Page 131 of The Villainess Chose Naps Over Death Flags

She nodded, reaching for him, guiding him to her entrance. He pressed forward slowly—agonizingly slowly—giving her time to adjust to the stretch, the unfamiliar fullness. There was a brief sting, quickly drowned beneath the spell’s lingering warmth and the overwhelming rightness of him inside her. When he was fully seated, he stilled, forehead resting against hers, breathing ragged.

Then he began to move.

At first his thrusts were gentle, measured, each one a careful glide that drew soft gasps from them both. She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him closer, deeper. The restraint in his shoulders trembled as her nails scored lightly down his back.

Something shifted. The spell’s urgency, their shared inexperience, the sheer intensity of finally having what the magic demanded—it all unraveled his control. His rhythm quickened, hips snapping forward with growing need. Caroline matched him, rising to meet each thrust, the gentle pleasure turning sharp and consuming.

“Caspian—please—” she gasped, not even sure what she was begging for.

He buried his face in her neck, one hand sliding beneath her to tilt her hips, driving deeper. The flower bed cushioned them as their movements grew urgent, almost frantic. Her second climax caught her by surprise, tightening around him in rhythmic pulses that tore a low, guttural groan from his throat.

He followed moments later, thrusting deep one final time and spilling inside her with a shuddering release, her name a broken prayer against her skin.

They stayed locked together, trembling, hearts hammering in frantic unison as the spell’s fierce blaze gradually cooled to glowing embers. Caspian’s arms remained wrapped around her, holding her close as if afraid the magic might tear them apart.

Carefully, gently, he shifted them onto their sides, tucking her back against his chest. They lay tangled together in the crushed flower petals, breathing hard, letting the aftershocks fade.

But the spell was not yet sated.

Only moments passed—just long enough for their breathing to ease and the sweat to cool on their skin—before a fresh wave of heat stirred low in their bellies. A low, insistent pulse of desire flickered back to life, refusing to grant them rest. Caspian’s hold tightened instinctively. His lips brushed the curve of her shoulder, soft and reverent, tasting the salt of her skin as the hunger rose once more.

“Caroline,” he whispered, voice rough with renewed wonder. “Again… I need you again.”

She turned her head to catch his mouth in a slow, lingering kiss, answering him without words. He shifted behind her, one hand sliding down the curve of her hip to guide her top leg gently back over his thigh. When he entered her this time it was from behind—slow, careful, achingly tender. The angle was new, intimate; she felt every inch of him as he filled her, felt the tremor in his arms as he fought to stay gentle.

He moved in long, unhurried strokes, one hand splayed over her stomach, the other cupping her breast, thumb brushing lazily over the sensitive peak. Each roll of his hips drew soft gasps from her lips, the pleasure building in warm, rolling waves rather than sharp spikes. She arched back against him, pressing closer, and he groaned into her hair.

Gradually the rhythm changed. His hand slid lower, fingers finding the small, swollen bud between her thighs and circling it with growing insistence. His thrusts deepened, hips snapping forward with quiet urgency now, breath hot against her neck. Caroline reached back to clutch his thigh, nails digging in as the third climax took her—slower, deeper than the first two, rippling through her in endless pulses that left her trembling in his arms.

Caspian followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside her again with a low, broken sound, arms locked tight around her as if he never meant to let go.

They dozed, tangled together, the spell’s fire banked to embers.

But it wasn’t finished with them yet.

Caroline woke to Caspian’s fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine. Moonlight silvered his hair and the sharp lines of his face; his eyes were dark again, pupils blown wide with renewed hunger. This time she was the one who moved first—pushing him gently onto his back and straddling his hips before he could speak.

His hands settled on her waist, reverent, almost hesitant, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real. She sank down onto him slowly, watching his head fall back against the petals, a shudder moving through his powerful frame. For a long moment she simply held him inside her, savoring the stretch, the fullness, the way his breath caught when she rolled her hips experimentally.

Then she began to ride him.

At first her movements were tentative—small circles, gentle rises and falls as she found her rhythm. Caspian’s hands tightened on her hips, guiding but never forcing, letting her set the pace. She braced her palms on his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart beneath muscle and scar. Each downward glide drew a rough exhale from him; each lift made him grip her harder, as though afraid she might vanish.

“Caroline,” he rasped, voice breaking on her name.

The sight of him beneath her—silver hair fanned across crimson petals, throat bared, eyes locked on hers with raw, helpless want—ignited something fierce inside her. She quickened, rising and falling with growing confidence, taking him deeper, harder. His hips began to lift to meet her, thrusts sharp and desperate now, the last of his restraint unraveling.

One of his hands slid up to cup her breast, the other slipping between them to stroke her in tight, perfect circles. The pleasure coiled viciously tight. She threw her head back, hair cascading down her spine, and rode him without mercy—hips grinding, thighs trembling—until her fourth release crashed over her in blinding waves, her body clenching hard around him.

Caspian’s control shattered. With a guttural groan he surged upward, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he drove into her once, twice, and then held her down as he came, pulsing deep inside her, her name torn from his lips like a prayer and a curse at once.

She collapsed forward onto his chest, both of them shaking, sweat-slick and breathless. His arms wrapped around her immediately, holding her close as their hearts hammered in frantic unison.

For a little while longer, the spell let them pretend the world outside the alcove didn’t exist.

Time became meaningless.

It could have been minutes or hours.