Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate-Chapter 145: A maid’s night

But she was being seen.

And she stayed.

Damien made her look at him.

His eyes met hers, steady and unblinking—blue like a frozen lake that burned underneath.

"I know you want it," he said quietly. "But you don't even know what it is."

Her lips parted, but still—no answer. Her breath escaped in shallow, unmeasured bursts.

"Because you were never allowed to want," Damien said. "Never allowed to feel."

Another tremble worked its way through her—this time more than just a shiver. It ran down her arms, coiled in her stomach, tightened the muscles in her thighs where they straddled him.

"You were taught to suppress," he said, voice like velvet scraped against something sharp. "To obey. To vanish. But not anymore."

His thumb brushed across her chin, holding her there—her face inches from his, heat pouring between their bodies like tension given form.

"That…" he whispered, gaze locking hers completely, "is different from now on."

Her eyes widened—just slightly. Just enough.

Because there was a finality to the way he said it. Not a question. Not a proposal. Not even a seduction.

A truth.

"From now on," Damien murmured, voice low and slow like molten steel, "you are allowed to express your emotions."

His thumb never left her chin.

"You're allowed to look at me…" he said, eyes narrowing just slightly, "with those desired eyes."

She blinked—but not to break contact. Only because her vision felt too full. Too much.

"You're allowed to want me."

Her breath stuttered.

"And you," he said, tilting his head just enough for his lips to graze hers again—"are allowed to love me."

Elysia didn't react with words.

She couldn't.

Her limbs stayed tense around him, her body perched in its own arrested stillness. But something in her gaze—something ancient and buried—shook.

And Damien took it.

Claimed it.

He crushed his lips against hers.

No gentleness now. No invitation.

Only need.

His kiss devoured. Possessed. His mouth moved with the kind of desperation that didn't ask permission—because it already knew she wouldn't stop him. Not now.

His hand curled around the back of her neck, drawing her down, and his other arm anchored tight around her waist, dragging her body flush to his. Their sweat mingled. Their breath collided. And Elysia—trained shadow, cold blade, void of indulgence—could do nothing.

Nothing but accept.

The force of his mouth. The heat of his tongue, prying hers open. The groan in his throat that vibrated against her teeth. The way his kiss didn't just touch her, but shaped her—bent her inward, rewrote the silence where her heart used to be still.

She trembled again, not from fear.

But because her mind had nothing left to reach for.

Nothing to anchor her.

And Damien filled that space.

He broke the kiss.

Not abruptly—but with a long, final drag of his teeth across her lower lip before letting it slip free.

Her lips stayed parted.

Her breath stayed gone.

Her body... still his.

"You are mine," Damien said, voice rough, ragged from restraint and something darker.

"My dear maid," he whispered.

And then—he leaned forward and buried his face into the curve of her neck.

Elysia jolted—but only slightly.

Then—

The wet drag of his mouth across her skin.

Then—

The sharp pull of suction.

And for the first time in her life, Elysia felt marked.

Not with blood.

Not with code.

Not with duty.

But want.

Pure. Physical. Unapologetic.

She gasped softly as he sucked harder, her hands now fisted in the fabric of his shirt, her breath high in her throat, her back arching just a hair.

He left it there.

The bruise blooming on her neck. A violet truth.

A question answered.

A claim laid bare.

"I treasure my belongings," he said against her throat.

Elysia felt it.

Hard.

Pressed right beneath her—against the very center of where she sat astride him. A rigid, insistent presence beneath the soft fabric of their clothes. It wasn't sudden, not really. She must have felt it before, subtly, unconsciously, but now—

Now it was undeniable.

Something stiff, hot, and very real pulsed just below her untouched core, aligned with a part of her that had never been claimed. That had never even been acknowledged.

Her heart pounded so violently it drowned out thought. Her hands clenched tighter into Damien's shirt, nails curling unconsciously into the sweat-damp fabric as heat unfurled inside her chest like some dormant wire finally sparking to life.

Damien pulled back from her neck just enough to bring his mouth in line with hers again. Close. So close.

His hand moved—slow and patient—sliding across the arch of her back, fingers spreading to cup the space between her shoulder blades, as if grounding her in the reality of this moment.

And then—his voice, low and velvety, brushed her lips.

"Is that clear?"

The words weren't demanding.

They were final.

Like the snapping of a chain. The fall of a blade.

And something crushed in her chest.

Or maybe it was the opposite.

Something broke free.

Elysia's eyes widened. Her breath caught.

Because when she looked into his—those deep, electric blue eyes, darkened now with desire and certainty—she saw it.

He wanted her.

Not as a servant.

Not as a shadow.

But as her.

And—

She was allowed to want him too.

Was this what I want?

Was that why she reacted like that yesterday?

Was that why her heart wouldn't stop beating?

"…Y-yes," she whispered.

Her voice was barely there, trembling, unsure—

—but real.

And Damien—

He smiled.

Slow. Proud. Possessive.

"Good girl."

Then he kissed her again.

Hard.

But not just forceful—precise. His mouth captured hers with no hesitation, no pause, no testing of boundaries—he knew them now, and he pushed right past.

His lips crushed hers, parted them instantly, and his tongue surged forward, taking the space she'd just surrendered. It was heat and pressure and intent, the kind of kiss that didn't ask but took—because it belonged to him.

His tongue swept along her teeth, tracing the ridges like a map memorized, then slid deeper, tangling with hers.

He swirled around her tongue, coaxing it into motion—pressing, curling, tasting. Every movement was confident, deliberate—dominant.

And Elysia—gods, Elysia let him.

Her mouth stayed open, pliant under his, her tongue shy but responsive as it moved with his, then against, then was taken again. Her breath came in broken bursts through her nose, her body locked between his arms, overwhelmed by sensation.

Damien's hand moved lower now—down the curve of her back, then up again in a slow drag of fingers that left her spine tingling. His palm molded to her shape, sliding just beneath the hem of her shirt, brushing bare skin as he held her close, as if anchoring her to this new reality where she wasn't just a tool.

Where she could feel.

Where she was feeling.

And she didn't run.

She sank into him.

Completely.