Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 539

Chapter 539: Masterpiece of Debauchery (R-18)
My mouth found the arch of her neck. I didn’t just kiss; I branded. I licked a path up her throat, tasting the salt of her sweat, then bit down on that pulsing, bright point of light on the map. Not gently. I sank my teeth in, a primal claim.

“Peter—oh god—Peter—” her scream was torn from her throat, a mix of pain and a pleasure so sharp it was its own kind of agony.

Her hands ran down my back, the nails dragging, leaving their marks, a map of our encounter written on my skin.

Her legs wrapped around me, locking me in place, her heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper, an animalistic demand for more. Faster. Harder. I watched her face, committing every expression to memory. Every flutter of her eyelids, the way her mouth opened on a silent scream, the raw, animal, devoted sounds she made.

“Yes—yes—fuck—right there—right fucking there—”

My hand slid between our pounding bodies, finding her clit, swollen and throbbing, pebble-hard. I didn’t rub; I circled it, pressing hard, a perfect, agonizing counterpoint to the punishing rhythm of my cock. Her whole body went rigid, a bowstring pulled to its breaking point.

I could feel her building. I didn’t just see it; I felt it. Every point on the map blazed to life, her muscles coiling, her cunt fluttering around me in a desperate, frantic prelude to oblivion. I changed my angle slightly, a microscopic adjustment, and nailed that spot again.

“FUCK—”

She came. Not a gentle wave, but a violent explosion. Hard. Her entire body convulsed, a seizure of pure pleasure. Her nails sank deep into my back, and she screamed my name like it was the only word she knew, a prayer and a curse torn from her very soul.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t even slow down. I rode her through it, my thrusts becoming even more demanding, chasing the peak she was so desperate to escape even as I forced her higher.

“Too much—I can’t—” she babbled, her head lolling on the pillow, her eyes unfocused and lost.

But her body lied. It was already building again, the tight clenching and gushing proof that she had more to give. Much more.

In one fluid, powerful motion, I flipped her. She was limp, boneless, and I moved her like a doll. Face down.

I pulled her hips up, presenting her ass to me. I ran my hands down her back, tracing the elegant line of her spine.

Each vertebra quivered under my palms. I went all the way down to the dimples above her ass, squeezing the soft flesh, owning every curve. I positioned myself, the head of my cock nudging her dripping entrance, and entered her from behind.

“Oh god—oh god—” the sound was muffled by the pillow, but the awe was clear.

It was deeper this way. I hit different points, new territories of pleasure lighting up on the map in my head.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, holding on for dear life. I leaned over her, my chest against her back, our sweat-slick skin sliding together. I kissed between her shoulder blades, then down her spine, placing a soft, reverent kiss on each quivering bone. Each kiss made her shiver, moan, arch for more.

One hand snaked around her body, cupping her heavy breast, my thumb circling the tight nipple, pinching it just enough to make her cry out.

“Ah—fuck—yes—harder—” the command was clear, muffled and desperate.

I reached up and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Gently at first, testing, then with a firmer grip. I pulled her head back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat. I kissed that bright, pulsing point on her neck, licked it, then bit down, harder than before.

She screamed. A raw, ragged sound of pure, unadulterated submission.

One hand bruised her hip, holding her in place for my pounding. The other reached around, found her clit again, and strummed it in time with the relentless, punishing rhythm. Our bodies moved together in that primal dance, the slap of skin on skin filling the room, her firm ass bouncing against my hips.

Sweat made everything slick, filthy, perfect.

“Fuck fuck fuck—” she chanted, a mantra to the pleasure.

She was building faster this time. I could feel it in the way her cunt clenched, the way her body trembled. The map was a supernova, every system going critical.

“Peter—I’m—oh god—I’m—”

“Come,” I commanded, my voice a low growl. “Give it to me. All of it.”

She shattered. Her whole body seized, a powerful, full-body convulsion. She cried out, a long, guttural moan of release, and she clenched around me so hard, so tight, that for a second I thought I was going to lose it right then and there.

Still, I didn’t stop.

I flipped her again, my strength seeming effortless to both of us. On her back. I looked down at her.

She was a masterpiece of debauchery. Sweat-soaked. Hair wild and tangled around her face. Lips swollen and red from my kisses and her own bitten-back screams. Dark, purple marks bloomed on her neck from my mouth. Her breasts were heaving, her skin flushed everywhere with a deep, post-orgasmic blush.

She was beautiful.

I hooked her legs over my shoulders, folding her nearly in half, opening her up completely. I slid back into her, the angle allowing me to go even deeper, to the very core of her. I watched her eyes roll back in her head, pure white in a mask of ecstasy.

“Ah—ah—ah—” The only sounds she could make were short, sharp cries, punctuated by each devastating thrust.

I leaned down, our bodies folded together, and kissed her. Deep. I could taste myself on her tongue, her desperation, her soul. My thumb found her clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles. Her body was beyond sensitive, slick, trembling uncontrollably.

“Peter—no—too sensitive—” she whimpered, a broken plea.

I ignored her. Her brain was begging for rest, but her body was screaming for more. I pressed harder, moved faster, drove deeper. Our foreheads pressed together, our breath mingling, our eyes locked in the dim light. I could see myself reflected in her pupils.

“Fuck—oh fuck—”

The third orgasm was building, and it was going to be the one to break her. Her body was lighting up from the inside out, every point on the map blazing like a chain reaction of dying stars.

“Come for me.”

“I can’t—it’s too—”

“Come. For. Me.” I enunciated each word, a final, merciless command.

She exploded. Louder than before, a full-throated scream that was almost a shriek. Her back arched completely off the bed, a perfect, trembling bridge of sensation. Her hands grabbed for anything—my arms, the sheets, her own hair, pulling it as the pleasure became too much to bear. Her nails raked down my chest, leaving a final, fiery set of marks.

“PETER—FUCK—OH GODS—”

I let go. Finally. With a hoarse, triumphant roar, I buried myself deep, one last time, and poured into her, my own body shuddering with a force that stole my breath and vision, a climax so intense it felt like my entire being was draining out of me and into her.

I collapsed on top of her, a dead weight, our bodies tangled and spent. We were both breathing hard, ragged gusts of air.

We were covered in sweat, the room smelled of our sex, and our hearts were pounding together, a frantic, slowing rhythm. She was shaking, full-body tremors wracking her, small aftershocks still rolling through her in waves.

I kissed her. Gentle now. Soft. Her forehead, damp and cool. Her cheeks, stained with tears. Her lips, swollen and yielding. I rolled off, my body protesting, and pulled her against me, her back to my chest, my arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

My fingers traced lazy, mindless patterns on her stomach, feeling the last of her tremors subside.

She caught my hand, her fingers weak and trembling. She brought it to her lips and kissed my knuckles, a gesture of such tenderness it made my chest ache.

“What—” she gasped, her voice a raw whisper. “What are you?”

I kissed her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Yours. For tonight.”

“Not human,” she whispered, a statement of absolute certainty.

“Does it matter?”

A long silence, filled only by the slowing of our heartbeats and the gentle rain outside. Then—

“No.”

She curled into me, a fragile, ruined thing finding refuge in the arms of her destroyer, still trembling, still processing the seismic event that had just leveled her world. I held her, letting her come down, watching the brilliant, violent map in my head slowly fade to a soft, contented glow.

Just Priya now. Just a woman who had needed this. Needed to be broken to be set free. Needed to let go. Needed to be seen and claimed and fucked until she forgot every single thing except the feeling of my cock inside her.

Mission accomplished.

She fell asleep in my arms, her breaths deep and even, a small smile on her lips.

I stayed awake. Thinking. Planning.

This wasn’t supposed to be more than one night. It was the rule. The one rule I lived by.

But something told me, deep in my gut, that Priya Sharma wasn’t done with me yet.

And I sure as hell wasn’t done with her.