Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 188: A maids restraint and a locked in master

<Wednesday Evening, Blackthorne Mansion>

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long streaks of orange and violet across the edge of the training grounds. Lights from the villa's upper floor glowed faintly behind arched windows, but out here, the world was reduced to the rhythmic sound of movement—steps, strikes, breath.

Damien moved like shadow against shadow.

Boots light on the mat, body low, energy controlled. No wasted motion. No strain.

Elysia darted forward, her palm cutting through the air—aimed clean at his solar plexus.

WHIP.

Damien shifted—not back, not away, but into her motion.

He rotated his torso just enough, deflecting the strike off-angle with his forearm. His opposite hand followed up immediately—fingers brushing the inside of her elbow.

Redirect. Control.

Her balance faltered.

Only slightly.

But she felt it.

THMP.

He swept low, pivoting on his rear foot. Her leg lifted instinctively, reacting too late.

He didn't take her down.

He let her recover.

Controlled disengage.

Deliberate restraint.

They separated.

Silence.

Only their breath between them, heavy but focused.

Elysia's eyes narrowed faintly, her chest rising and falling beneath her training gear. Sweat clung to her collarbone, a faint sheen across her pale skin.

She stared at Damien—not with her usual neutrality.

But with realization.

'Young master is…'

Her thoughts slowed, distilling into a single, quiet truth.

'Way too talented.'

There was no mana in his body.

No artificial enhancements.

No Awakened gifts surging beneath the skin.

And yet—

His control over Silent Vein was already approaching that of a full-fledged assassin. A combat art passed through generations, taught only to the Shadows of House Verdant. Most who studied it took months to master the basic flow patterns.

Damien?

He was weaving them mid-spar.

Flow-to-flow. Frame-to-frame.

He wasn't just mimicking. He was adapting.

Reading pressure.

Redirecting tension.

Knowing exactly when to strike, and—more importantly—when not to.

He lunged again, low and angled—testing her defense from a blind side.

She countered.

Barely.

And only because she had trained in this style to the complete mastery and she had been in combat for more than a decade.

Damien grinned as he broke the engagement once more, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, breath steady despite the exertion.

"Getting slower, Elysia," he said casually, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

"…No, master," she replied, voice even. "You're simply getting faster."

She said it without emotion.

But that wasn't denial.

It was acknowledgment.

And for Elysia Verdant?

That meant everything.

Damien tilted his head, that knowing grin still on his face.

"Careful, Elysia," he murmured. "Keep praising me like that, and I might start thinking you're impressed."

Elysia's eyes sharpened.

Then—

"...You should."

"Ho?"

Damien's grin widened, the corners of his lips twitching upward with genuine amusement. There was something rare in the air between them now—something warm, even amidst the sharp cadence of their fight.

He straightened slightly, rolling his shoulders, gaze fixed on her with that familiar glint.

"Well, well," he mused, brushing a loose strand of hair from his brow, "getting talkative, are we?"

Elysia's face remained composed, unreadable.

But her silence now said something different.

Not dismissal.

Not indifference.

Just… patience.

The kind one only showed to someone worth the time.

"Opening up to your master now?" he added, tilting his head, almost teasing.

That was the moment she moved.

No signal. No shift in breathing.

Just—

FLASH.

Her foot struck the mat with a sharp SKRT, launching forward in a tight arc. Her lead hand darted up—a feint to draw his guard high.

Damien read it.

He moved to counter.

But it was bait.

She ducked low, twisted under his extended arm, and—

WHUMP.

Her shoulder slammed into his midsection, the motion compact and brutal.

Before he could recover—

THUD.

She swept his feet clean off the ground, tackling him straight onto the mat with controlled force. His back hit hard, air driven from his lungs in a gasp.

Elysia straddled him in a pin, knees locked tight to his sides, hand braced lightly at his throat—not pressing, not choking, just there. A gesture of dominance. A line drawn.

Her face hovered inches from his, hair falling to one side, and her expression—calm, cold, perfect—bore into him.

"You let your mouth move too much," she said quietly. "Your hips followed your words."

Damien blinked.

Then laughed.

Rough and breathless, lying flat against the mat with a hand splayed beside her knee.

"…Noted," he wheezed, still grinning.

Damien didn't move at first.

He stayed flat on the mat beneath her, eyes half-lidded, mouth twisted in a grin that should've warned her. One hand splayed beside her thigh, fingers twitching like they were debating what line to cross next.

Then his gaze climbed—slowly—up the line of her jaw, her cheek, those impassive yet intimately close eyes.

"You keep doing that…" he murmured, voice rough with breath, "and I might really lose control."

Elysia didn't flinch. Her hand still rested at his throat—not threatening, not withdrawn. Just there. Steady. Silent.

She watched him.

Not unreadable now.

But deliberate.

Because she'd heard what he said.

And she didn't deny it.

He tilted his head, still pinned beneath her, still smiling like he had all the time in the world to wait for a reaction. "You know I need to study, and still… you tempt me."

That got her. Not much—but enough.

Her eyes shifted. Just a fraction. Her gaze, unwavering for so long, slid to the side.

Subtle.

But not to Damien.

He saw it.

And understood.

"Oh?" he whispered, voice low and sweet like it had teeth. "That's how it is?"

And then—he moved.

In one burst of motion, he surged up beneath her, twisting with just enough force to flip their positions. Elysia didn't resist. She could've. Her reflexes were more than enough to counter it.

But she didn't.

Because she'd made a choice.

And Damien knew it.

Her back hit the mat with a soft thud. His body pressed down over hers—hips aligned, forearm braced beside her head, his chest flush against the soft rise and fall of hers.

No more air between them.

Only heat.

His breath ghosted her cheek.

"Got you," he whispered.

And it didn't sound like a boast.

It sounded like a promise.

Elysia didn't speak. Her arms, once braced to pin, now shifted—slow, thoughtful. One hand moved to his bicep, the other trailing up along his side. She didn't push him away.

She held him there.

Her answer, unspoken.

And his smile turned sharper. Hungrier.

Damien's gaze dipped.

Not fast. Not impatient.

But with the kind of gravity that pulled worlds into orbit.

And then—he kissed her.

No pretense. No soft opening. novelbuddy.cσ๓

Just lips crashing into hers like he'd lost whatever restraint he'd held onto. His mouth parted hers with ease, tongue pressing forward, tasting, claiming. Elysia gasped into him, her body arching just slightly, the tension of training and control unraveling at the seams.

It wasn't gentle.

It was wild.

And it thrilled her.

She felt it in every inch of contact—his weight, his heat, the sharp edge of his hunger barely tucked beneath the surface.

His hand slid up, knuckles grazing along her ribs as if memorizing the line of her form before curling fingers behind her neck, anchoring her as his kiss deepened—then broke.

A sharp inhale snapped between them.

Damien pulled back just enough, their lips still close, his breath teasing the line of her jaw.

And then—his fingers moved.

A slow circle. Right at the base of her throat.

Delicate, deliberate, devastating.

Her pulse jumped under his touch.

"Still steady," he murmured, though his voice held the kind of grin you could feel even with your eyes closed.

Then he shifted—just enough—until his mouth hovered beside her right ear.

He knew.

He knew.

The exact place where the skin grew unbearably sensitive. Where even air felt like heat.

"After Friday," he whispered.

And Elysia froze.

Not from fear.

From knowing.

Knowing what that meant.

"I'm going to fuck your brains out."

Each word dripped in velvet, low and slow and mercilessly clear.

"Till then…"

His breath brushed her ear, soft as silk and hot enough to melt steel.

"I need to study."

The sound she made—quiet, shivering, involuntary—might've been a breath. Might've been the start of a moan.

He didn't wait to hear the end of it.

Because Damien leaned in closer, his exhale sliding against the curve of her ear like smoke over bare flame.

And Elysia—

Shuddered.

A tremble rolled down her spine, hips twitching beneath his weight before she could stop it.

Her hands gripped tighter to his side, nails grazing skin. Not rejection.

Restraint.

She was holding herself back.

He felt it.

And he smiled.

Friday couldn't come fast enough.