The late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the meticulously manicured gardens of the Stuart estate, painting the vibrant petals of roses and lilies in hues of fire and velvet. Catarina Claes, still dressed in a relatively simple, yet elegant, summer gown of soft azure, found herself drawn to the quietest, most secluded corner—a small, ornate gazebo wreathed in fragrant jasmine. Her short, unruly hair, a characteristic tousle of chestnut, seemed to catch the dying light, forming a halo around her often-scheming, yet equally often-oblivious, head. She hummed a tuneless melody, plucking a stray jasmine bloom and twirling it between her fingers, a familiar sense of peace settling over her. This peacefulness, she mused, was a far cry from the doom flags that once haunted her every step in this life as the villainess from the otome game, "My Next Life As A Villainess." She had, against all odds, managed to avert her destruction, but sometimes, a lingering anxiety, a ghost of her past life, still gnawed at her, making her cherish these serene moments all the more.

A soft rustle of leaves, followed by the familiar, measured tread of footsteps, broke her reverie. Catarina looked up, her wide, hazel eyes blinking in surprise as Prince Geordo Stuart, her fiancé, stepped into the gazebo. He was impeccably dressed, as always, his golden hair gleaming, his azure eyes holding that usual inscrutable depth that she, in her glorious denseness, often mistook for polite indifference. Today, however, there was a different quality to his gaze, a warmth that seemed to melt the carefully constructed walls around her heart, leaving her feeling strangely exposed. “Catarina,” he said, his voice a low, melodious rumble that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. “I thought I might find you here. Escaping the endless pleasantries of the evening tea, perhaps?”

She giggled, a light, airy sound. “Something like that, Geordo. Though I do love cake, the conversation can sometimes be… a little too refined for my simple tastes.” She patted the space beside her on the wrought-iron bench. He settled down, his proximity instantly elevating the temperature in the small space. The scent of his cologne, a subtle blend of sandalwood and citrus, mingled with the heady perfume of jasmine, creating an intoxicating concoction that made her senses swim. She found herself acutely aware of his presence, the broadness of his shoulders, the elegant line of his jaw, the way his gaze lingered on her short hair, then swept down to her hands, still twirling the jasmine.

“You’ve been rather quiet today,” Geordo observed, his voice softer now, almost a caress. He reached out, his long, elegant fingers gently taking the jasmine bloom from her grasp. Their skin brushed, and a jolt, sharp and electric, shot through Catarina. It was more than mere static; it was a current that seemed to bypass her usual obliviousness, directly connecting with a nascent awareness within her. Her breath hitched, and she found herself utterly unable to look away from his eyes, which now held an intensity that stole her voice. “Is something troubling you, my dear Catarina?”

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “No, not at all, Geordo. Just… thinking. About how peaceful things are now. No more doom flags, no more desperate schemes to avoid exile or death. It’s almost… too good to be true, sometimes.” She tried to sound lighthearted, but her voice trembled slightly. Geordo’s thumb stroked the delicate petals of the jasmine, his gaze unwavering. “And you deserve every moment of this peace, Catarina. You’ve worked tirelessly to secure it.” He paused, his thumb moving, not on the flower, but brushing lightly, almost imperceptibly, against the back of her hand. “But there are other desires, are there not? Beyond mere peace?”

The question hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. Catarina felt a blush creep up her neck, staining her cheeks a rosy pink. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a drumbeat that echoed in her ears. She knew, intellectually, that she was his fiancée, that they were destined for marriage. Yet, her understanding of romantic affection had always been filtered through the lens of a dating sim, a set of mechanics and choices, not this raw, visceral sensation. This wasn't just a friendly touch; this was something more, something potent and unsettling, something that made her entire body thrum with a nervous anticipation she couldn’t name.

Geordo’s hand slowly enveloped hers, his fingers lacing with hers, warm and firm. He brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was simple, yet it unleashed a torrent of sensations within her. Her short hair felt suddenly heavy against her scalp, her dress restrictive. All her focus narrowed to the exquisite pressure of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the firm grip of his hand. He looked up, his azure eyes now blazing with an unmasked desire that finally, irrevocably, shattered the last vestiges of her dense self. It was not friendship. It was not polite affection. It was a hunger, beautiful and terrifying, that mirrored an awakening within her own chest.

“Catarina,” he murmured, his voice now a mere whisper, fraught with emotion. He leaned closer, the scent of jasmine and sandalwood enveloping her. Her breath hitched again, her lips parting slightly in an involuntary invitation. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the subtle tension in his muscles, the steady beat of his heart echoing against her own. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, an instinctive surrender, before opening again to meet his intense gaze. The air crackled with a silent tension, a promise of something profound and life-altering.

He closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that started soft, tentative, a question rather than a demand. It was a slow, exploratory touch, as if savoring the moment, allowing her time to respond. And respond she did. A gasp escaped her throat, and her free hand, almost of its own accord, reached up, her fingers tangling in his golden hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more fervent, more demanding. His lips moved expertly against hers, tasting, teasing, drawing out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding. Her short hair brushed against his cheek as she angled her head, seeking more.

He tasted of mint and something uniquely Geordo, a clean, intoxicating flavor that sent shivers of pleasure cascading down her spine. His tongue gently traced the seam of her lips, a silent plea for entry. Without a moment’s hesitation, Catarina parted her lips, inviting him in. His tongue swept inside, warm and insistent, exploring every curve and crevice of her mouth. She met his movements with an eager clumsiness, her own tongue tangling with his, a fierce, primal dance that left her breathless and dizzy. All thoughts of the otome game, of doom flags, of her past life, vanished, replaced by the overwhelming reality of this moment, this man, this kiss.

His hand, still holding hers, moved, slowly sliding up her arm, over her shoulder, until it rested at the nape of her neck, his fingers threading through her short hair, gently cradling her head as he deepened the kiss further. The other hand, which had been resting on her thigh, now began a slow, sensual journey upwards, tracing the curve of her leg through the fabric of her gown. A soft moan escaped her throat, lost in the intensity of the kiss. Her body hummed with an unfamiliar heat, a yearning that was both exquisite and slightly terrifying. She leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, feeling the hard planes of his body against her softer curves.

When he finally broke the kiss, a faint string of saliva connecting their lips for a fleeting moment, Catarina gasped for air, her chest heaving. Her short hair was slightly dishevelled, her lips swollen and glistening, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and burgeoning desire. Geordo’s own breathing was ragged, his face flushed, his eyes a molten gold. “Catarina,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt of this.” His words were husky, raw with emotion, stripping away the last of his princely composure. He kissed her again, this time a series of soft, lingering pecks along her jawline, down her neck, making her shiver anew.

“Geordo,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hands, still tangled in his hair, now pulled lightly, urging him to continue. Her body felt alive, tingling with anticipation, every nerve ending hyper-aware of his touch. He seemed to understand her unspoken plea. His lips found the delicate skin beneath her ear, sending another wave of goosebumps across her skin. His hand, which had been at her nape, now moved lower, tracing the line of her spine, pressing her closer still. The scent of jasmine and their mingled arousal filled the small gazebo, making the air thick and heavy.

His fingers, deft and knowing, found the ties of her gown at the back of her neck. With a gentle tug, the fabric loosened, allowing him access to the bare skin of her shoulders. She arched into his touch, a silent invitation, her mind a delightful haze of sensation. The cool evening air on her bared skin, the warmth of his breath, the exquisite pressure of his lips—it was an assault on her senses, overwhelming her in the most delicious way. He kissed his way down her neck, past her collarbone, his mouth hot and wet against her skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

The soft fabric of her dress slid down her arms, pooling around her waist as Geordo gently pushed it away. Her breasts, full and aching, were now partially exposed, straining against the delicate lace of her chemise. His gaze lingered there, hot and possessive, before returning to her eyes, seeking permission. Catarina met his gaze, her own eyes dark with uninhibited desire. She didn't need to speak; her body's eager response was permission enough. With a soft groan, he lowered his head, his mouth closing over one bared shoulder, then moving to her décolletage, his tongue teasing the edge of her chemise. A profound tremor shook her.

He slowly unlaced her chemise, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her breasts, sending sparks flying. When the last tie was undone, he pushed the fabric aside, revealing her fully to his gaze. Her nipples, already hard and pouting, stood erect, begging for his touch. Geordo’s eyes darkened further, a primal hunger blazing within them. He cupped one breast, his thumb circling the hardened peak, eliciting a soft cry from her. Her entire body arched into his hand, a silent plea for more. Then, he lowered his head, his warm, wet mouth closing over one peak, drawing her in with a gentle suction. A gasp tore from Catarina’s throat as pleasure, sharp and intense, lanced through her.

He suckled deeply, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, teasing and tormenting her in the most exquisite way. Her hands, which had been clutching his shoulders, now tangled in his golden hair once more, pulling him closer, urging him to continue this delicious torment. She whimpered, her hips beginning a slow, instinctive grind against his, a silent plea for release. When he finally drew away from her breast, leaving it glistening with saliva, she cried out in protest, only for him to capture the other, lavishing it with the same possessive attention. The feeling was intoxicating, overwhelming, driving her to the very brink of her sanity. Her short hair, now truly wild, framed a face flushed crimson with passion.

Geordo’s hand slid lower, past her waist, over her hip, finally reaching the soft curve of her inner thigh. His touch, even through the layers of her petticoat and undergarments, was a searing brand. He found the warmth between her legs, pressing lightly, making her clench her thighs together, a desperate attempt to contain the burgeoning sensation. “Easy, my dearest,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with desire. “Let me cherish every part of you.” His fingers, with an almost agonizing slowness, found the hem of her underthings, gently pushing them aside, seeking the moist heat beneath.

When his fingers finally touched the slick, sensitive flesh of her womanhood, Catarina gasped, her entire body arching off the bench. She was hot, swollen, and undeniably wet, a testament to the powerful desire he had awakened within her. He stroked her clitoris gently, once, twice, a feather-light touch that sent tremors through her core. Her hips began to rock instinctively, pressing into his hand, a frantic, mindless rhythm. “Geordo… please,” she panted, her voice ragged with need. The elegant prince, her fiancé, had transformed into a primal force of nature, and she, the former villainess, was utterly helpless in his embrace.

He moved his hand, his fingers parting her folds, finding the entrance to her slick, yearning core. He pushed one finger inside, slowly, deliberately, and Catarina cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. The feeling of being filled, even just a little, was profound, awakening a deep, instinctual longing. He moved his finger in and out, steadily increasing the pressure, the depth, until she was writhing against him, her body a symphony of moans and gasps. Her short hair, now damp with sweat, clung to her temples, her eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

“You are so beautiful, Catarina,” he whispered, his voice a low growl, his lips finding hers once more, silencing her moans with a passionate kiss. His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She could feel the building pressure, the exquisite tension coiling deep within her. She was losing herself, dissolving into pure sensation, all thoughts of her past, her future, replaced by the overwhelming now.

With a final, desperate cry, her body convulsed around his finger, a wave of intense pleasure washing over her. Her hips bucked, her muscles clenched, and her breath tore from her lungs in ragged gasps. Geordo held her tightly, his hand never leaving her, absorbing her climax, his lips devouring hers. When the tremors subsided, leaving her weak and trembling, he pulled back slightly, his eyes shining with triumph and tenderness. “Not yet, my love,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse. “There’s more.”

He shifted his weight, and Catarina realized that he had already undone his own trousers. Her eyes, still slightly glazed with post-orgasmic haze, widened as she saw his proud erection, hard and throbbing, jutting out from his silk breeches. It was impressive, perfectly suited for the intimate act they were about to share. A fresh wave of anticipation, mingled with a touch of nervousness, surged through her. This was the true intimacy, the ultimate union she, in her past life, had only read about in the most explicit of novels. This was a culmination of her journey from the feared villainess of "Otome Game No Hametsu Flag Shika Nai Akuyaku Reijou Ni Tensei Shiteshimatta" to a woman deeply loved and desired.

He gently lifted her, positioning her on his lap. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her bare skin pressing against his clothed thighs. He guided his hard shaft to her entrance, slick and still throbbing from her recent climax. She gasped, feeling the blunt head of him pressing against her. It was a potent, undeniable presence. He paused, looking into her eyes, ensuring her readiness. She nodded, her gaze fierce and unwavering, urging him on. “Please, Geordo,” she pleaded, her voice a desperate whisper.

With a slow, deliberate push, he began to enter her. Catarina cried out, a sharp intake of breath as her body stretched, accommodating his size. It was a delicious ache, a profound sense of fullness she had never known. Her internal muscles, still tender from her climax, clenched around him, drawing another groan from his lips. He pushed deeper, slowly, inches at a time, until he was fully buried within her. She gasped, her body arching off his lap, her hands clutching his shoulders, her short hair falling wildly around her flushed face. The exquisite pressure, the raw, primal sensation of being completely filled, stole her breath away.

“Oh, Geordo,” she moaned, her voice filled with a wonder she had never anticipated. He held her still for a moment, allowing her body to adjust, allowing them both to savor the profound intimacy of their union. Then, with a slow, powerful thrust, he began to move. In and out, a rhythmic dance that quickly escalated in intensity. Each thrust sent a wave of pleasure through her, deep and penetrating, stirring the embers of her earlier climax into a raging inferno. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, urging him deeper, faster, matching his rhythm with an instinctual grace.

The sounds of their lovemaking filled the small gazebo—the soft creak of the bench, the wet slap of skin against skin, their mingled moans and gasps, and the rustling of jasmine leaves in the gentle evening breeze. Catarina pressed her forehead against his shoulder, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her body moving with an abandon she had never known she possessed. She could feel the friction, the exquisite pressure, building inside her, urging her towards another, even more profound climax. Her short hair, soaked with sweat, clung to her face, adding to the raw, untamed beauty of the moment.

He leaned down, his mouth finding hers again, kissing her with a ferocity that matched his movements. His tongue plunged into her mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his hips, deepening their connection until they were lost in a tempest of sensation. She could feel him growing harder, swelling within her, stretching her to her absolute limits, yet it was a delicious pain, a welcomed invasion. Her own body responded with an eager clenching, tightening around him, milking every ounce of pleasure from his powerful thrusts.

“I love you, Catarina,” he whispered against her lips, the words raw and heartfelt, tearing through her last defenses. The confession, spoken in the throes of their passion, ignited something profound within her. Her own love for him, which she had always intellectualized or dismissed as a friendly affection, now burst forth, undeniable and overwhelming. “I love you too, Geordo,” she sobbed, tears mingling with sweat on her cheeks, not of sadness, but of an overwhelming joy and liberation.

His rhythm intensified, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, harder. Catarina cried out, her body tensing, her muscles coiling as the second climax rose within her, more powerful and all-encompassing than the first. She was flung into a maelstrom of pleasure, her vision blurring, her entire being consumed by the exquisite sensations. She clenched around him, milking him, urging him towards his own release. She could feel him trembling, hear his own desperate grunts, feel the pulsing of his erection deep inside her.

With a final, powerful thrust, Geordo cried out her name, his body stiffening, then shuddering violently as he emptied himself deep within her. Catarina felt the hot, pulsing gush of his seed filling her, a profound, intimate warmth spreading through her core. The sensation of his creampie was utterly overwhelming, a perfect culmination to their passionate journey. Her own body, still trembling from her climax, pulsed around him, holding him tightly as he spilled his love into her. It was a beautiful, tender invasion, a complete act of trust and surrender. The warmth spread, making her feel utterly full, completely possessed, utterly cherished.

They remained intertwined for a long time, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths ragged, the only sounds the rustle of the jasmine and the frantic beat of their hearts slowly returning to normal. Geordo slowly withdrew, and Catarina felt a pang of loss, quickly replaced by a lingering warmth from his essence within her. He gathered her into his arms, pressing kisses to her damp short hair, her forehead, her lips. “My sweet, innocent Catarina,” he murmured, his voice thick with tenderness and awe. “You are more magnificent than any treasure, more beautiful than any flower.”

She snuggled closer, her head resting on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. The gentle breeze, once cool, now felt comforting against her bared skin. She was still slightly breathless, her body delightfully sated, but her heart was full to bursting. All the angst of her past life, all the fears of the otome game's villainess, had been washed away in this tide of passion and love. The future was no longer uncertain; it was a warm, loving embrace with the man who had seen beyond her clumsy exterior to the heart beneath. She was Catarina Claes, yes, the former villainess, but now, she was simply his. And that, she knew, was the greatest happy ending of all.