted, but far more graceful than her old battle gear. A simple silver circlet held her short, light-green hair back neatly, and her every motion carried an air of quiet confidence. Less bodyguard, more partner—perhaps she always had been.

"Gotten used to the more elegant look?" he teased, unable to help himself.

"A necessary change." Rhea’s hands found another piece—a crisp, silver-hemmed shirt. She turned, holding it toward him. "Besides, Lumine Étoile prefers subtle sophistication."

Mikhailis stepped forward, letting her help guide his arms through the sleeves. "Subtle sophistication," he mused. "Is that what they call seduction by silk now?"

Her lips twitched. "Better than seduction by brute force."

"Oh, I disagree. I’m quite fond of both."

Rhea’s eyes met his, and for a breath, a spark of humor—then she reached for his belt, a smooth, deliberate motion.

Mikhailis stiffened. "Ah—Rhea, I can handle that part—"

"Nonsense. Stand still," she murmured. Her fingers brushed against his waist as she unfastened the buckle, the belt slipping free. Her touch was precise, gentle, but her gaze remained composed, almost clinical.

But his body wasn’t nearly so composed. As the trousers slipped lower, the thick, growing heat beneath them pressed tight against the fabric, rising stubbornly. Mikhailis felt warmth rush to his cheeks—an odd blend of embarrassment and excitement.

Rhea leaned down, hands reaching to pull the trousers off his hips—then froze.

Her lips were barely a breath away from the obscene, rising tent in his undergarments. Her silver-blue eyes widened, her face so close that her warm, faintly sweet breath brushed against the fabric. For an instant, the heat, the solid length of it, was just a hair’s breadth from her mouth.

Silence stretched, the air thickening.

Mikhailis swallowed, his voice strained. "It’s... a natural... reaction..." he whispered, feeling the ghost of her breath even as he spoke. His own words sounded distant, his senses drowned in the slow, soft warmth against his sensitive skin.

But Rhea didn’t pull away. She stared, frozen, her gaze locked on the outline straining against the fabric. Her lips parted slightly, and a faint, tremulous breath left her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, her hand moved—not to pull away, but to rest against his thigh. Her lips quivered, then—

Her tongue darted out, a soft, wet touch against the cloth. Mikhailis’s breath hitched. His hand instinctively reached for the edge of the mirror behind him, steadying himself. A quiet, trembling sigh slipped from his lips.

Rhea’s eyes seemed to glaze over, her composure melting like frost under morning sun. She leaned closer, her warm mouth brushing against the strained fabric. Her lips traced the shape, her breath quickening, her tongue pressing more firmly.

"R-Rhea..." Mikhailis whispered, a hint of shock and a surge of heat crashing together. From above, he could see her light-green hair, the neat, silken strands brushing against his abdomen.

Her lips pressed fully now, her mouth moving, the damp warmth soaking through the fabric. A soft, muffled moan slipped from her. Her hand, resting against his thigh, trembled slightly. He could feel each desperate, hungry breath she took, could see the way her silver-blue eyes fluttered closed.

"I... I’m going to open it," she whispered, her voice shaking but laced with determination. She pulled the waistband down, letting the fabric slide free—revealing the thick, pulsing length that sprang forth, now bare to the cool air.

And she didn’t hesitate. Her lips found the bare, heated skin, her tongue tracing the rigid shape. Her mouth opened, and slowly—so achingly slowly—she took it in.

Her soft, warm lips stretched, the silken, wet heat of her mouth enveloping him. It was almost too much, too intense—her tight, hot mouth pressing, her tongue curling and stroking.

A shuddering groan left Mikhailis, his fingers gripping the edge of the mirror harder. "Rhea... gods... you—"

But she only moved faster, her head bobbing in slow, deliberate motions, her warm breath washing over his skin with each retreat. Her tongue pressed, twisted, coaxed. Her silver-blue eyes, half-lidded, looked up at him, desperate and hungry.

And then—

"Rhea? Make sure to give the highest quality of the uniform, okay?" Estella’s voice, muffled but close beyond the door.

Rhea’s body froze, her lips wrapped tightly around him, her silver-blue eyes widening in sudden panic. Her gaze snapped up to Mikhailis, a fierce blend of urgency and need swirling in those depths. Her lips released him with a slick, wet pop—a faint, silvery strand of warmth still connecting her wet lips to his pulsing length.

"O-Okay, My Lady," she called, her voice a thin, trembling whisper trying to remain steady. Her breath washed over him, warm and sweet, a faint quiver in her tone. Her heart raced, her pulse drumming loudly in her ears, yet her body refused to pull away. Instead, a deeper ache flared within her—a hunger that refused to be silenced.

Her gaze met Mikhailis’s, pleading, desperate—a silent question, a wordless cry for permission. He stared back, his silver-blue eyes heavy with heat, and after a second that felt like eternity, he nodded, his breath caught, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

And that was all she needed.

A soft, needy whimper slipped from Rhea’s lips as she leaned back down. Her mouth enveloped him again, the thick, heated length pressing against her tongue, sliding in deeper, inch by inch. Her lips stretched, her jaw ached, but she didn’t care. Her pulse raced, her heart hammering against her ribs as her lips pressed tight, sealing around him.

She wanted it—no, she needed it. The heat, the taste, the way his pulse throbbed against her tongue. Each subtle twitch, each faint shudder of his muscles against her cheeks made her feel alive, a forbidden thrill flooding her veins. He was so thick, so hot, and the faint, musky scent of him filled her senses, a scent that was unmistakably his.

Rhea’s tongue traced the thick, pulsing vein beneath, pressing, swirling, coaxing every inch of his length, tasting the faint salt on her lips, feeling the subtle heat spreading. Her mouth moved, her tongue sliding and curling, tracing every curve, every ridge. A faint, muffled moan slipped from her, the vibration sending a shiver through his body.

"Mmh... slrp... mhh..." The wet, desperate sounds of her mouth filled the small chamber, each slick motion of her lips, each soft suck and swirl of her tongue filling the air. Her silver-blue eyes half-lidded, locked onto his gaze, seeking every flicker of his reaction.

Above her, Mikhailis’s fingers gripped the edge of the mirror, his knuckles white. His breath came faster, a faint groan slipping free as he watched her, the sight almost too much to bear. Her light-green hair framed her face, silky strands brushing against his bare thighs with every slight tilt of her head. Each warm, wet kiss, each flick of her tongue sent another spark of heat racing up his spine.

"R-Rhea..." he whispered, voice a strained, desperate gasp. His thumb reached down, brushing her cheek, feeling the faint hollow of her mouth, the way her cheeks curved inward as she sucked, as her lips tightened around him.

But she didn’t stop—she couldn’t. The more she tasted him, the deeper she took him, the more she felt her own heat coil, a faint, trembling ache between her thighs. Her breath quickened, her lips pressing tighter. Her jaw stretched, her throat flexed, but she refused to pull away. She wanted to be good—no, she wanted to be perfect. For him. Only for him.

"Mmhh... slrp... mhh... slrp..." Her tongue swirled, tracing the tip, pressing against the thick, pulsing head, her lips sliding back down, wet, tight, hungry. Her hands gripped his thighs for balance, her own breath coming faster, her heart a frantic, trembling beat.

And then she felt it—a faint, hot pulse, a subtle throb that warned her, a sudden swell against her tongue. Her silver-blue eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she pressed closer, taking him deeper, letting the thick, pulsing heat press against the back of her throat.

Warm, thick heat erupted, flooding her mouth, spilling over her tongue. It was so much—hot, thick, a sweet, salty warmth that filled her senses, coated her tongue. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t stop. She swallowed, her throat flexing, the thick warmth sliding down in slow, heated waves. Her tongue continued to coax, to swirl, drawing every drop, savoring the faint, lingering taste.

Her cheeks flushed, her breath coming faster between swallows. Her lips tightened, her tongue pressed, coaxing, drawing out every heated pulse. The warmth filled her, a sweet, overwhelming ache that spread from her mouth to her chest, sinking into her veins.

And when the heat finally ebbed, she let her lips slide free, a faint, trembling breath slipping from her, a thin strand of warmth connecting her lips to the slick, still-twitching length. Her silver-blue eyes shimmered, a faint, hazy glow in them, her lips parted, her cheeks stained a soft, rosy pink.

But before she could even breathe, Mikhailis’s hand caught her chin, pulling her up, his lips crashing against hers. The kiss was desperate, fierce—hungry. His tongue pushed between her lips, tasting himself on her tongue, his other hand cupping her cheek, pulling her closer.

"Mmmhh... slrp... mhh... mhh...!" The wet, slick sounds of their kiss filled the room, their tongues tangling, twisting, sliding together. His lips pressed against hers, warm and desperate, his tongue sliding deeper, swirling against hers, tasting the lingering warmth, the sweet, faintly salty taste.

Her breath caught, a soft, muffled moan slipping from her, her arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, pulling herself closer. Her tongue danced with his, curling, sliding, tasting, her lips parting wider, her breath coming faster. His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her soft, light-green hair, holding her firmly as his lips claimed hers.

"Mmmhh... slrp... mhh... mhh...!" Their lips met, parted, met again, each kiss growing hungrier, each slick, wet sound a whispered promise. His tongue traced the curve of her lips, pressed, then slid deep, tasting her, drinking her in. Her own tongue pushed back, swirling against his, her soft, muffled moans swallowed by his hungry mouth.

Rhea’s body trembled, her knees weak, her cheeks burning. His hand slipped from her hair to her waist, pulling her against him, her soft, slender form pressing against his bare chest. She could feel his heat, the faint, pulsing warmth against her stomach, a reminder of everything they had just shared.

Finally, breathless, he pulled back, his silver-blue eyes heavy with warmth, his thumb brushing her flushed cheek. "You... you really are a bad girl,"

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