NOVPUB
Chapter 58: never touched herself
Freya slumped against the headboard, the plate of half-eaten chicken abandoned beside her on the rumpled sheets.
Her body felt like a live wire—humming with frustration, heat, and a restless ache she couldn’t name. She’d never done this before—never dared to touch herself, never surrendered to the urges that flickered in the dark corners of her mind.
Masturbation was beneath her, a surrender to weakness, a crack in the iron discipline she’d forged her life around.
She was a queen, her composure a fortress, her control absolute. Or so she’d always believed.
But now, alone in the dim light of her room, that fortress trembled.
A soft, involuntary "Nnh—" slipped past her lips, her blue eyes widening as a sharp, electric jolt of pleasure shot through her.
Her fingers, hesitant and unpracticed, pressed against the fabric of her dark pants, tracing slow, uncertain circles over the heat pooling between her thighs.
Shame burned her cheeks, a scalding flush that clashed with the greedy, insistent need clawing at her insides.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stop, to reclaim her dignity—but her hand moved anyway, drawn deeper by a force she couldn’t master.
Her breath hitched, quick and shallow, as she fumbled with the waistband of her pants.
The fabric slid down her hips, the cool air kissing her smooth skin.
Her panties followed, bunching at her thighs, and she parted her legs slightly, trembling as her fingers brushed bare flesh.
The sensation was alien—overwhelming—her touch tentative yet growing bolder with each shaky breath.
She slipped a finger inside herself, the slick warmth enveloping her, and a choked "Ahh~" broke free, her always-composed face twisting into something raw, unguarded, almost unrecognizable.
Her hips rocked instinctively, chasing the intensity, her queenly mask crumbling into flushed cheeks, parted lips, and a tangle of platinum-cyan hair clinging to her damp forehead.
She was losing herself, teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying—and then the door creaked open.
Freya froze, her heart slamming against her ribs like a trapped bird. Kael stood framed in the doorway, his lean figure silhouetted against the hall’s faint light, a slow, smug smile curling his lips.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice a silken taunt as he stepped inside, hazel eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker, hungrier. "What’s this you’re doing, Freya?"
Panic seized her. She yanked at her pants, fingers clumsy, but they tangled around her knees—she was too late. He’d seen everything: her sprawled legs, her flushed skin, the undeniable evidence of her surrender.
Her head dropped, blue eyes darting to the floor, shame flooding her like a tide, drowning her pride. Caught—vulnerable, exposed, doing something she’d sworn she’d never stoop to.
Her throat tightened, words dissolving into a mortified silence.
Kael closed the distance with a predator’s grace, his presence warm and inescapable as he knelt on the bed before her.
"Hey," he said, his voice softening, shedding its mocking edge. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Freya. It’s normal—human."
His hand settled on her shoulder, a gentle weight, his thumb brushing her collarbone in slow, soothing strokes that sent a shiver racing down her spine.
She flinched, her arousal spiking despite the humiliation, her nerves fraying under his touch.
"You’re wound so tight," he murmured, leaning closer, his breath warm against her cheek, carrying the faint scent of cedar and smoke. "For once, let yourself go—stop fighting it."
Her hands pushed at his chest, a weak, instinctive shove, but he didn’t budge, his hazel eyes steady, coaxing, pulling her in.
"It’s okay," he whispered, his tone sweet and disarming, wrapping around her like a lure. "Everything’s fine—just a reaction, nothing more."
Her resistance faltered, her push weakening, and he stayed, his hand sliding up to cup her face, lifting her chin.
Her blue eyes met his, wide and wavering, stripped bare of their usual ice.
He saw it then—a flicker of a Freya she’d buried deep, soft and raw, a stranger even to herself. He leaned in, slow and deliberate, his lips brushing hers—tentative at first, then deeper, a gentle claim that stole the air from her lungs.
She stiffened, her mind screaming to pull away, but her body betrayed her, melting into him.
A low "Mmh—" hummed against his mouth as her lips parted, yielding to the kiss.
It was a spark, igniting the heat simmering in her core, and she pressed closer, her hands clutching his shirt, torn between shame and the dizzying pull of surrender.
Kael pulled back just enough to murmur, "Relax, Freya—let me help you."
His hands began to roam, slow and sensual, tracing the curve of her shoulders, down her arms, then back up, grazing the sides of her breasts through her cyan t-shirt.
Her breath hitched, a shiver rippling through her as he lifted the hem, his fingers brushing her bare stomach. They circled her navel with a teasing lightness that made her squirm, her skin prickling with goosebumps.
"Breathe," he cooed, his voice a velvet thread, unraveling her defenses.
His hand slid lower, achingly slow, slipping beneath the waistband of her half-lowered pants, brushing the edge of her bunched panties.
She tensed, a soft "Kael—" escaping, half-protest, half-plea, her voice trembling with uncertainty. He shushed her gently, his lips grazing her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth that made her head spin.
"Relax, just feel it," he whispered, his fingers dipping lower, parting her slick folds with a tenderness that stole her breath.
She was wet—embarrassingly so—and the realization made her cheeks burn hotter, but Kael’s touch was patient, unhurried.
His fingertips brushed her clit, light and exploratory, and a jolt of pleasure stabbed through her, sharp and unfamiliar.
"Ahh~!" she gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily, her body waking to a need she couldn’t name.
He didn’t rush her.
His touch was sensual, a slow dance of pressure and retreat, learning her reactions.
His thumb settled on her clit, rubbing in tight, languid circles, each motion sending a fresh wave of heat curling through her belly.
Then a finger slipped inside her, tentative at first, pressing into her tight, untouched warmth.
Freya’s breath caught, her eyes fluttering shut as the sensation overwhelmed her—fullness, intimacy, a strange mix of intrusion and bliss she’d never imagined.
Her inner walls clenched around him, slick and trembling, and she felt every inch of his finger as it curled gently, stroking a spot deep inside that made her toes curl and her thighs quake.
"Fuck—!" she moaned, the word bursting out unbidden, loud and raw, her queenly composure dissolving into a flushed, gasping mess.
It was too much—too intense—the wet heat of her arousal coating his hand, the soft, slick sounds filling the room, mingling with her ragged breaths and the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
Kael’s other hand slid up her t-shirt, pushing the fabric over her chest, his palm cupping her breast.
He squeezed gently, his thumb flicking her nipple—first through the fabric, then beneath it, bare skin to bare skin. The dual assault—his fingers inside her, teasing her clit, his hand on her breast—shattered what little control she had left.
Her hips bucked, chasing his touch, her moans growing unrestrained, spilling out in desperate, broken gasps. She was no queen now—just a woman, drowning in sensation, her body a live wire sparking under his hands.
Her mind reeled, caught between the physical and the emotional.
This was her first time—her first real surrender—and it terrified her as much as it thrilled her.
Every stroke of his thumb on her clit sent a pulse of pleasure so strong it bordered on pain, her nerves alight with a raw, primal energy she’d never tapped into.
The stretch of his finger inside her was foreign, a gentle ache that melted into something exquisite, coaxing her toward a precipice she didn’t understand.
Shame lingered, a faint whisper beneath the roar of her arousal—she’d been caught, exposed, undone—but it was drowned by the rising tide of need, the way her body responded to him like it had a will of its own.
"Kael—please—!" she gasped, her voice breaking, her hands fisting in his shirt as her body tightened, teetering on the edge of something vast.
Her thighs trembled, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts, every muscle coiling tighter, tighter—
"Let go," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot and steady as his finger curled deeper, his thumb pressing harder on her clit.
The tension snapped, and she came undone—a loud, unrestrained "AHNN~!" tearing from her throat, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed through her.
It was blinding, shattering—her first orgasm a flood of heat and light, soaking his fingers, her thighs clamping around his hand as she rode it out.
Her vision blurred, tears pricking her eyes, her breath hitching in sharp, desperate sobs as the aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her trembling, vulnerable, free.
Kael eased her down, his touch slowing, gentle now, his hand slipping free as she slumped against him, panting, her chest heaving.
Her skin was damp with sweat, her hair plastered to her face, and she felt... raw.
Exposed in a way that went beyond the physical. He brushed a damp strand from her forehead, his hazel eyes warm, almost reverent.
"You’re cute," he said, voice soft, loving. "So damn cute when you let go of your mask—beautiful, even."
He tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "How do you feel, Freya? Right now?"
She blinked, blue eyes hazy, still swimming in the afterglow.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the tingling aftershocks pulsing faintly through her limbs.
Shame lingered, a faint ember beneath the glow—caught, undone by his hands, her fortress of pride in ruins—but it warred with something new: relief, raw and unguarded, a release she hadn’t known she’d craved.
Her body felt heavy, sated, yet strangely alive, every nerve humming with the memory of his touch.
Emotionally, she was a tangle—vulnerable, shaken, yet oddly safe in his presence, a paradox she couldn’t unravel.
"I—I don’t know," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her usual sharpness dulled to a fragile edge.
