10x Rewards: Conquering Women and Taming Beauties - Chapter 75: She Is Wet? (16+ - )

Chapter 75: She Is Wet? (16+ Chapter)

Behind me, at the summit pavilion, Elizabeth remained motionless long after my footsteps had faded into the distance.

The freezing wind continued to lash against her, pressing the thin black silk robe even tighter against her body. The plunging neckline framed the steady rise and fall of her full breasts, the faint outline of her nipples still visibly hardened, not entirely from the cold anymore.

The high slits along the sides revealed the smooth, pale skin of her long legs, and the loose silver chain at her hips swayed gently with each subtle shift of her weight.

Her face stayed perfectly emotionless, a mask of icy beauty. No flush colored her pale cheeks. No frown creased her flawless brow. Yet inside, something unfamiliar lingered.

Elizabeth slowly lowered her gaze to her own body.

One elegant hand moved downward, slipping through the high slit of the robe with mechanical precision.

Her fingers glided along the silky skin of her inner thigh, moving higher until they reached the delicate folds between her legs.

She was wet.

The realization came without shock or embarrassment, only quiet observation. Her fingertips came away coated in a slick, warm stickiness that glistened faintly in the pale light.

She brought her hand up slowly, examining the clear fluid clinging to her skin with the same detached curiosity one might give a strange artifact.

Without changing expression, she parted her crimson lips and slid two fingers into her mouth. She tasted herself, salty-sweet, slightly musky, completely foreign to her tongue.

The cold wind did nothing to cool the lingering heat that still pulsed faintly between her thighs.

Her silver eyes remained glacial, utterly emotionless as she withdrew her fingers with a soft, wet sound.

A single strand of silver hair clung to the corner of her mouth before she brushed it away.

’Wet…’ she thought flatly, the word echoing in the silence of her mind. ’I have never been wet like this before. Not once in all these years.’

She stood there for a long moment, the thin robe still molded to her seductive form, the full swell of her breasts, the narrow waist cinched by the silver chain, the long legs slightly parted beneath the fluttering silk. The wind teased the fabric, occasionally exposing more of her pale skin, but she made no move to adjust it.

’Am I… sick?’ The question formed coldly, without panic. ’Is this some kind of curse? Or has that boy done something to me?’

Her mind drifted back to the way Aristarkh had looked at her, those silver eyes turning faintly crimson, the low timbre of his voice when he called her beautiful, the way his presence had made something warm and unwelcome bloom in her chest.

She had nearly leaned into him. Nearly allowed his hand to touch her waist. The memory brought no shame, only a detached suspicion.

Elizabeth lowered her hand once more, this time pressing her palm lightly against the front of the silk robe, right over the damp heat between her legs.

The fabric was noticeably wet there too, clinging transparently to her most intimate area and outlining the soft lips beneath.

She rubbed once, experimentally, feeling the slickness spread. Still, her face showed nothing, no pleasure, no disgust, only clinical assessment.

’This sensation… it is persistent. Unnatural.’

She tasted her fingers a second time, slower, letting the flavor linger on her tongue as if analyzing a new poison. The stickiness remained, warm and undeniable.

’If this is illness, it must be dealt with. If it is something he caused…’ Her silver eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the only crack in her emotionless facade. ’Then he will answer for it.’

Yet even as the thought formed, a faint echo of that earlier warmth stirred again deep inside her core, subtle, buried, but present. The hypnotic seeds Aristarkh had planted refused to wither completely.

Elizabeth finally turned away from the edge of the pavilion, the black silk robe swirling around her seductive figure. She moved with the same graceful, distant elegance as always, but the dampness between her thighs made every step feel slightly different, slick, sensitive, a quiet reminder of how close she had come to crossing a line she had never even considered before.

She would meditate. She would observe this strange reaction. And if necessary, she would confront her son again.

The mountain wind continued to howl, carrying away any trace of what had nearly happened, but the tension remained, thick, unresolved, and dangerously seductive, clinging to her like the wet silk between her legs.

…

Unaware of the turmoil his mother was undergoing, Aristarkh decided it was time to retire for the day. Tomorrow was a beautiful day, and it was particularly one where he decided he was going to pay a visit to Rosaline to truly receive his reward.

Moments later, he navigated through the corridor and alleyways briefly before finding himself in front of his room door. There were so many things that had happened today, and he was already tired.

With an exhausted sigh, he pushed the door open, and was amazed by the sight that greeted him.

Lydia lay sprawled on the bed, legs spread far apart from each other. Other parts of her body were covered by the moon-light blue duvet, leaving just the sight of her bare, neatly trimmed pussy. She had most likely shaved while he was away, Aristarkh analysed. Now, however, wasn’t the time for analysis. He was already throbbing hard and aching, the image of his mother replaying in his mind.

The sight hit him like a cursed wave. Lydia’s pussy was glistening under the soft glow of the room’s cursed lanterns, the smooth, pink folds slightly parted and already slick with her own arousal. A small patch of trimmed silver-blonde hair crowned the top, neat and inviting. Her thighs were toned and pale, spread wide in obvious invitation, the inner skin flushed a delicate pink.

Aristarkh’s cock twitched violently in his pants, the earlier tension with Elizabeth surging back full force. His mother’s cold, seductive body, those full breasts straining against black silk, the long legs exposed by high slits, the faint wetness he had almost caused, merged with the explicit view before him. The contrast only made his blood burn hotter.

Lydia’s eyes, a soft violet, met his from across the room. She didn’t speak. She simply watched him with quiet hunger, one hand resting lazily on her lower stomach, fingers just above her exposed slit.

“Welcome back, young master,” she purred, voice low and sultry. “I’ve been waiting.”

Aristarkh kicked the door shut behind him, the lock clicking with finality. He crossed the room in three strides, shedding his outer robe as he went. His eyes, still carrying faint traces of crimson from the mountain, raked over Lydia’s body. The duvet had slipped lower, revealing the underside of her full breasts and the hard peaks of her nipples.

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