The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 593: The Secret Sneak-in (5)

Lira. Cerys.

The flicker of torchlight caught in their wide, unblinking eyes—too near, too visible, too obvious.

They had seen everything.

His heart lurched, his body frozen between the terrible knowledge of their presence and the unbearable pleasure still gripping him. His breath came ragged, his body locked in a rhythm too far gone to stop.

Too deep.

Too much.

Too late.

His gaze met Lira’s—her chest heaving, her gloved hand trembling where it clutched the doorframe, her lip caught between her teeth in a desperate attempt to contain the whimper trembling there.

His gaze met Cerys’s—her posture taut, her breath sharp, her hands clenched as though bracing for a blade, yet her eyes burned with a fire that betrayed her—curiosity, envy, undeniable heat.

And they did not turn away.

They did not leave.

The weight of their gaze settled over him like velvet chains, tightening around his chest. But his body—gods, his body—was too far along to halt now. The heat, the pulse, the shivering pressure wrapped around him—he could no more stop than he could will the sun not to rise.

Serelith clung to him, desperate, trembling. Her voice fractured, her moans no longer muffled.

"MMHH! MORE—SLRP—DON’T STOP—M-MIKHAILIS—FILL ME—AH—MMHH!!"

She arched against him, her hands fisting in his hair, her breath breaking in sweet, breathless cries. She was lost, completely swallowed by him—her body trembling with the fullness of him, the depth that stretched and claimed her.

Mikhailis’s throat worked around a shuddering groan, his hands trembling where they clutched her waist, as if the very shape of her was sculpted to pull him deeper.

"I— I can’t—" he gasped, voice frayed with the strain of restraint. "You feel— gods— you’re... too perfect—"

His movements grew sharper, faster, driven by a desperate urgency. They both knew they couldn’t afford the luxury of time—not with Lira and Cerys standing there, not with the weight of their stares pressing down.

It had to end.

Quickly.

But the knowing—oh, the knowing that they were watching—fanned the flames higher.

The glistening heat between their joined breaths, the wet sounds of their kiss—"slrp, slrp"—the soft slap of hips meeting thighs, the tremble in Serelith’s voice as she pleaded again:

"MMHH! MORE—SLRP—YOU’RE—STILL SO BIG—DON’T—DON’T STOP—!"

The way she said it, trembling with sweetness and surrender, pierced through Lira and Cerys like a slow, deliberate cut.

Lira’s breath hitched violently, her knees threatening to buckle, her whole body burning. The heat between her legs tightened unbearably, her breath shallow and sharp. She gripped the doorframe harder, as if she could pull herself closer to the forbidden warmth spilling from the room.

Her eyes shimmered, wide and awestruck, unable to tear away.

Beside her, Cerys’s fists clenched so tightly her knuckles paled, her breath ragged, her jaw tight—yet her eyes, those frost-green eyes, betrayed her. They flicked over every motion—his hands, the curve of Serelith’s waist, the press of their bodies—as though she needed to memorize it, to etch it into her bones.

And they kept watching.

Not one step back.

Not one breath missed.

Mikhailis’s pulse hammered. His rhythm quickened, desperate now, as if the weight of their shared gaze pushed him toward the edge faster.

Serelith’s breath shattered into sharp, high cries, her body arching, clutching, trembling violently around him.

"MMHH! YES—SLRP—AH—YES—FINISH—INSIDE—PLEASE—PLEASE—!"

Her words slurred around kisses, each syllable a mix of desperate need and sweet submission.

The forbidden sight carved itself into Lira’s lungs, into Cerys’s pounding chest.

They stood at the very edge of decency, hearts racing, breath mingling, their own bodies burning as if the scene before them had bound them all in one shared, inescapable rhythm.

Mikhailis’s breath caught, his hands locking tight around Serelith’s hips as his lips crashed into hers—one last, deep, drowning kiss.

His body trembled, his groan low and rough as he surrendered fully, no longer able to stop, no longer able to hold back.

Serelith’s cry rose to meet his, sweet and breathless and unbearably full.

"MMHH—YES—MORE—SLRP—YES—!"

The emerald leaf pulsed brighter, steady and sure, as though it too bore witness to the final, shuddering wave that overtook them.

And Lira and Cerys—eyes wide, hearts caught in their throats—stood rooted in place, watching until the trembling faded, until the soft, shivering kisses slowed, until Serelith’s breath melted into a sweet, satisfied hum.

The air hung thick around them, heavy with the heat of what they had seen—what they had been allowed to see.

Neither Lira nor Cerys could move, could speak.

They could only stand in the doorway, bodies flushed, breath quick, hearts pounding.

And still, not one of them could look away.

The final tremble tore through him—a wave so deep it hollowed his breath and left his pulse scattered, his hands gripping Serelith’s waist as though anchoring himself to the last solid thing in the room.

Serelith let out a soft, breathless cry—her body quivering, her fingers slipping weakly from his hair as the wave overtook her, filling her with a heat she hadn’t braced for, a pressure that lingered too thick, too much, too deep. The force of it left her trembling, eyes fluttering shut as she collapsed back onto the bench, her breath tumbling in sweet, broken shivers.

But Mikhailis did not stop moving.

Even as Serelith sagged, limbs gone limp, her body spent, her breath dissolving into quiet hums, he remained—unrelieved, still unbearably present inside her, the weight of him pressing, the forbidden warmth stretched too tightly, too impossibly full.

He stilled only for a heartbeat, his breathing ragged, his brow knit with the ache of a tension that had yet to subside.

Serelith’s fingers trembled, brushing over his arm. "M-Mikha... wait... I—I might have... ah... that was more than I thought I could hold—" Her words wavered, her voice sweet but faltering, the unspoken damage glimmering beneath the curve of her flushed cheeks. She had not expected the weight of him to claim her so completely.

Mikhailis’s jaw tensed as he slowly withdrew, his body protesting the absence, the lingering heat clinging to him as if unwilling to let go.

His breath shook.

The ache within him still pulsed, fierce and unsatisfied.

And when he turned toward the door—toward the frozen figures who had seen everything—their eyes told him that they had not merely watched.

They had wanted.

Lira’s lips trembled, her chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady beats, the fire in her gaze flickering between envy and hunger. Her gloved fingers still dug into the doorframe as if it alone held her upright. Her entire body hummed with the ache of things denied, the gnawing need to taste what she had just seen.

Beside her, Cerys’s jaw was tight, her breath shallow, the glint in her frost-green eyes sharp with an edge she could no longer hide. Her fists clenched, her shoulders set, but the quick tremble in her breath betrayed the fracture beneath her control.

Slowly, they approached—one step, then another, their footfalls soft but purposeful.

Lira was the first to speak, her voice low, nearly trembling.

"We... we will keep your secret."

The words seemed simple, but the heat behind them carried something heavier.

Cerys’s eyes narrowed, her voice steady but low, threaded with the weight of unspoken things. "This place. The lab. All of it. No one will know."

Her next words lingered in the air like silk dragged over bare skin.

"But you’ll have to make sure... we stay quiet."

Their gazes pinned him, and beneath the carefully measured words was the undeniable plea.

Mikhailis exhaled, a long, worn breath as he raked a hand through his hair. His pulse hadn’t calmed. The ache still throbbed within him—a restless weight that refused to subside.

"This is going to be a long day..." he muttered, half to himself.

His gaze flicked to Lira, then to Cerys.

They didn’t flinch.

They didn’t retreat.

There was no fear in their eyes—only want, barely leashed, smoldering beneath the surface.

He stepped toward them, his hands finding Lira’s waist with a firm, slow pull. She gasped, her breath tangling in her throat as his lips caught hers, their mouths molding together in a kiss that was deep and knowing, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, coaxing stroke that left her trembling.

There was no hesitation.

He had no time for slow games—not now, not when their hearts had already crossed the threshold.

His kiss lingered, wet and thorough, leaving Lira breathless when he finally pulled away.

His gaze shifted to Cerys.

She stiffened, but did not resist as he closed the distance.

His hand found her chin, tilting her face to meet his, his thumb grazing the line of her jaw.

Without waiting, he claimed her lips—a kiss that was firm, almost possessive, his tongue gliding into her mouth, pressing deep with a warmth that set her bones alight. Cerys’s breath caught, a faint shiver racing through her frame, her hands curling into the front of his shirt.

There was no need to coax them.

They were already his.

They had made their choice when they lingered at the door, when they chose to watch, when they chose not to look away.

And as the ache within him pressed forward once more, insistent and heavy, Mikhailis let the weight of their desires guide him, his hands pulling them closer, his breath brushing between kisses.

"This is going to take a while," he whispered against Cerys’s lips, the faintest grin flickering across his face, warm and sharp.

The rhythm was already set.

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