The Lustful Villain: Every Milfs and Gilfs are Mine! - Chapter 380. She Don’t Want It To Be Gentle, But A Little Hard (I Train Her Well)**

Chapter 380: 380. She Don’t Want It To Be Gentle, But A Little Hard (I Train Her Well)**

The atmosphere in the spring was thick, not just with the humid, sulfurous steam, but with a tension so palpable it felt like a physical weight pressing against Nerith’s skin. Even as she forced that small, airy laugh, that involuntary reaction intended to mask her chaos, her body was a traitor.

Under the water, her pussy was still throbbing, a heavy, rhythmic ache that refused to subside. The sensation of Rex stepping into the pool, the sight of his powerful silhouette breaking the surface, had acted like a match tossed into a keg of gunpowder.

Her lewd fantasies hadn’t died, but they had simply been forcibly compressed, forced to hide beneath the surface of her “composed” druid persona.

’He’s so close…’ she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. ’He’s right there.’

’Just a few feet of water away… and he has no idea that just moments ago, I was picturing him sucking t-that… branch….’

Every time he moved, every time a ripple from his body traveled through the water to brush against her skin, a jolt of electricity shot straight to her clitoris. She had to grip the stone edge of the pool so hard her knuckles turned white, terrified that if she relaxed, she might let out a whimper that sounded far too much like a plea.

Her leaves were a mess of conflicting signals. While she tried to maintain the “amber wave” of mild to moderate emotion, the inner parts of her were reacting to the proximity of his masculine heat.

Deep within her hair, the smaller, hidden leaves were twitching with a dark, hungry jade hue, pulsing in time with the throbbing between her thighs.

’How can he be so calm?’ she wondered, stealing a sideways glance at his profile. ’How can he sit there talking about “pictures” and “gaps” when all I can think about is the gap between us…’

’And how much it would hurt and feel so good if he closed it?’

The irony was almost painful. She had spent the last hour trying to reinvent him as a gentle lover to soothe her fears, only to have the real man arrive with a presence so commanding it made her, the actual, dream-fantasizing version of herself, feel small and desperately needy.

She watched the way the water dampened his tanned shoulders, the way his muscles rippled as he leaned back. The image of his massive, veined cock flashed in her mind again, unbidden and violent.

She felt a sudden, sharp sting of moisture between her legs—not just the natural arousal, but a literal, heavy dampness that made her feel incredibly vulnerable.

’Apollo is right there…’ she panicked internally, her eyes darting briefly toward the bamboo screen. ’If he hears me breathe too loudly…’

’If he sees the way my leaves are trembling…’ She turned her gaze back to the water, forcing her voice to remain steady, though it felt thin and fragile.

“You’re very… frustrating, Rex,” she murmured, the words serving a double purpose.

To him, it sounded like a comment on his cryptic philosophy. To herself, it was a confession of how much he was torturing her unfulfilled, aching body.

She sat there, a prisoner of her own desire, trapped between the sacred duty of her station and the profane hunger of her flesh, waiting to see if he would continue to play this game of distance or if he would finally notice the storm brewing just beneath the surface of the calm, emerald water.

The distance between them vanished with a slow deliberateness that made Nerith’s breath hitch in her throat. Rex didn’t just move closer, but he glided through the water like a predator reclaiming its territory.

“Here, let me give my flower some care.” He said this as he settled directly behind her, and the sheer heat radiating from his massive frame enveloped her, making the hot spring feel cool by comparison. “You don’t mind it at all, right?”

“Yes… it’s fine…”

Nerith didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away.

In fact, she leaned back instinctively, her spine curving to meet the solid, muscular wall of his chest. The contact was electric where his skin met hers; the friction felt like a brand, marking her as his.

’Oh my nature… it’s the real thing… and I can tell it’s already better than the dream.’

The tension she had been carrying, the frustration of her failed self-pleasure, the guilt of her lewd thoughts, and the raw, unadulterated hunger for his weight finally broke. She couldn’t pretend anymore because the dam had cracked, and the flood was coming.

“Rex…” she whispered, her voice no longer that of the composed druid but of a woman on the brink of madness.

She reached back blindly, her fingers clutching at his thick forearms to pull him closer. “Please… don’t be gentle with the distance.”

“I can’t… the tension… it’s killing me…”

“Please, just… take it.”

“Y-you can… Take all of it…”

It was a plea, a raw, vulnerable begging that laid her soul bare. She was asking him to be the storm she had been dreaming of, to be the force that would finally shatter the stagnant pool of her unfulfilled desire.

Rex didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned forward, his large, tanned hands sliding around her waist to travel upward.

“Let me take care of my little flower…” Rex said it with a dominant tone that made Nerith feel even hornier.

“Y-yesh…’

Rex’s palms were heavy and warm as they cupped her massive, aching breasts. He didn’t just touch them, but he claimed them, his fingers kneading the soft, heavy mounds with a firm, possessive grip that made her let out a choked, rhythmic moan.

“This is nature’s gift alright… but it’s fine if nature slowly starts to break because of a human…”

“Ahhhhh… mmmhhhnnn!” Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the weight of his hands molding her flesh.

Then, she felt his breath hot, heavy, and smelling of the wild against the shell of her ear. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her lobe in a teasing, feather-light caress.

Before she could gasp, his tongue swept over the sensitive tip, a slow, wet stroke that sent a violent shiver crashing through her entire body.

“Rex… oh mother nature…” she whimpered, her hips instinctively tilting back to grind against his lap.

Suddenly, he nipped her. It wasn’t a hard, bruising bite but a controlled, authoritative tug of his teeth on her earlobe.

It was a gesture of dominance wrapped in a shroud of tenderness. It told her, ’You belong to me, and I will take you exactly how you need.’

Even as he dominated her senses, even as his hands began to squeeze her breasts with a strength that promised more to come, there was a terrifyingly beautiful gentleness in his rhythm.

He was guiding her, leading her through the wreckage of her own arousal, making sure she felt every ounce of the transition from the girl who prayed to the woman who craved.

Nerith felt her leaves vibrate with a frantic, jade-colored intensity. She was being conquered, but it was a conquest she had invited, a sweet surrender to the man who was finally turning her darkest, most shameful dreams into a breathtaking, flesh-and-blood reality.

The desperation in Nerith’s soul had reached a boiling point where politeness felt like an insult. Her body was no longer asking, but it was demanding.

Driven by a primal instinctual urge, she reached down, her hands grasping her own thighs and pulling them wide apart in the water, exposing her swollen, dripping core to him in a silent, shameless invitation.

’N-not like this!’ her mind screamed, even as her hips bucked toward him. ’Don’t be kind!’

’Don’t be the man who waits for permission! Be the man who takes!’

She wanted the Rex from her nightmares, the one who didn’t care about her dignity, the one who would treat her body like a prize to be plundered. She wanted the brute force that would stretch her, bruise her, and drown her in sensation.

But Rex, ever the master of her undoing, chose to tease.

His hand slid between her thighs, his fingers entering her with a maddening, agonizingly slow precision. He was being gentle.

He traced the folds of her slick entrance, his touch light as a summer breeze, circling her clitoris with a delicate, rhythmic motion that drove her to the brink of insanity.

“Rex… please…” she gasped, her voice a ragged wreck. “Stop being… so nice… please… just…go a little… harder!”

She was starving, and he was feeding her crumbs. Every time she thought she was about to snap, he would lighten the pressure, prolonging the exquisite agony of the “almost.” The frustration was a physical weight, a crushing pressure in her chest.

Then, sensing the exact moment her sanity was about to fracture, Rex changed.

The gentleness vanished as if it had never existed. His hand suddenly surged forward, his fingers driving into her with a brutal, unyielding force.

He stopped treating her like a delicate flower and began treating her like the fertile, hungry earth itself. He hammered into her, his knuckles bruising her sensitive walls, his movements fast, heavy, and merciless.

“AHHHNNN—!” The scream tore from her throat, a raw, primal sound of pure, unadulterated release.

Before the sound could echo through the bamboo screens and alert Apollo, Rex’s other hand flew up, his large palm clamping firmly over her mouth. He muffled her cry, trapping the sound in her throat, but he couldn’t trap the sheer intensity of her reaction.

“Sshhhh… he’ll hear you.”

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