Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

From the floor found several garments—sprawled and scattered—and some of it clung by the edge of the bed.

Within the chamber, walls echoed the ragged breathing and frantic voices that continued to fuel their desires.

Fatigue might've overcome his body, dulling his overall senses, but it was time for his thinking to cease and let his heart follow what his body wanted.

Athan was no foreign with the succulent, tender, and warmth from such embrace. His heartbeat, agreeing every time he thought of pulling Mystique closer and left no space in between such contact.

More and more of their skin crashed, and it sent sparks all over his body, enough to

A part of him bore hesitation, as this wasn't the kind of Mystique she had encountered, even when he had the chance to be with her on the bed.

She would put up much of a fight. Despite hitting rock bottom, she still bore that cold, strong gaze.

For all the men and women dropped their knees and pleaded their case was his utmost satisfaction.

Even for the likes of Mystique.

The kind of resolve he craved to shatter them, he remembered the time when he did so—not in the bed, unfortunately—making him lick his lips then.

However, he was surprised when the woman he vowed to work with showed no resistance against him. She was beneath him: her thighs unable to break free from his legs, and her wrists tied with the leather belt he had that clung onto the headboard's decorative spire.

Her eyes—a tad dreamy from the glimmer found on the indigo gaze—were as though she wanted to succumb to his pleasure and temptation, even without putting much effort to hypnotize her.

Since she all tied up, his hands slid to her bosoms; with a grope, she let out a hitch in her profound breathy tone.

Somehow, Athan's vision turned vague; but with the fresh pink circles seen, it became his target—such contrast from the caress, soft and plump, now rubbed against how hard and taut it became.

"N—No, not there, please!" Her cries and occasional squirms brought him a hearty chuckle between his lips.

Athan just shut his eyes and followed his instincts throughout the sensitive zones that would give her spasms of arousal. His lips pulled away from hers and breathed against his ear before nibbling the lobe.

In turn, she moaned in such a pleasure that caused his body to tense even further. Uncontrollable squirms of hers had his now engorged manhood rubbed against her soaking honey pot, making his tip leak and moistened against her familiar nectar.

"Such befitting title of a slut that you are," he growled, grabbing her hair and let out an inaudible cry of lust. "You like it that much?"

"I'm—feeling—"

Mystique just let out a series of moans that she had a hard time uttering words, but her body begged to differ as it continued to flinch and jolt against his muscles.

"...Feeling it already? Can't wait any more? Be grateful I make you feel good before I eat you up."

Peck after peck, Athan's lips roamed from her jaws to the chest.

His touches welcomed her heat. Beads of sweat that trickled from his neck, broad chest, and down to his abs welcomed her moist, slender torso like it was a camaraderie—with constant rub, let his tongue took over, suckling to his heart's content.

Meanwhile, his spare hand roamed down—further below her navel. Through his fingers grazed over the pink and lush crevice, and along with it came a bump.

Her legs tensed, nudging him away as she pleaded, "Ahh—If you touch it there—"

But Athan wasn't the type to listen, as her woes became his cup of joy.

A bump that ought to help him to pinch and twist.

A sensual circular motion became a stir that ignited deep within her.

"You like it there, huh?" Athan teased, and she couldn't answer as her eyes almost rolled up. Her silence brought him affirmation that followed the rhythm of the play.

It was like she found her strength that she arched her back for as much as she could but was outmatched with his size and weight that she only convulsed between her peals of arousal.

Mystique lost her way with words as she only responded against his lips that enamored her nipples, one at a time, and to her sweet spot. Her responses now melded well with the touch—making him scream for more.

A few flinches, and her body arched, pressing against his lean muscles.

Athan knew she was about to reach the zenith; he led himself towards her neck, with his fangs protruding at moment's notice.

"Ahh—Nnn—" Her gaped mouth, screaming in pleasure, hissed from the sudden chomp that bloomed her neck. But his hand silenced her, helplessly turned into a muffled tone.

Athan suckled right on her neck, savored the fresh taste that came from it, like its sweetness melted his mouth and down his throat—gulp after gulp—almost brought him to sensations he never had before.

It was irresistibly sweet; so far, he had yet to get a taste of this. It caused a stifle in his heartbeat when he tried to recall the distinct tastes of blood.

It was unique.

Bewildered, somehow, coming from a witch at that.

How bitter blood could wash the list of sweet delicacies out of his system.

Only through her, he wanted more.

Athan licked his lips and by her neck with the crimson remnants that remained.

It was precious as the amassed fortune he had.

Just as he got full from the dinner served, he broke free from entanglement. He was on both knees with his eyes glared down on her docile face.

Her skin may have glistened with such sweat and with wetness spreading the sheets, although it wasn't as soaked as her cavern gushing out juices that were slick and moist that it could ever be.

For he could only hope he mustered the amount of juice from the squelches, he drew his hand close and gave it a drink until he gave his hand a lick—not leaving a single drop of it to waste.

'Not even comparable to her nectar… As I thought, her blood was—' Athan's body seared with the tiny bit of rationality he had when its incomparable taste blew his mind.

Energized, he wanted to go for another round, craving more of her sweetened blood. But in a blink of an eye, he found himself beneath her.

'Didn't she lost her will—'

A sharp pain bloom from spanking.

"It's now my turn, scum."