Chapter 328: Chapter 328- You Set me Up!?

He held her.

It felt warm and full, chest pressed to chest — her arms wrapped around his neck, his arms wrapped around her back, both of them breathing slowly together after something huge had just happened.

He was still inside her.

He stayed soft and settled, lodged deep in the warm interior of her pussy — not moving, not demanding anything, simply resting there with the easy presence of something that belonged right where it was. Her walls fluttered warmly and involuntarily, giving small rhythmic clenches around him, the kind of ongoing contractions a pussy makes after it has been worked so thoroughly and is still processing the whole event, still sending little waves of tightness along his length because those walls had discovered their new purpose and no one had told them to stop yet.

He felt every bit of it.

He felt the flutter of her. It was warm and pulsing, small but continuous, her interior clenching around him in that specific post-orgasm way that kept going and told a man everything he needed to know about how the woman he was inside was feeling.

He began to move.

It was not the hard rhythm from before. This was slow, deep, and full, the kind of stroke that starts from complete rest — his hips drawing back in one long, deliberate withdrawal and then returning with the same slow, complete push that said this was exactly where he lived now. It went deep. It stayed patient. It was the pace that shows clear intention instead of any rush.

She made a sound into his shoulder.

It was small and involuntary, as if it had slipped out before she could stop it.

Her arms tightened around his neck.

“Thank you,” she said.

The words came out into his shoulder. They were warm, muffled, and completely genuine — not performed or managed at all, just the real way she expressed something she had no other words for and had decided these were the ones she would use.

He chuckled.

The sound was low, warm, and genuine against her hair.

“Thank you,” she said again. Her hips moved along with his, responding slowly and finding his rhythm, matching it naturally the way two bodies do when they have settled into the same pace together.

PAH.

The impact was soft, single, and unhurried — nothing like the sharp, hard-landing cracks from earlier. It felt full, cushioned, and deep because of how slow everything was.

“Thank you for what?” he said.

His voice carried a warm, teasing note. He was the kind of man who already knew exactly what she was thanking him for and was going to make her say the words out loud anyway.

She pressed her face harder into his shoulder.

“You know what,” she said.

“Mmm.” The sound was easy and clearly asking for details. “For filling your womb with my cum?”

“DON’T—” It came out full, immediate, and mortified — her head lifting suddenly, her face appearing over his shoulder with the deep color of someone who had just been embarrassed very hard and was showing it. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t talk so dirty—”

PAH.

“NNGH~—”

The slow thrust arrived right in the middle of her sentence with perfect timing, hitting her deep and cutting her off completely.

He looked at her face.

Her seeing eyes were wet-lashed and wide open, color rushing fast into her cheeks. It was the first time he was watching this new, embarrassed version of her face in the full light of the room.

“Isn’t it this body?” he said. His tone was warm and thoughtful. His hips drew back slowly. “This slutty body of yours—”

“I am NOT—”

PAH.

“MMPH~!! — don’t say—”

“—milking my cock like this.”

He felt her walls clench hard the instant the words left his mouth.

It was involuntary and complete, her pussy gripping him tighter exactly when he said the word, the warm tightening response of walls that clearly had opinions about that kind of language even if their owner had not been asked.

She felt it too.

The mortification washed over her — her own body had reacted so honestly and immediately to a dirty word that there was no way she could pretend it had not happened.

“That is not—” Her voice sounded thin, as if she refused to continue this kind of conversation. “I was trying to thank you for returning my vision. Not for—”

PAH.

“—for the—”

PAH PAH.

“AAAHN~!! For — for that—” She gave up on finishing the sentence. The words had simply left her again.

He pulled her closer.

His mouth found her ear. It was warm and deliberate, his lips right at the earlobe, his breath brushing the side of her face.

“I know,” he said. His voice stayed low and quiet — intimate and close, the kind that did not need to be loud. “I know what you were thanking me for.”

She shivered.

The shiver ran fully from her shoulders all the way downward.

His hips kept moving. They stayed slow and patient, the pace of a man who had decided to take his time with this and was doing exactly that.

“I did it,” he said against her ear, “because I want you to submit to me.”

PAH.

“NNGH~—”

“Surrender your body to me.” The words were warm, direct, and left no room for argument.

Her hands — both of them — moved with full instinctive motion because they had heard something and reacted before her mind could decide. They pressed flat against his back and pulled hard. It was the drawing, holding motion of arms that wanted to be closer and were making sure of it.

“There is nothing I can offer you,” she said.

Her voice was thin and honest, the kind that came from thirty-one years of being alone and needing him to understand the truest thing she knew about herself.

Her hand landed on something warm behind him.

She felt it clearly.

It was another body. Another set of ribs. The warm, breathing presence of a person right there behind him that her hand had just discovered.

She turned her head.

PAH.

“AAHN~—”

She looked.

The woman on the bed behind him had red hair and a smirking face. Veronica lay on her side with her cheek resting in her palm, watching Frau Müller with warm entertainment and clear satisfaction, her eyes showing she had been watching this whole time and that everything was unfolding exactly as she had planned.

Frau Müller looked at her.

It was the first time she had ever seen Veronica’s face.

She had known this woman for ten days — ten days of her voice, her warmth, her hands guiding her through rooms, her laugh, and the specific sound of her footsteps. She had built a picture of a face from all those things over those ten days.

The picture she had built was wrong.

Not badly wrong. But the real face was so much more alive than the one she had imagined — the crimson hair against the pale skin, the green eyes carrying that same attentive look.

“You—” She swallowed. “You are Veronica?”

“Of course I am.” Veronica’s reply was warm and amused. “Did you forget your own friend?”

PAH.

“MMPH~—” She bit down on the sound to stop it. “You—” She looked straight at her. “You set me up.” The accusation felt thin but completely real. “With your husband.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep