Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 376

Chapter 376: Fuck Ride
Emma’s hand wrapped firmly around my bicep as I drove, her cheek resting against my shoulder like it belonged there. The warmth of her seeped through my shirt, anchoring her to me.

Outside, Lincoln Heights blurred past in streaks of muted green and gray. Inside the Audi’s cocoon, the silence hummed with unspoken things.

An urge tightened in my chest—a question I needed to ask, but one that scraped against an open wound. Asking it meant dredging up Trent. And while she’d made a terrifying, courageous leap toward confronting that darkness yesterday… it still felt like picking at a scab barely formed.

I stayed silent, focusing on the road.

Her thumb stroked slow circles on my arm. Gentle. Persistent. Then, she lifted her head slightly, her lips brushing the back of my knuckles on the steering wheel—a kiss that lingered, warm and deliberate.

“C’mon, honey,” she murmured, her voice soft but edged with steel I’d never heard from her before yesterday. “Ask me anything.” She shifted, turning more fully toward me, her eyes locking onto the side of my face with an intensity that made my grip tighten on the leather.

“Yesterday we crossed a boundary,” she stated, the words hanging heavy in the air between us. “Huge, actually. That means we’re lovers now. No more secrets.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “And no more you treating me like your fragile sister.” She leaned in, her breath feathering my ear. “I’m your woman now, Peter. Mmmm?”

Her seriousness was a physical weight, pinning me to the driver’s seat. The raw declaration stole the air from my lungs. Lovers. Woman. The words echoed, clashing violently against sixteen years of instinct, of reflexive protection, of seeing her as the delicate, often annoying, kid sister I’d shielded.

Was she right? Logically, undeniably. After yesterday, after this morning, the line wasn’t just crossed; it was obliterated. Yet the muscle memory of those sixteen years didn’t just fade. It warred, a tangled knot of love, guilt, and lingering protectiveness.

As my woman, these were murky waters we had to navigate, treacherous and deep.

“It’s not a big deal,” I finally managed, my voice rougher than intended. “Just…”

Her lips twitched, not into a smile, but into something sharper. Insight. “The new Vice Principal?” she finished smoothly, her fingers tightening fractionally on my arm. “The one reinvestigating the Trent incident. That is what you want to ask, right?”

A cold dart shot down my spine.

How the hell…? I’d expected her to assume I was questioning us—our new dynamic, the terrifying rush of it. Instead, she’d sliced straight to the other fear gnawing at me. She knew. Knew I’d mentally upgraded her status beyond sisterhood, knew that particular conversation didn’t need hashing out now. She’d bypassed all that and aimed, unerringly, for the hidden thorn.

I let out a slow, measured breath, the only release possible. A single, sharp nod. Mom and Toomy had mentioned it over phone when I was still in Miami—new VP, digging into old cases, wanting to “talk” to me.

And the school’s damned settlement hanging over everything.

“It’s not a big deal really,” she repeated, her voice losing its edge, softening into reassurance. She let her head fall back onto my shoulder, a gesture that felt less like casual affection and more like a deliberate anchor. “They’ll ask their questions, you’ll give the same answers. It’s just noise.”

I felt the subtle shift in her weight, the trust inherent in the gesture, and my foot eased off the accelerator almost unconsciously. The car slowed, the world outside crawling slightly slower.

A flicker of dark amusement touched me, momentarily cutting through the tension. I was driving without a license—again. Without any credentials at all. But who was going to stop me? Who could? If things went sideways, ARIA could erase records, redirect traffic cameras, conjure plausible digital ghosts.

The thought was chilling, empowering… and utterly irrelevant to the warmth of Emma pressed against my side, trusting me to navigate this, to navigate her, even when I felt like I was driving blind.

“It’ll be fine,” she murmured against the fabric of my shirt, the words a quiet promise or a shared hope. Her fingers intertwined with mine on the center console, squeezing once, hard. A silent pact. We face this. Together. The Trent ghost, the new VP, the school’s bureaucracy, the dizzying supernormal reality beneath it all—it all felt momentarily distant, muted by the solid, living warmth of her clinging to my arm in the quiet, tinted sanctuary of the car.

I swallowed hard, nodding as Emma’s head settled back on my shoulder. “Tell me about it,” I managed, voice thick, steering the Audi onto a gravel overlook off the main road.

Outside, the world blurred to meaningless shapes behind the tinted windows – a private stage made for just us. Privacy. For this.

Emma lifted her head, eyes gleaming with predatory mischief. A smirk twisted her lips. “If I do,” she purred, batting her lashes with false innocence, “you fuck me right here by the road, hmm?”

A sharp laugh burst from me. “Em, dear,” I grinned, shaking my head even as heat pooled low in my belly.

“You fucked for five hours yesterday, three more this morning, and you’re still technically a virgin…” The words died instantly as her mouth crushed against mine. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a conquest, lips and teeth demanding surrender, her tongue thrusting past my defenses to claim my mouth. I met it, battling back, tasting her desperation.

Before my brain caught up, her hands tore at the seatbelt buckle. It clattered free, and then she was twisting, throwing her leg over my lap in the driver’s seat. The sudden, full weight of her pressing down onto my trapped erection sent a jolt through me.

She landed hard, her arms locking around my neck, forcing me deeper into the bruising kiss. Her tongue tangled with mine, then she pulled back just enough to grind her hips down against the rigid length straining beneath my jeans.

“Ah, fuck… it’s so big and hot~” she moaned directly against my lips, the vibration shooting straight to my cock. She ground faster, harder, the friction exquisite torture through denim and cotton. “Even… even through clothes…” Her movements became frantic, desperate.

A clumsy shift slammed her ass against the steering wheel. A loud, blaring HONK! ripped through the silence outside.

I choked back another laugh, hands flying to her hips, yanking her down flush against me. My cock, now a rigid bar of heat and need, throbbed insistently against the damp heat radiating from her core.

“Easy, tiger,” I growled, the heat in my eyes betraying my attempt at control. “We’re trying to keep it private, not advertise it.”

The feel of her soft, bare breasts (definitely no bra) crushed against my chest was intoxicating.

She gasped, breaking the kiss to trail open-mouthed, sucking bites down the side of my neck, her hands shoving up under my t-shirt to rake nails across the taut muscle of my chest.

“Peter… please,” she begged, the word ragged, dripping with raw need. “Fuck me~~~”

With a desperate whimper, she yanked her skirt up. Her ass, barely sheathed in a flimsy, soaked thong, settled down directly onto the thick ridge of my cock straining under my jeans. The contact was electric.

My dick jerked, swelling to full, aching attention, the pulse of it beating desperately against the thin, wet barrier separating it from her pussy. The air inside the car instantly thickened with the scent of her arousal – overwhelming, sweet-salt musk, pure Emma.

I could feel the incredible damp heat of her soaking through my pants, clinging wetly to the sensitive head of my cock.

She grabbed my hands, shoving them roughly under her shirt, forcing them onto her breasts. I squeezed, feeling the firm weight, the rigid points of her nipples digging into my palms like pebbles.

She arched into my grip with a long, shuddering moan that vibrated through her whole body, her hips instinctively starting to rock in slow, grinding circles against my trapped cock. ‘Dry’ humping was a joke; she was so fucking wet it felt like she was already coating me through the layers.

Emma wasn’t just aroused; she was leaking, a faucet of pure, liquid desire drenching us both.