CH: 25: Fascinating Tale And Tempting Vixen

Guess what? The new work "Marvel: The Infinity Crown" is out! Better add it to your library before it gets jealous!

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{Chapter: 25: Fascinating Tale And Tempting Vixen}

'The love story between the common boy Mark and the rich girl Eve Luo?'

"The love-hate entanglement between several families?"

"And there's a noble fiancé from the Principality of Ar who's always trying to stir up hatred?"

"More importantly, the male and female protagonists are both dead. Could this be a magical version of Titanic mixed with Romeo and Juliet?"

Dex sat at the grand dining table, slowly sipping his vegetable soup, his gaze casually drifting toward the maids clustered together at a nearby corner of the hall. Their voices, though hushed, carried enough urgency and excitement to pique his interest. They wiped their tears, whispering animatedly about the tragic tale that had swept through the city. It was amusing, really, how deeply they were invested in what was, by all accounts, a fabricated story.

Judging by the plot, it seemed that no matter the world, whether Earth or this one, the tastes of the masses remained remarkably similar. The allure of tragedy, love lost, and the cruelty of fate never failed to captivate an audience.

The only thing that puzzled him, though, was the peculiar role of the noble fiancé. What exactly had he done in his past life to deserve such a fate? To be scorned, cast aside, and branded as the villain, all while another man stole his bride? And when he attempted to reclaim her, he was denounced, humiliated, and figuratively tied to the pillar of shame. Being cuckold?!

Even as a demon man, Dex couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

"Perhaps this is what they mean when they say bootlickers meet an unfortunate end," he murmured to himself with a smirk.

Still, he hadn't expected his casual interference to provide James with such a perfect demonstration of the power of public opinion. With how quickly rumors spread, it was only a matter of time before the lower classes began harboring deeper resentment toward the Principality of Ar. A small act on his part, yet it was already shaping the undercurrents of tension in the region.

After finishing his meal, Dex set down his spoon and turned to the housekeeper standing silently beside him. She was a woman in her mid-twenties, She was a sultry masterpiece, her porcelain skin flawless, her long, silken black hair cascading like midnight waterfalls to her waist, teasingly framing her delicate cheeks. Her deep, smoldering eyes—dark as polished obsidian—held an irresistible allure, a silent invitation laced with unspoken promises.

But it was her scandalously indecent attire that truly commanded attention. The barely-there maid outfit clung to her sinful curves like a second skin, the tight corset crushing her waist and hoisting her breasts into an almost obscene display of softness. The micro-skirt—a flimsy excuse for modesty—rode high on her hips, revealing smooth, creamy thighs wrapped in sheer black stockings, held up by delicate garters that framed the plush temptation beneath.

The plunging neckline dipped dangerously low, her ample cleavage practically spilling free with every movement. Every slow, deliberate step sent her voluptuous body jiggling in ways designed to torment and entice. A delicate choker encircled her throat—a symbol of submission, a collar waiting for an owner—as she stood in obedient silence, awaiting his next command.

"Prepare a carriage for me," he said, stretching his shoulders slightly. "I feel like going out for a bit today."

The housekeeper blinked, momentarily caught off guard. In all the time she had been serving him, this was the first time he had expressed interest in leaving the estate. Her lips parted slightly, but years of discipline kept her from voicing her thoughts aloud. Instead, she merely nodded and replied in her usual composed tone:

"Yes, sir."

Still, as she turned to make the necessary arrangements, a flicker of curiosity sparked in her mind.

Since her assignment here, she had observed Dex closely, trying to understand the enigmatic man she now served. Though undeniably handsome and exuding an air of effortless confidence, there was something about him that felt utterly detached. Unlike the nobles who flaunted their status or the merchants who schemed for wealth, Dex seemed almost indifferent to everything around him. He neither sought power nor entertainment, and he rarely engaged in conversation beyond what was necessary.

Even the visit from Crown Prince James—a moment that would have sent most people into a frenzy—had barely elicited a reaction from him. Instead, it was the crown prince himself who had seemed slightly uneasy in his presence, an odd dynamic that the housekeeper had yet to understand.

It was strange, to say the least.

In the past two or three months, she had learned almost nothing about him. She knew his name, of course, and she had memorized his habits out of necessity. But beyond that? His origins, his true identity, his purpose—these remained mysteries. He was, for all intents and purposes, little more than a stranger to her.

Yet, despite his cold and distant demeanor, there was one thing she could say for certain: Dex was never cruel. Unlike many of the noble lords she had encountered in the past, he had never lost his temper, never raised his voice, never mistreated a servant. Even when faced with incompetence or carelessness, he remained patient, choosing silence over scorn.

It was an odd contradiction.

If he was indifferent to the world, why did he still maintain such restraint? Why did he never allow himself the indulgence of anger or disdain?

She couldn't understand him.

And perhaps that was what made him all the more intriguing.

The mere fact that he could bring the Crown Prince to his knees was enough to ignite an insatiable obsession within her. She would do anything—everything—to uncover the depths of the man before her, to serve him in ways no one else could. He was not just powerful; he was an enigma wrapped in indifference, a force beyond comprehension.

His allure wasn't just in his commanding presence or the mystery that cloaked his every action—it was in the way he remained unfazed, untouched by the world's temptations. His strength, his identity, his very existence defied logic, and she was utterly captivated.

She sought his attention relentlessly, offering herself in every way imaginable—her mind, her loyalty, her body. If seduction was the price to unravel his secrets, then so be it.

Even in the most shameless moments—when she weaponized her beauty, using every curve and motion to seduce and enslave—he remained frustratingly unmoved. She knew her allure was unparalleled, that even noble ladies paled before her, yet he only lingered for the briefest of moments before looking away, wounding her pride. But she also knew, by the intensity of his gaze, that he wasn't indifferent—just unshaken.

She tried everything.

When she served him tea, she leaned in just enough for her pillowy breasts to brush against his arm, the plunging neckline of her scandalously tight dress revealing the soft, quivering valley of her cleavage—a feast for his eyes, yet he barely acknowledged it.

When she walked away, she made sure to sway her hips in a hypnotic rhythm, the micro-skirt barely clinging to her thighs, flashing just enough lace to ignite sinful thoughts, yet his gaze never followed.

She once "accidentally" spilled wine onto herself, the deep crimson soaking into her thin bodice, making the fabric cling to her skin like a second layer, leaving nothing to the imagination. She gasped, pressing her arms together to emphasize her ample chest, looking up at him with wide, needy eyes—but he merely handed her a napkin.

Another time, she claimed her corset was too tight, sighing dramatically as she loosened the laces, her heaving chest threatening to spill free, her breathy moans echoing in the air as she stretched her arms above her head. He glanced for a second—just a second—before returning to his book, shattering her expectations.

She once "tripped" while carrying a tray, the sudden motion making her already scandalously short dress ride up, exposing the lace-trimmed tops of her sheer stockings—and just the barest hint of forbidden flesh. She let out a soft, breathless gasp, falling into his lap, her plump breasts pressing firmly against his chest, her lips dangerously close to his. Yet, instead of indulging in her, he simply lifted her off him with ease, setting her aside like she was nothing more than a fallen pillow.

Another time, she stepped into his room drenched from a supposed "accidental" bath spill, her soaked white chemise rendered completely see-through, the rosy peaks of her stiffened nipples peeking through the delicate fabric. She hugged herself, shivering slightly, her breath hitching in feigned innocence as she whispered, "Master, I have nothing to change into…" But instead of offering his warmth, his touch, his desire—he simply pointed to the door.

One night, she entered his chamber with a tray of wine, her dress undone just enough to slip off her shoulders, barely clinging to her lush, supple curves. With every step, the fabric threatened to slide down completely, the sweet scent of perfume and heated skin filling the air. She leaned close, her lips just a breath away from his ear, whispering, "Let me serve you… however you desire." But all he did was take the glass, sip, and mutter, "You're spilling it."

One evening, she sauntered into his chambers, her sheer nightgown slipping off one shoulder, barely clinging to her soft, supple curves. The fabric was practically transparent, revealing the delicate peaks of her breasts and the tempting curve of her bare hips. She stretched luxuriously, arching her back, sighing as if unaware of the sinful display she was offering. "It's so hot tonight, Master… I hope you don't mind if I cool off a little?" she purred, running her fingers slowly down her own chest. But his gaze remained as fleeting as ever—a single glance, no more.

Another time, she "accidentally" dropped a spoon while serving him, bending over in front of him, her plump, round ass barely contained by the scandalously short skirt. The fabric lifted, exposing the delicate lace of her garter belt and the smooth, bare skin of her inner thighs. She took her time retrieving it, shifting her hips just enough to make it impossible to ignore. But rather than indulging in the sight, he merely took another bite of his meal, unimpressed.

On a particularly cold night, she crept into his bed, shivering, her delicate, naked form pressing against him, her breath warm against his ear. "Master… I'm freezing," she whispered, her voice dripping with need as she snuggled closer, her perky breasts crushed against his side. The heat of her body was undeniable, her nipples pebbling against his skin. Yet, with a sigh, he simply pulled the blanket over her and turned away, leaving her burning with frustration.

Another time, she stood before him, slowly peeling off her stockings, inch by torturous inch, her long, silky legs on full display, her fingers grazing her own skin with an intimacy meant for his eyes alone. She bit her lip, watching him through lidded eyes, waiting, hoping, aching for him to finally snap—to take what she so willingly offered. But as always, his response

was infuriatingly indifferent.

She licked honey from her finger, slowly sucking, moaning softly. He didn't react.

She "tripped," falling into his lap, her soft breasts pressed against him. He simply lifted her off.

She "forgot" to wear panties, spreading her legs just enough. His gaze never wavered.

She leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. "Do I smell… sweet, Master?" He barely blinked.

She stretched, her chest bouncing free of her loose bodice. He turned away.

She bit into a cherry, juice dripping down her lips. He handed her a napkin.

She moaned while adjusting her garter, fingers grazing bare skin. He walked past.

She tugged at her top, "accidentally" exposing a swollen nipple. He looked once—then ignored her.

She sat on his desk, legs parted, her wet heat barely concealed. He moved his papers aside.

She "needed help" adjusting her corset, arching her back as he tightened it. He did it without hesitation—without showing anything.

She was a vision of lust incarnate, a siren whispering promises of sin. And yet, no matter how shamelessly she offered herself, he remained unmoved, unreadable, untouchable.

And that only made her desire him more.

It was maddening.

A man immune to temptation. A beauty refusing to be ignored.

And yet… that resistance only fueled her desire more.

Even in these moments his eyes only lingered on her no more than a few seconds which did hurt her pride but she also knew with his gaze he wasn't into men.

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Guess what? The new work "Marvel: The Infinity Crown" is out! Better add it to your library before it gets jealous!