NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 48

Chapter 48: Cultivating the pure yin energy!

“Who do you think fondled your breasts?”

He asked, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

“Umm…what?”

Nadia blinked, her brain short-circuiting for a moment.

That question was bizarre enough to send her spiraling. Who did fondle her breasts? Obviously, it was him—right? There wasn’t a parade of horny ghosts haunting this place. But wait…

Her mind took a sharp detour down memory lane.

The massage. That shoulder massage was definitely Juliana’s doing. She could recall the feel of her mother’s hands now—gentle, firm, but nothing like the calloused fingers of the devil currently grinning at her.

And yet…when the chaos began, she had lost all sense of reason.

“It-it can’t be…” she whispered, horror dawning on her.

Her throat went dry as the mental puzzle pieces snapped together like a sadistic jigsaw.

“What’s the matter, sis?” he asked, tilting his head with a mock-innocent smile. “Why do you look like someone stole your panties? Wasn’t the massage good? Mom’s hands are magic, aren’t they?”

Her cheeks burned so fiercely it was a wonder she didn’t combust.

“You absolute bastard! Why didn’t you stop her?!”

“Stop her?” he replied, feigning confusion. “Why would I ruin your bonding moment? Besides…” He smirked wickedly. “You were moaning like a—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll strangle you with my bra!”

She then thought about the strange sensation that had lingered on her lips earlier. The soft, warm texture, the odd rhythm—it was like she’d been…suckling on something.

Her mind froze.

“Don’t tell me…”

The horrifying realization slowly creeped in, painting her entire face a shade of crimson so deep it could rival a setting sun. Her breathing quickened as flashes of the night came flooding back.

“That can’t be—Eek! Aah~ Fuck—S-slowly!~”

Nadia’s protests dissolved into a symphony of moans as Artis, with all the finesse of a man who knew his way around trouble, firmly grabbed her legs, spreading them apart like a book he couldn’t wait to read.

Her robe fell open, revealing the glistening prize beneath, and Artis wasted no time plunging in like a man starved.

“Mwahhhh~”

“Nghhh~”

Her moans hit the air like music, the kind that should’ve been illegal but wasn’t because nobody sane would ever complain.

Nadia’s toes curled so hard it looked like she was trying to pick something up off the floor, and her back arched like a bowstring ready to snap.

‘Oh yeah, you’re gonna sing me a whole goddamn opera tonight.’

Artis thought with a devilish grin, his tongue working like a man on a mission to extract every drop of nectar.

He wasn’t just eating; he was feasting, diving in like a gourmet chef tackling a Michelin-starred dessert. Nadia’s thighs quivered, her body shivering under his relentless assault.

“Holy shit, you’re wetter than a damn monsoon.”

He muttered between licks, the vibrations of his voice making her squirm even more.

“Artisssss—ahhh! I-I can’t—oh fuck, I’m—!”

But Artis wasn’t stopping. Oh no, tonight he was determined to turn her into a goddamn fountain, and judging by the way her hips bucked and her cries echoed off the walls, he was well on his way.

For the next half-hour, Artis worked Nadia like a virtuoso with a lusty concerto, drawing every last ounce of her sweet, addictive nectar.

She came again and again—twelve times, to be precise—each climax leaving her more of a trembling, gasping mess than the last.

Artis, ever the opportunist, siphoned all that pure yin energy like a thirsty traveler at an oasis, storing it in his core for future exploits.

By the end, Nadia was an overstimulated puddle of satisfaction, her body twitching with aftershocks and her breath ragged. Artis surveyed his work with pride, like an artist admiring a finished masterpiece.

“Drained dry.”

He muttered with a smirk, wiping his lips like he’d just finished the world’s most indulgent buffet.

He scooped up the limp, overly sensitive woman in his arms with surprising tenderness, her eyes fluttering as she teetered on the edge of consciousness.

“You’re a real trooper, Nadia. Next time, make it 15, okay.”

He whispered, his voice dripping with amusement as he carried her to her bed.

Just like Juliana earlier, Nadia was tucked in with care, her face blissful and flushed as she slipped into the deepest, most satisfied sleep of her life.

Artis, ever the gentleman (at least in his own mind), gave her a playful pat on the head before leaving the room.

“Another job well done and its time to reap the rewards.”

He mused to himself as he strolled out, his energy reserves now brimming with yin power.

…

He closed his room door with a click and flopped onto his bed like a sack of potatoes.

‘Time to cultivate.’

With a groan, he began to sit in the lotus position, mentally prepping for meditation when his eyes snagged on the window. It was open. Again.

That damn window. It was always open. He vividly remembered shutting it after the last “cat incident”—a memory he could do without reliving. And yet, there it was, flapping in the breeze like it owned the place.

“Ah, fuck, is somebody sneaking in here?”

He muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

“I mean, seriously, what is there to even steal? My stash of noodles? My dignity? Oh wait, that’s long gone.”

Reluctantly, he heaved himself up, his movements slower than a drunk turtle. With every step toward the window, he sighed dramatically, the kind of sigh that said, I hate life, but here I am existing anyway.

Finally, he slammed the window shut and double-checked the latch for good measure.

“There. Stay closed, you ungrateful little shit.”

As he climbed back to his bed, he paused, a sudden thought freezing him mid-sigh.

‘Oh god, if there’s someone outside… I hope it’s a girl. Otherwise…’

He shuddered, his mind conjuring up horrifying scenarios of a burly man breaking in, dripping sweat and ill intent.

“Nope, nope, nope,” he muttered, shaking his head violently. “Not doing it. Not gonna do it. If it’s a dude, I’m yeeting myself out of this house.”

Finally, he sat back on his bed, crossing his arms in determination.

“I’m just here to cultivate in peace, damn it. Is that too much to ask?”

He opened his robe with all the drama of a romance novel cover model, letting it slide off his shoulders and revealing his naked, sweat-slick chest.

He looked down at himself and gave an appreciative nod, like a chef inspecting a perfectly roasted duck.

“Yeah,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles. “Time to cultivate.”

Sliding into a cross-legged position on the bed, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his thoughts drift.

Almost immediately, he felt it—the golden energy. It wasn’t just there; it was smeared all over his body like honey on toast.

His hands glowed faintly, the energy pooling in his fingertips. Then there was the warm, concentrated sensation around his crotch. But the most intense, pulsating energy was in his stomach.

That was the vault where all his pure yin energy was stored—like a mystical bank account, but instead of coins, it was a swirling cocktail of power and mystery.

Slowly, the energy began to flow outward, spreading through his muscles, bones, and even the places he didn’t think needed energy, like his left pinky toe.

Hours passed as the process continued, the yin energy weaving through him like a tailor crafting a divine suit.

When he finally opened his eyes the next morning, the glow in them wasn’t just noticeable—it was practically screaming, Look at me! I’m goddamn unstoppable!