NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 107

Chapter 107: Teasing the Step Sister!

Artis woke up the next morning looking like a man who had fought a war and lost, sprawled out on the bed like a homeless drunk—except someone had thoughtfully draped a bedsheet over his wrecked body.

‘Mommy must’ve done it… How sweet…’

Even after getting her insides rearranged by his monster cock, she still had the presence of mind to tuck him in like a good little housewife. That was some next-level devotion right there.

He smirked, stretching lazily.

‘I should give her a sweet little kiss for this… But… how’s she even gonna look me in the eye after last night’s performance?’

And then there was Lui.

Oh, poor, pathetic Lui.

Artis wasn’t exactly worried about the cuck—fuck no. He was just curious.

The man had been on the verge of a mental breakdown last night, guzzling booze to numb the pain while watching his wife get absolutely wrecked by another man.

And let’s not forget the way Lui had jerked off to the whole thing like some desperate little bitch.

It was easy to be crazy in the heat of the moment—horniness did wild shit to a man. But the morning after? That’s when reality really sank its teeth in.

Artis chuckled to himself, rolling onto his side with a shit-eating grin.

‘Oh, this is gonna be fucking hilarious…’

He yawned again, stretching so hard the bed creaked under him, his joints popping like firecrackers.

With one last, lazy groan, he jumped off the bed and sauntered into the shower, letting the cold water slap his skin awake.

A few minutes later, he strolled out fresh as fuck, slipping into a loose white shirt and equally loose white pants—no underwear, of course. Maximum efficiency. Maximum freedom. Maximum potential for accidental indecent exposure.

Time to meet the stars of last night’s porno drama.

As he stepped out of his room, his eyes immediately landed on Nadia, perched at the dining table, blowing on a spoonful of steaming soup.

Like always, she was wearing the flimsiest excuse for clothing—some barely-there velvet nightie that exposed more cleavage than actual fabric. And those ass cheeks? Oh, they were plastered to the chair like a fucking advertisement for a premium sex doll.

Artis took his sweet time admiring the view, already considering how easy it would be to slide that nightie just a little to the side.

“Morning, Sister.”

“Hmmm.”

‘Oh? The fuck was this?’

Her response was so fucking dry it could’ve turned a wet pussy into a desert. In the old days, she would’ve been bouncing off the damn walls just at the sight of him.

But now? She didn’t even look up, just kept blowing on her soup like it was the most important thing in the world.

That actually caught him off guard.

‘What the fuck?’

He had been on his way to the kitchen, where Juliana was cooking up something delicious—hopefully more than just food—but Nadia’s attitude made him stop dead in his tracks. His eyebrow twitched. Oh?

With a slow, deliberate smirk, he turned on his heel right towards her.

And that’s when it happened—a tiny, almost imperceptible slip-up.

‘Gotcha, bitch.’

The moment he turned, Nadia immediately snapped her eyes back to her soup, pretending like she wasn’t just watching his every move.

Oh, this was rich. He had her squirming already, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked up behind her, looming over her shoulder.

Too close. Just right.

Her smooth, controlled movements stuttered just a little, her spoon trembling for half a second before she forced herself back to that fake-ass composure.

She knew he was up to no good. She could fucking feel it. But instead of reacting, she kept up the act, blowing on her spoon like she wasn’t two seconds away from getting wrecked.

A moment passed. Then another.

Nothing.

The silence was fucking killing her.

She could feel him standing there, looming like a horny demon waiting to strike, but he wasn’t saying shit.

Not a damn thing. No teasing remark, no sudden grab, no smug-ass chuckle—just his presence, thick as sin, pressing down on her like a weight.

‘What the fuck is he doing?’

Her spoon-wielding hand worked overtime, blowing on that soup like it was her only lifeline. At this point, it wasn’t even hot anymore—just a sad, soul-drained liquid that had suffered from too much anxiety breath.

And then—

“Dear Step Sister…”

The whisper slithered into her ear like a filthy promise, so sudden and hot that she fucking jumped.

‘Oh fuck.’

His breath, warm and teasing, tickled her earlobe, sending a traitorous shudder down her spine. But it wasn’t fear—it was that fucked-up, delicious kind of thrill that made her thighs clench.

“W-what…?”

She stammered, daring to side-eye him. Big mistake.

Crimson.

His crimson-fucking-eyes locked onto hers, full of wicked amusement and something even darker. She immediately looked back at her spoon like it held the answers to the universe.

And then—

“What a nice view, first thing in the morning…”

His voice was lower now, dirtier, and then—fuck—his lips brushed against her earlobe. Light as a feather, teasing, taunting. A simple touch, but it sent her body into full-blown meltdown mode.

‘Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.’

Her thighs clenched. Her face turned as red as a whore’s lipstick.

And she still had to pretend like she was just trying to enjoy her damn soup.

‘Wh-what view? Is he talking about…’

Her gaze hesitantly dropped past her spoon, and—

‘Oh fuck.’

Her tits. Her fucking tits.

Her twin peaks were right there, nipples clearly visible through the flimsy, utterly useless excuse of a nightie. The thin velvet wasn’t hiding shit—it was practically putting on a goddamn presentation.

She was going to die. Right here. Right now. Death by mortification.

Her entire face exploded into heat, her hands gripping the spoon like it was her last defense against the abyss. She couldn’t even look at him.

“P-pervert!!!”

She squeaked, her voice barely above a dying kitten’s whisper.

But this smug motherfucker didn’t even flinch.

“Pervert? Why?”

He said, tilting his head with mock innocence. “I was talking about the soup.”

What.

“Look at it.”

He gestured dramatically to her bowl.

“Look at the creamy texture, the subtle orange hue on the white. The corn and chicken pieces, so juicy and tender. The way the hot air wafts up, carrying the scent of comfort and desire… Chef’s kiss.”

And then this absolute bastard actually kissed his fingertips and made a full-on exaggerated French chef motion.

Nadia short-circuited.

‘Soup?’

She was out here drowning in shame, ready to write her will, and this fucker was talking about soup?!

Her face went even redder. This was illegal. This had to be illegal.

In sheer, painful embarrassment, she slammed her eyes shut, shoved the spoon into her mouth—

And immediately regretted it.

It was cold.

Completely, utterly, depressingly cold.

But did she let it show?

Hell fucking no.

She sat there, chewing with the poise of a queen, pretending it was the best fucking soup she had ever had in her life.

Then she felt his hot breath ghost over her ear again, sending a shiver straight down to her core.

“Why? Did my dear Nadia think I was looking somewhere else…?”

His voice was pure sin, low and teasing, each syllable dripping into her like hot wax. Before she could even process a response, she felt his lips graze the shell of her ear—then nibble. Fucking nibble.

Her entire body jerked.

“Mmh~ n-nooo… o-of course not… w-why would I? What else would you even look at… other than soup, right?”

Her voice wobbled so hard it could’ve been a vibrator. In a desperate attempt to act normal, she reached out, dipped her spoon back into the bowl, and frantically blew on it like her life depended on it.

A chuckle. Deep. Smug.

“Did you perhaps think I was looking at something soft… and fluffy…?”

“Kummm… wh-what?”

She felt his smirk.

Her nipples definitely felt it too.

A fresh wave of heat flooded her body as her traitorous, utterly whorish nips began to stiffen against the sheer velvet.

‘Fucking dammit, he’s teasing me… and my body’s just eating this shit up—fuck…’

“Something so beautiful and mesmerizing… that I can’t take my eyes off…”

“Mmh~ mmmn…”

She barely even realized she made that noise.

Because holy shit, her brain was starting to melt.

Her nipples were aching now, tingling with every breath he took. And worse—so much fucking worse—she could feel it. That telltale heat pooling low between her thighs, the slow, sinful dampness forming right where she didn’t need it to be.

And he hadn’t even touched her yet.

“Something I want to see every time I wake up…”

Her thighs clenched.

This fucking bastard was going to kill her.

Nadia was fucking struggling. Her brain was short-circuiting like a cheap magic artifact on its last drop of spiritual energy.

“Mmn~ n-no. Nothing like that at all… ha ha ha… th-the soup is hot, right? I-I mean, it’s a hot day, right? Right?!”

She blurted out, grasping at the most brain-dead excuse she could think of.

But Artis just took the bait like a fisherman on a mission.

“Yes, it is hot… But do you wanna know what’s even hotter?”