Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs - Chapter 541

Chapter 541: The Morning (R-18)
Morning light poured through the sheer curtains like liquid gold, bathing the room in a warm, honeyed haze.

Priya stirred, lashes fluttering open.

For a moment she just blinked at the familiar ceiling, the silk sheets tangled low around her hips, the heavy weight of a muscled arm draped possessively across her waist. Then memory slammed into her—Peter’s mouth, his hands, the way he’d ruined her five separate times until she’d blacked out.

She turned her head on the pillow. He was still there, eyes closed, black lashes fanned against sharp cheekbones, lips parted just enough to show a hint of white teeth. The morning light carved him like a statue—jaw cut from marble, bronze skin glowing, that impossible fallen-angel beauty somehow even more devastating in sleep.

She shifted, and the movement dragged the sheet lower. His chest pressed hot against her back, skin to skin, and lower—fuck—his cock was already rock-hard, thick and heavy against the cleft of her ass, pulsing lazily with his heartbeat. A slow throb of heat answered between her thighs; she was sore, swollen, sticky with last night’s mess, and still her body clenched hungrily at the feel of him.

Priya inhaled, meaning to steady herself, and froze.

He smelled… obscene. Warm sandalwood, clean skin, and something darker—like ozone after lightning, like pure sex distilled into a scent that made her mouth water and her nipples tighten instantly. No trace of morning breath, no stale sweat, nothing human.

Just raw, addictive male.

She couldn’t help it. She turned fully in his arms, burying her face in the crook of his neck and dragging the smell of him into her lungs like a drug.

“How the fuck do you smell this good?” she whispered against his throat, lips brushing the steady pulse there. “I’m a walking crime scene and you smell like you just walked out of a shower made of sin.”

A low, sleepy chuckle rumbled through his chest. His arm tightened, dragging her flush against him until her breasts crushed to his pecs and his cock wedged hot and rigid between her thighs.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

That voice—rough from sleep, velvet and gravel—sent a fresh rush of slickness coating her already soaked folds.

She pulled back just enough to stare at him, incredulous. “Seriously, how? I have morning breath that could strip paint and you taste—” She didn’t finish the sentence. He kissed her.

No hesitation, no polite closed-mouth brush. He took her mouth like he’d taken her body last night—deep, filthy, deliberate.

Tongue sliding against hers, licking into her like he wanted to taste every corner, every secret. His hand fisted in her hair, angling her head so he could plunder deeper; the other slid down to palm her ass, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to reignite the bruises he’d left hours ago.

She moaned into him, helpless. He tasted clean, warm, faintly sweet—like he’d been designed to be devoured. When he finally let her up for air she was panting, lips swollen, pussy throbbing so hard she had to clench her thighs around the ache.

“I really do have morning breath,” she managed, dazed.

“Don’t give a fuck,” he growled, and kissed her again—short, sharp, possessive. Then he moved.

One second she was sprawled against him; the next he’d rolled out of bed in a single fluid surge of muscle and dragged her with him.

The ruined dress—some flimsy silk thing she’d worn to seduce him—had spent the night bunched around her waist like a belt. Now it slithered down her hips and pooled at her feet, leaving her completely naked in the golden light.

Peter stepped back, bronze tinted eyes raking over her like he was memorizing every inch.

And Priya let him look.

She was 5’7″ of long, toned legs and lush curves, honey-brown skin glowing like warmed caramel.

High, full breasts—nipples dark and already tight—sat high on her ribcage, swaying with every breath. Her waist dipped in dramatically before flaring into round hips and an ass that could stop traffic. Between her thighs, her pussy was bare except for a neat landing strip, lips puffy and glistening, evidence of last night still slicking the insides of her thighs.

She watched his cock jerk against his abs—long, thick, flushed dark with need, a bead of precum already pearling at the slit. The sight sent another pulse of wet heat dripping down her leg.

“Jesus, Priya,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Look at you.”

He reached for her again, but she beat him to it—pushed him back until his knees hit the bed and he sat. Then she straddled him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips, breasts brushing his chest as she took his mouth again.

His hands went straight to her ass, spreading her cheeks, fingers tracing the soaked seam of her pussy from behind. Two fingers slid inside her without warning, curling, pumping once—twice—until her head fell back on a broken moan.

“Still dripping for me,” he murmured against her throat, teeth scraping the mark he’d left hours ago. “Greedy little cunt never gets enough, does it?”

She rocked against his hand, riding his fingers shamelessly, coating his palm. “Never,” she gasped. “Not when it’s you.”

He pulled his fingers free, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while she watched, pupils blown wide. Then he gripped the base of his cock, lined himself up, and dragged the fat head through her folds—once, twice—coating himself in her slick.

“Take what you want, Priya,” he said, voice dark. “Show me how bad you still need it.”

She didn’t hesitate. She sank down in one slow, filthy glide—took every inch until he was buried to the hilt and her clit ground against his pelvis. They both groaned, the sound raw and punched-out.

She started to move.

Slow at first, rolling her hips, savoring the stretch, the way he filled her so perfectly it bordered on pain and pleasure at once but more pleasure as his godly cock filled her, it’s veins massaging her cunt insides. Her hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging in as she rose up until just the head remained inside, then slammed back down, taking him deep enough that her breath caught on a sob.

His head fell back, throat exposed, a guttural curse ripping from him as her pussy clenched around him in rhythmic pulses. His hands clamped on her hips hard enough to bruise, guiding her faster, harder, until the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room and her tits bounced wildly with every thrust.

“Fuck—look at you,” he snarled, sitting up to catch a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak until she cried out. “Riding my cock like you were made for it. Soaked, swollen, still fucking desperate after I wrecked you all night.”

She was. God, she was—pussy fluttering, thighs trembling, another orgasm already coiling low in her belly like a live wire.

She leaned forward, changed the angle until the head of his cock dragged over that spot inside her that made her see stars, and ground down hard, clit mashed against him. “Peter—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled, one hand sliding between them to rub tight, ruthless circles over her clit. “Come all over me again. Let me feel this perfect cunt milk me dry.”

That was all it took. She shattered—back arching, a raw, broken cry tearing from her throat as her pussy clamped down in long, milking spasms, gushing around him, soaking his balls and the sheets beneath.

He flipped them without pulling out, pinned her beneath him, and started fucking her through it—deep, punishing strokes that prolonged the orgasm until she was shaking and sobbing his name.

Morning light turned the sweat on their skin to gold.

And Peter didn’t stop.

He wasn’t even close to done with her.