Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 217

Chapter 217 Crybaby

Chapter 217 Crybaby

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“Kind of cute” Margaret reached out and rubbed one of the fox’s ears. The texture was ridiculously good.

The fox closed its eyes in bliss, its tail sweeping back and forth without stopping.

“It’s a traitor,” Timothy grumbled, but his body was already crowding closer, fighting the fox for space.

The night deepened. Only a single warm lamp glowed beside the bed.

Timothy’s kisses trailed from her jaw to the corner of her mouth, then settled on her lips. Unlike the desperate kiss downstairs, this time he moved slowly, carefully.

Margaret parted her lips and let him in. His breathing thickened. The hand resting on her waist began sliding upward, tracing the curve of her spine through the thin fabric.

Her own breath went unsteady.

Timothy’s robe had fallen open at some point. He paused and pushed himself up slightly. Those blue eyes locked onto her again, the rims red and raw, the look in them pure, unguarded hunger. He didn’t speak.

Margaret looked back at him. His eyes held nothing but her reflection. There was no room for anything else. She smiled.

She didn’t pull back. She answered him with action, sliding both arms around his neck and pulling him down, pressing her lips to his throat.

A rough sound broke from Timothy’s chest. Whatever thread had been holding him together snapped.

He took over, pressing her into the mattress. The kisses that followed held no more restraint-no testing, no holding back-only raw instinct and the kind of need that didn’t know how to stop.

Margaret felt herself lifted on waves of Timothy’s spiritual power, pushed higher and higher before crashing down again.

At some point, his tears fell hot against the curve of her fleck, searing trails that slid down her collarbone and tightened something deep in her chest.

Even as he took and took without pause, he kept saying her name between broken breaths. “Margaret… My Lady.”

Each time, his voice was thick with tears, all the terror and the hurt of the past days spilling out.

Margaret was thoroughly wrecked, caught between exasperation and something softer. Here he was, doing the most possessive thing imaginable, and still looking like he’d been wronged beyond measure.

“Crybaby,” she gasped, swiping clumsily at the corner of his eye.

Timothy didn’t argue. He just pressed closer and held on harder, staking his claim on her with stubborn, single-minded devotion.

She didn’t know how long it lasted. When it was over, the giant fox had vanished from the bed. Only Timothy remained, heavy and unmoving, sprawled across her with no apparent intention of shifting.

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He turned his heat, the tip of his nose brushing her temple, his breathing slowly steadying

Margaret reached for the blanket, but he caught her wrist and laced his fingers through hers, one by one.

“Don’t move.” he mumbled, already slurring with exhaustion. “Let me hold you a little longer”

The Holo bracelet lay silent on the carpet, Unread messages had climbed into the triple digits. No one was counting.

The lights in the second-floor guest room were off. Tyrone lay with his hands tucked behind his head, histening until the master bedroom had gone completely quiet before he turned his head.

Quentin was still in the armchair, his crimson eyes blazing in the dark, sharp enough to cut through it.

“The soundproofing is top-tier.” Tyrone let out a low laugh, a note of schadenfreude in his voice. “Those ears of yours are just too good. You didn’t have to listen.”

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