Transmigrated Into The True Heiress-Chapter 173: Searing Pleasure

Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of the sheets.

"Mm?" she breathed, her throat dry.

He leaned in closer, his eyes flicking once—subtly but noticeably—to her lips. The tension between them seemed to crystallize in that one instant, and his next words struck her harder than she expected.

"Can I kiss you?"

His voice was low, thick with restraint, and his gaze—god, that gaze—was searing, pinning her to the spot. Ephyra felt like she couldn’t look away even if she tried.

Her mind blanked. Her heart stuttered.

She didn’t answer. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she physically couldn’t form the words. Her mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out.

Lyle’s expression changed subtly. He gave a faint, wry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"If you don’t want to, you can decline. I would never force you."

That should have calmed her.

Instead, her heart skipped multiple beats at once, pounding against her chest like a drum. His words weren’t pressuring—but they somehow made everything feel more real. More intense. Her body felt warmer beneath his gaze, and suddenly, every little detail about him burned into her awareness. The shape of his mouth. The way his eyelashes framed his eyes. The slight flush at the tips of his ears.

Then, without planning to, she blurted, "I’ve never kissed anyone before."

Lyle’s gaze softened, and slowly, a smile bloomed on his face. It wasn’t smug or teasing—it was warm. Warm and deep and real, like her words had wrapped themselves around his heart. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"I guess this makes two of us."

"W-what?" she stammered.

Lyle leaned down slowly, his face nearing hers, his hand shifting slightly on the bed for balance. His eyes never left hers, even as his lips tilted to the side.

"May I?" he asked again, softly this time.

Ephyra’s breath came in short bursts. Her chest rose and fell like she couldn’t quite get enough air. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, then back up.

"Uh..." she breathed. Her lips parted again, almost without thought. "Y-yes. Hmp—"

Before she could finish speaking, Lyle leaned in and captured her lower lip gently between his. The kiss was tentative but electric—like a spark of something new, yet long-awaited. His lips moved with a quiet reverence, like he was memorizing the taste of her, the shape of her mouth, the closeness he had only imagined.

And in that moment, all Ephyra could do was kiss him back.

The kiss deepened.

What began as gentle and hesitant turned fast and hot—like a fire that had been waiting too long to be lit. Lyle’s restraint slipped with every passing second, and Ephyra, pulled into the moment, matched his urgency without thinking. Their lips moved in sync, messy and eager, as the tension that had been stretching between them for so long finally snapped.

His hand slid to her waist, firm but not forceful, grounding her while his other found the back of her neck. Ephyra’s fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her anchored. Her mind blanked again—this time not from shock, but from how good it felt. How full.

It was overwhelming. Fast. Breathless.

By the time Lyle finally pulled away, both of them were gasping for air. A faint line of saliva clung between their lips before it broke.

Ephyra’s chest heaved, her eyes wide and glassy as she tried to steady her breathing. Lyle, on the other hand, though breathing heavily, managed to control himself within seconds. He straightened up slightly, eyes fixed on her—dark, unreadable, but intensely focused.

She looked like she’d just been dragged from the ocean, every inch of her flushed and trembling like she’d been saved and drowned at once.

"Ephyra," he murmured.

"Ah—" she gasped softly, finally meeting his gaze. The heat crawling across her skin made her feel exposed, but she couldn’t look away.

"You are breathtaking."

And with that, he leaned in again—faster this time, with no hesitation—and kissed her hard.

It was bruising. Desperate.

Ephyra’s arms flew up to wrap around his neck, clinging to him as if afraid he’d disappear. His mouth moved against hers with practiced hunger, but nothing about it felt impersonal. Every motion felt deliberate, like he was pouring everything he’d been holding back into it.

And it wasn’t just his mouth—his whole body was on her now, the press of his chest, his hands slipping around her waist, his legs framing hers. His heat surrounded her, trapped her, and Ephyra didn’t know if she was shivering or melting—but she didn’t care.

She kissed him back like it was the only thing she knew how to do.

Ephyra didn’t know how or when it happened—only that one moment she was gripping the fabric of his shirt, and the next it was gone, discarded somewhere on the floor. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him—broad shoulders, lean muscles. He was warm beneath her fingertips, skin humming with life.

Lyle dipped his head, brushing a slow kiss under her jaw. Then another, lower—trailing down the column of her throat. His lips moved reverently, as though tasting sunlight, and when he reached the hollow of her neck, he lingered.

Then he sucked.

The sound that escaped her wasn’t meant to be heard. It was raw and helpless, torn from her throat before she could stop it. Her fingers curled tightly around his arm, nails pressing into his skin as if anchoring herself to the moment, to him.

His hand at her waist slipped upward, tentative at first, then more assured—his palm brushing across her abdomen in a path that made her feel fevered from the inside out. Everywhere he touched, her skin sparked to life.

And still, his kisses kept going—lower, slower, more deliberate. From her throat to her collarbone. To her shoulder. To the slope where skin met fabric. Each kiss set off a chain reaction in her body, a trembling anticipation that left her dizzy.

Then, just above her chest, he pressed a lingering kiss. Like he was honoring the moment. Honoring her.

"Lyle..." Ephyra called out and he looked up.

And that gaze—it wasn’t lust, not just that. It was reverence. It was awe. It was the realization that he’d never seen anything more important in his life than the girl right in front of him.

And that was all he needed.

Lyle leaned in and kissed her again—not rushed this time, but slow and deep, like he was taking his time to memorize every second.

Her hands found his chest again—his actual chest—and she rested them there, feeling the rapid, erratic rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms. He was breathing just as heavily as she was, each breath shallow, like they both couldn’t quite catch up to what was happening between them.

Lyle’s hands were on either side of her abdomen, grounding her. He hadn’t moved them. Hadn’t tried to rush anything. Just held her, like she was something both fragile and electrifying.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, forehead still pressed to hers.

"I’m not," she whispered, even though she absolutely was. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slid them up his shoulders, the feel of him solid and warm beneath her touch. "Okay—maybe a little."

He smiled faintly at that, eyes half-lidded, lips still swollen from their kiss. "Good. Because you’re making me feel completely unhinged right now."

She laughed, quiet and breathless, but the sound only seemed to stir something deeper between them. Before she could say anything else, Lyle leaned in again—this time slower, more deliberate. His lips brushed hers with just enough pressure to leave her breathless again, and when their mouths met fully, it was with an ache that hadn’t been there earlier.

His kiss deepened, but never lost control.

His hand slid up her back, drawing her closer—not possessively, not hungrily, but like he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t hold on. Like he was finally touching something he’d waited years to reach. And she kissed him back with the same energy—soft, firm, needing.

They stayed like that, tangled together on the bed.

Eventually, they pulled apart just enough to breathe, still close enough that their foreheads touched. Lyle exhaled through his nose, eyes closed.

"I could kiss you for days and still not get enough."

She smiled, letting her fingers trace the edge of his jaw. "That was dangerously fucking cheesy, Master Lyle."

He didn’t deny it.

But the way he looked at her... she knew he meant every single word.

{A/N: No, they did not do the deed! They only made out!}

••••

Sun rays peeked through the sheer curtain panels, casting long, golden streaks across the bed. The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the city outside and the soft rhythm of two people breathing in sync—slow, steady, and calm.

Ephyra stirred first, barely moving, her cheek still resting on Lyle’s chest. The warmth of him seeped into her skin, and she realized—suddenly—how badly she didn’t want to move. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, hand resting lightly on her upper arm, fingers still curled as if to make sure she hadn’t slipped away in the night.

She blinked against the sun.

And then it hit her.

Oh my fucking god.

She remembered everything.

Not in fuzzy bits and pieces, not in vague flashes like a dream—but in perfect detail.