[Complete] Ch 13 The World of Otome Game is a Second Chance for Broken Swords (Patreon)

The World of Otome Game

 is a Second Chance for Broken Swords

Story Starts

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Chapter 13 -

The Line

Disclaimer: Everyone here are adults.

Leon closed the door to his cabin.

He loosened a few buttons on his collar and crossed to the small round table by the porthole. A carafe of water sat there. He poured himself a glass and drank, frowning at the far wall.

Something was off about Angelica today.

No—scratch that. Something had been off about Angelica ever since the Partner's foredeck. Ever since Olivia. Ever since—

Knock knock.

He set the glass down.

'Later.'

Leon crossed to the door and opened it.

Olivia stood in the corridor in a nightgown that barely deserved the name. Sheer fabric, pale as milk, fell to mid-thigh. The only light came from the porthole behind him—moonlight slanting through, catching the edges of her where she stood at the threshold.

The gown hid nothing. He could see the shadow of her navel. The darker suggestion of the cleft between her thighs. The soft weight of her breasts beneath fabric thin as breath, nipples already peaked from the corridor's chill. Her hair was down—like always—spilling over bare shoulders. Her feet were bare on the deck plates.

She fidgeted.

That was wrong. Olivia never fidgeted. Olivia schemed and smirked and delivered outrageous statements without a care in the world. She did not stand in doorways looking uncertain.

"Livia? I thought you were—"

She leapt.

Her body hit his chest and her momentum carried them both backwards. Leon's heel caught on the cabin's carpet. His back hit the floor with a grunt, the impact driving the air from his lungs.

"Oomph—"

He blinked up at her.

Olivia hovered above him, knees bracketing his hips, palms flat against the deck on either side of his head. The nightgown had shifted with the fall—gravity pulling the neckline forward, away from her body. Her breasts hung free beneath the sheer fabric, nipples drawn tight against the cabin's cool air. The pale circles of her areolae showed through plainly. Between her spread knees, the gown had ridden up to her hips. She wore nothing underneath. Heat from her core pressed against the front of his trousers, damp already, the thin trail of it soaking into the cloth.

She rose to her knees, turned, and reached back towards the door. Her fingers found the edge and pushed it gently closed. The latch clicked.

Then she was back, settling over him again.

Moonlight painted half her face silver. The other half lay in shadow. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, and colour had climbed high on her cheeks. A strand of hair stuck to her lower lip. She did not brush it away.

Neither of them spoke.

Leon reached up. His hand found the nape of her neck, fingers threading into the silk of her hair, and he pulled her down.

Their mouths met.

The kiss started soft—tentative, almost questioning. Then Olivia made a small sound against his lips, something between a sigh and a whimper, and the hesitation burned away.

Leon's other hand found her waist, slid beneath the hem of the nightgown, palm flat against the bare skin of her back. She was warm. So warm. He pulled her closer and she came willingly, her body pressing flush against his, the thin fabric between them doing nothing to dull sensation. Her breasts crushed against his chest. Her nipples dragged across the open V of his shirt. Her pussy settled over the hard line of his cock through his trousers and she rocked once, smearing wetness along the ridge of him.

Olivia's hands moved from the deck to his chest, fingers working at the buttons he had already loosened. She got two more undone before giving up and simply sliding her palms beneath the fabric, spreading them across his skin. Her nails scraped lightly over a nipple. His hips jerked up into her without permission.

He deepened the kiss. His tongue found hers and she responded eagerly, sucking on it, chasing it when he drew back. Her hips shifted against him in a slow, filthy grind that made coherent thought increasingly difficult. The wet patch on his trousers spread.

His hand travelled up her spine, feeling the shiver that followed his touch. The other slid down, over the curve of her hip, finding the hem of the nightgown and pushing it higher until the whole of her arse was bare under his palm. He squeezed. She gasped into his mouth. He slid his fingers inward, between her cheeks, down, and found her soaked—slick coating the insides of her thighs, her folds swollen and parted around nothing. He dragged two fingers through that heat. They came away shining.

Olivia broke the kiss long enough to gasp against his jaw.

"Leon—"

He silenced her with his mouth again.

They moved together across the cabin floor—a tangle of limbs and whispered breaths and mouths that kept finding each other. At some point Leon's back left the carpet and Olivia pulled him upright, and at some further point they reached the bed.

Olivia climbed onto the mattress and turned, kneeling at its edge. Her fingers closed on the open front of his shirt and pulled—hard. Buttons scattered. One of them bounced off her forehead with a soft tik.

Leon laughed.

Olivia's lower lip jutted forward.

"Don't."

"Didn't say a word."

She tugged the ruined shirt down his arms and let it fall. Her hands came up to his chest, palms flat, and for a moment she simply looked at what was beneath them. Her thumbs found his nipples and traced slow circles. The touch was light, curious—she mapped the plane of his sternum, the ridges of muscle along his ribs. Her expression shifted from embarrassment to fascination, head tilting as she studied him.

Then she leant forward and took one nipple into her mouth.

The wet heat of her tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth, the way she flicked experimentally at the peak—Leon's breath caught. His hand went to the back of her head without conscious thought, fingers curling into her hair. Olivia hummed against his skin and the vibration ran straight down through his chest into his cock. She sucked harder, then bit, then soothed the bite with her tongue. Her other hand pinched the neglected nipple and rolled it between finger and thumb until it stood as tight as hers.

She pulled back. Kissed the hollow of his throat. Then trailed her mouth lower, pressing her lips to each rib as she descended, her breath warm and unsteady against his stomach. Saliva cooled on his chest in the shape of her mouth. Her hand slid down his abdomen and cupped the shape of him through his trousers. Her fingers curled, testing the thickness, the heat, the way it jumped against her palm. Leon's hips twitched forward.

She undid his belt one-handed. The buckle clinked. The trousers pooled at his feet and he stepped free of them, and then Olivia's fingers hooked the waistband of his boxers and drew them down.

His cock stood rigid in the moonlight, flushed dark, the head already wet. A thick vein ran along the underside. His balls hung heavy beneath.

Olivia wrapped her hand around it.

She squeezed—too tight at first, then eased off when he exhaled through his teeth. Her grip found the right pressure and she explored, running her thumb along the underside of the shaft, feeling the vein that pulsed there. She could not close her fingers fully around him. That fact sat on her face for a moment, then she adjusted, using both hands, stroking from root to tip in a slow pull that peeled the foreskin back from the head. She cupped his balls with one hand, weighing them, rolling them gently. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

A bead of fluid welled at the tip. Olivia touched it with one fingertip, drew it away, and watched the clear strand stretch between her finger and his cock. She brought her thumb and forefinger together, tested how the fluid pulled and broke, then held her hand up to the light slanting through the porthole. She put the fingertip in her mouth. Her tongue worked against it. Her eyes narrowed, tasting.

"Ahem."

She looked up. Leon stood with one brow raised.

Olivia returned it with a grin that belonged entirely to the version of her that schemed and calculated—the version that had been absent in the corridor. She released him, rose up on her knees, grasped the hem of the nightgown and pulled it over her head in one motion.

The fabric whispered as it fell to the sheets behind her.

Her breasts were full and heavy, nipples pink and stiffened to hard points. Her stomach was flat, the muscles beneath faintly visible, and her thighs were toned and pale. She shuffled back on the mattress, lowered herself with her knees tucked beneath her, toes peeking from under the curve of her rear. Her hair fell forward over one shoulder. Between her thighs, her pussy was flushed and open, the inner lips dark and glistening, a thread of wetness already connecting her to the sheet below.

Leon's cock twitched. Olivia's gaze dropped to it, and her smile widened.

She leant forward and pressed her lips to the head. A kiss—light, dry. Then she parted her lips and took the tip into her mouth.

Her tongue prodded at the slit, uncertain, tasting salt and the same slick she had already sampled. She swirled it around the crown, tracing the ridge, and Leon's hand went to the back of her head again—steadying, not pushing. Olivia took that as encouragement and slid her mouth further down, her jaw stretching to accommodate his girth. The head of him pressed against the roof of her mouth, then further, towards her throat. She managed perhaps half his length before her throat protested and she pulled back with a wet sound, a string of saliva connecting her lower lip to his cock. It stretched, broke, and painted her chin.

She tried again. This time her teeth grazed the underside and Leon sucked air between his teeth.

"Sorry—"

"Lips over your teeth."

She adjusted. Tucked her lips inward and descended again, and this time the glide was smooth—wet, hot, and tight. She bobbed her head slowly, building a rhythm, her hand wrapping around the base where her mouth could not reach. Spit ran down over her knuckles and soaked his balls. Her technique was clumsy. She took too much and gagged, pulled off coughing, a thick string of saliva hanging from her tongue to his cock, then dove back in too quickly and scraped him again. But what she lacked in skill she compensated for in stubborn enthusiasm, and the slick sounds of her mouth working his cock filled the small cabin—wet, rhythmic, obscene.

Leon reached down. His hand found her breast, heavy and warm, and he kneaded it—gently first, then with more pressure, pushing the flesh up, thumb dragging across the nipple. His thumb and forefinger closed around that peak and he rolled it, pinched. Olivia moaned around his cock, the vibration travelling up his shaft, and her hips rocked against nothing, smearing a dark patch into the sheet. He pinched harder. She whimpered and sucked him deeper, and the sound that left his mouth was low and rough.

She pulled off, gasping, and licked a long stripe from root to tip, flattening her tongue against the vein. Took the head back between her lips and sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing, her hand pumping what her mouth could not cover in tight, twisting strokes. Saliva ran down her chin, slicked her fingers, dripped onto the sheets in a spreading stain. She looked up at him through her lashes—eyes watering, mouth stretched wide around him, spit shining on her lips, utterly shameless. Her other hand had drifted between her own thighs. Two fingers worked at her clit in clumsy circles while she sucked him.

Leon's grip tightened in her hair. His hips moved without his permission, a short thrust that pushed him into her throat. She gagged, her throat convulsing around the head, and pulled back coughing, spit hanging in a thick rope from her lip.

"Sorry."

Olivia wiped her chin with the back of her hand. The smear of it went across her cheek.

"Don't apologise. Do it again."

He didn't. Not yet.

Instead, he placed his palm flat against her sternum and pushed.

Olivia went backwards onto the mattress, bouncing once. Before she could prop herself up, Leon knelt at the foot of the bed, hooked his hands behind her knees, and pulled her to the edge. Her arse hung half off the mattress. Her thighs were in his hands.

"Wait—what are you—"

He spread her thighs apart.

Olivia's protest died in her throat. She was wet—visibly so, her inner thighs already slick nearly to the knee, and when he parted her folds with his thumbs the moonlight caught the shine of it. Pink, swollen, dripping. Her clit was a tight bud peeking from its hood, swollen with blood. Her entrance clenched around nothing, a slow pulse, and a fresh bead of wetness welled and slid down towards her arse. She squirmed under his gaze.

"Leon, you don't have to—"

He lowered his mouth to her.

The first touch of his tongue drew a sound from Olivia that had no letters. Her back arched off the mattress and her hand flew to his head, fingers digging into white hair. Leon pressed his tongue flat against her and licked upward—one long, slow stroke from her entrance to her clit, gathering the slick of her, salt and musk filling his mouth. He swallowed. Licked again. Deeper this time, pushing his tongue into her, fucking her with it in short, wet thrusts while she made broken noises above him.

Her thighs clamped around his ears.

He worked her open with patience. Broad strokes first, mapping the terrain, reading the way her body responded. Her hips bucked when he tongued her entrance. Her breath stuttered when he circled her clit without touching it, tracing the hood, the sides, everywhere but the peak. When he finally closed his lips around that swollen bud and sucked, her spine came off the bed and she made a noise like she had been struck.

Leon knew what he was doing. He had experience from a past life—memories that sat alongside his own, knowledge his body had never earned but his mind retained. He settled into a rhythm, alternating between broad licks that covered the whole of her and tight circles around her clit, reading Olivia's every twitch and sound. He sucked her folds into his mouth one at a time. He dragged his teeth, very lightly, along the inside of her thigh, then returned to her clit and lashed it with the tip of his tongue until her heels drummed against his back.

He slid one finger inside her. She was tight—clenching around him, hot and slick—and the moan she let out was loud enough that the cabin walls might not save them. He pumped it slowly, feeling the cling of her, the way her inner walls dragged at him when he withdrew.

"Shh."

"Don't you dare tell me to—ah—"

He curled his finger.

Olivia's hand fisted in the sheets. Her hips ground against his mouth in tight, desperate circles, smearing her wetness across his nose, his chin, his jaw. He added a second finger and she whined, high-pitched, her thighs trembling against his jaw. He scissored them, stretched her, then curled both and stroked that spot inside her that made her legs shake. Each pass of his fingertips drew a fresh gush of slick that ran down over his knuckles and dripped onto the carpet.

He kept the pressure on her clit steady—lips and tongue working in concert—whilst his fingers curled and stroked. The wet sound of it filled the cabin: filthy, rhythmic, unmistakable. Olivia's breathing came in ragged bursts. Her free hand found his hair and gripped hard enough to hurt, holding him in place as if he might leave. Her stomach muscles clenched and released in waves. Her toes curled against his back. Her breasts shook with each jerk of her hips, nipples pointing at the ceiling.

"Leon—I can't—it's—"

He increased the pace. His fingers drove deeper, faster, the wet sound obscene in the quiet cabin. His tongue flicked her clit in rapid, precise strokes, never losing rhythm. He sucked it between his lips and hummed.

Olivia's back bowed off the bed. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Every muscle in her body locked—her thighs clamped, her fingers white-knuckled in the sheets and in his hair, her stomach rigid, her pussy seizing around his fingers in a flutter that built and built.

Then the wave broke.

She came with a cry she could not muffle, her hips jerking against his mouth, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers in hard, milking pulses. Slick flooded his palm. He didn't stop. He worked her through it, gentling his pace as the aftershocks rolled through her—each one drawing another small, broken sound from her throat, another twitch of her thighs, another pulse around his fingers. Her clit throbbed against his tongue. He licked it once more, softly, and she jerked as if burned.

Olivia's grip in his hair loosened. Her thighs fell open. Her chest heaved with great gulping breaths and her eyes stared at the ceiling, glassy and unfocused. Her pussy remained open, flushed dark, twitching, a slow trickle of wetness running from her to the soaked sheet.

Leon withdrew his fingers. They shone to the second knuckle. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and climbed up beside her.

For a long moment, Olivia said nothing. She lay there with one arm flung across her face, her body sheened with sweat, trembling in diminishing intervals. Her nipples were still tight. Her thighs still shook.

Then she lowered her arm and looked at him.

Her eyes were wet. Not from crying—from the sheer overwhelming force of what had just happened to her, written plainly across her flushed and ruined face. Her lips were swollen. Spit and her own slick had dried in a smear along her jaw.

"That," she said, her voice wrecked, "was not fair."

Leon lay on his side, head propped on his hand. His cock still stood against his stomach, neglected, angled towards the matress, wet at the tip from her mouth.

"You jumped me."

"And you—" She gestured vaguely at the lower half of her body. "—that."

"You're welcome."

Olivia covered her face with both hands and made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

They moved without speaking.

Olivia shuffled to the middle of the bed. She laid her head on the pillow, knees together, palms stacked on her sternum. The sheet under her hips was already dark. She looked up at him and waited.

Leon knelt between her feet. He took her ankles and lifted, spreading her until her thighs opened wide and the wet of her was bare to the air. He hovered over her, weight on his hands, and let his cock rest along the length of her pussy.

Olivia looked down.

The shaft lay against her from folds to navel. The head sat on the soft plane of her stomach, a wet smear already marking her skin. She stared at the size of it against her body and her throat worked.

Leon took himself in hand. He dragged the head down through her folds, slow, parting her with the blunt heat of it, then rocked forward so the underside slid along her clit. Her hips jumped.

"Uhhh—"

The sound broke out of her. Her core was still raw from his mouth, every nerve lit, and the drag of him over that swollen flesh sent a pulse up through her belly that made her toes curl. He did it again. And again. Slick coated him until the head shone.

Their eyes met.

He traced her entrance with the tip, circling, pressing just enough that she felt the stretch begin and then easing off. Olivia's mouth opened. No sound this time. He lined himself up and pushed.

The head of him sank into her.

Even after she had come on his fingers, her walls clamped around that first inch like a fist. Heat. Wet. A tightness that made Leon's arms shake. He held there, breathing through his teeth, feeling her flutter and squeeze as her body tried to decide whether to take him or push him out.

Olivia's hands came up. She reached for him.

He leant down. She wrapped her arms around the breadth of his back, nails finding the muscle along his shoulder blades. His cock was not even a quarter of the way in. Their faces were close enough that her breath hit his mouth.

"I'll be gentle. Tell me when I can move."

She tightened her hold and nodded against his cheek.

Leon pushed.

The resistance gave. Her hymen tore in a short, bright rip and he slid through it. Olivia's face tightened for a second—a wince, nothing more. The pain was a pinch. A sting. This was nothing compared to the things she had endured as Illya.

Leon stopped anyway, half of him still outside her, and kissed her.

She opened for it. Their tongues met, slower than before, and he stayed exactly where he was until the tightness around him eased by a fraction. When they broke apart, a thread of spit hung between their mouths.

"You can go deeper."

He drew back a few centimetres and pushed. Another stretch. Olivia's breath hitched against his collarbone. He pulled back again, claimed another inch, the wet sound of it thick in the quiet cabin. Each stroke took more of her. Her walls dragged along his shaft, clutching, and he felt every ridge of her from the inside as he fed himself into that heat.

Then the head of him butted against the end of her.

Olivia's mouth opened on a silent gasp. He was in to the root. His hips sat flush to hers, his balls against her arse, and the blunt pressure of him at her cervix made her thighs tremble in his hands. She was full. Stuffed. The shape of him sat behind her navel and she could feel her pulse beating around the thickest part of his cock.

Leon stayed still.

He dropped his head and took her breast into his mouth.

The nipple was already hard. He sucked it in, tongue working the peak, and felt Olivia's vagina clench around him in answer. He sucked harder. Her back arched, pushing more of the flesh into his mouth, and he opened wider and took as much as he could, the weight of her on his tongue, the taste of salt and skin. His teeth grazed. She made a thin noise and bit it off.

He switched to the other breast. Licked a circle around the areola, then closed his lips and drew on it until it stood as tight as the first. Olivia's fingers dug into his back. He rolled his hips—a short, testing grind that dragged the head of him against that deep spot inside her—and her nails broke skin.

"Leon—"

He started to move.

Slow. Almost all the way out, until only the head held her open, then a long slide back in that made her take every inch again. Her slick eased the way now, mixed with a smear of blood, and the sound of it was wet and obscene. Olivia turned her face into the pillow. She didn't know how thin the walls were. Angelica was on the other side of the bulkhead. Each time Leon bottomed out, a moan tried to climb her throat and she swallowed it, breathing hard through her nose.

He set a rhythm. In. Out. The drag of her walls along his cock was tight enough to make his vision narrow. She was hot inside, wetter with every stroke, and the way she clutched at him when he withdrew made him want to slam back in. He didn't. Not yet. He fucked her in long, measured thrusts and sucked at her tits until both nipples were dark and shining with his spit.

Olivia's legs hooked around his waist. He caught them, pushed them wider, and the new angle let him sink a fraction deeper. She stuffed her fist against her mouth. A muffled cry leaked around her knuckles.

He lifted her legs and hooked them over his shoulders.

The change folded her nearly in half. Her knees came up beside her ears and her pussy opened for him completely, the stretch of it pulling her folds taut around his shaft. From this angle he could see everything—the place where he disappeared into her, the wet shine of her clit, the way her entrance clung to him on the pull-back, turned inside-out for a second before he shoved back in. He looked up. Olivia was watching too, eyes wide, mouth open against her own hand.

He thrust.

Deeper. Harder. The head of him kissed her cervix on every stroke now and Olivia's eyes rolled. Her other hand fisted in the sheet. He dropped his mouth to her breast again and sucked while he fucked her, the wet pop of his lips leaving her nipple, then taking it back, and the pace of his hips climbed to match.

"Quiet," he breathed against her skin.

She nodded, frantic, and then broke it anyway—a high, bitten-off sound as he slammed home. She grabbed his hair and yanked his mouth up to hers, kissing him to keep the noise in, their teeth clicking. He swallowed the next moan. And the next. His tongue in her mouth, his cock deep within her, and the bed began to knock against the bulkhead in a rhythm neither of them could stop.

He ramped it.

Short, hard strokes now, hips snapping, his balls slapping against her arse. Olivia's walls fluttered around him in waves, tightening, and the wet of her ran down over his sac and soaked the sheets. He braced one hand beside her head and used the other to spread her further, thumb finding her clit, rubbing it in tight circles while he drove into her. Her whole body jerked. The kiss broke. She turned her face into his neck and bit down, muffling a cry against his skin.

"Leon—inside. Come inside me."

He grabbed her hips with both hands.

The words were a rasp against his throat. Her legs shook on his shoulders. He could feel her starting to go, the flutter becoming a clamp, her pussy seizing on him in hard pulls that milked his shaft from root to tip.

He drove in to the hilt and stayed there.

His cock kicked. The first pulse of cum hit the end of her in a thick, hot spurt that made Olivia's mouth fall open against his neck. She felt it—the sudden flood of warmth blooming deep, painting her insides, each jerk of him pumping more into her until it had nowhere to go and began to leak around the seal of his cock. He kept coming. Pulse after pulse, his hips grinding through it, forcing it deeper, and Olivia came around him with a broken whimper she buried in his shoulder, her walls milking every drop, her clit throbbing under his thumb.

He held her there until the last twitch left him.

Then his arms gave.

He rolled onto his back, still inside her, and brought her with him. Olivia collapsed on his chest, legs sliding off his shoulders, her cheek over his heartbeat. His cock softened by degrees but stayed in her, plugging the mess, and she could feel the heat of it sitting heavy in her belly. Her breath slowed against his skin. His hand found the back of her head and stayed there.

Neither of them spoke.

Half a minute. A minute. Two minutes.

"That was—" Olivia said from on top of him.

"Amazing?" Leon offered.

She nodded against his chest. Her hair tickled his collarbone.

His thoughts drifted elsewhere—to Angelica in the cabin next door, to his guardian spirits waiting at the barony, to every woman whose life had become tangled with his. The line had finally been crossed. There would be no going back from this.

"Hey, Leon?"

He looked down at Olivia, who looked up at him, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. A lazy, satisfied smile curved her lips, but something else lurked behind it. Something scheming.

"I want to watch you with Illya."

Leon's face went flat. Unfortunately, his cock twitched inside her—a traitor to his composure.

Olivia's grin widened as she rose to her knees, his cock still buried within her. The movement sent a fresh trickle of warmth down his shaft.

"I'll take that as a yes."

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