Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 960: Bathroom and Fantasies (r-18)

We burst into the bathroom as if we were escapees who'd come to a halt at last—the door slamming closed with that luxurious thud upscale spots adore, the noise bouncing off the marble surfaces like a gunshot at the start.

Golden fittings shone brightly beneath the harsh fluorescent lights; mirrors reflected our images from all sides—her lipstick smeared, my shirt partially unbuttoned, the pair of us panting as though we'd dashed all the way.

I'd purchased this property for Celeste, yet now I was inaugurating its initial intimate encounter with a lustful unknown whose desire to fuck me equaled my urge to pound her without mercy.

The distant thump of bass from the gathering beyond seeped through the walls, underscoring just how fragile the divide truly was

She wasted no time taking in the surroundings.

She propelled me rearward until my backside collided with the extended marble vanity—

Next, she pressed against me—pressing close, one palm cupping my erection through the cloth, digits wrapping possessively around the robust shape of the length plus full sack as if marking territory.

"Holy hell," she whispered hoarsely, tone breaking. "How damn huge are you?"

She gripped tighter—gauging mass, thickness—then drew in a quick, unintended gasp, her stare locking onto mine. "Do you know what I adore most about men's restrooms during moments like this?

I chuckled deeply, shadowy, slipping both palms around her midsection and tugging her snug against my body. One limb secured across her rear, holding her firm—she wouldn't escape even if she wanted. I brought my lips to her ear, brushing the flesh.

"Fibber! Those are merely sordid men's-room daydreams you've frictioned yourself sore over," I whispered, "they've remained tucked away in your mind, correct? Never truly parted your thighs over a communal commode with your spouse enjoying bubbly just paces distant."

She emitted a brief, irritated noise—part chuckle, part moan—then angled her head upward, gaze sparkling with peril.

"You're correct," she admitted, devoid of embarrassment, pure passion. "Then... damn well turn them into reality. Immediately. Before courage falters."

Further talk proved unnecessary when she yearned so intensely for my member inside her core, right?

I clenched my hold, hoisted her entirely from the ground—her thighs clamped around my hips reflexively, shoe tips pressing into my rear. I transported her those short strides to the biggest compartment (accessible, broader, heightened peril

I slammed it closed after us.

She reached for the latch, digits trembling.

I seized her arm—firmly—prior to her turning it.

"No," I stated, tone soft, definitive, laced with authority.

She stiffened. Utterly.

Her eyes fell to the plain platinum circle on her fourth finger—unpretentious, the sort overlooked after ages of wear.

Until this instant.

The reflection from the mirror highlighted it, and abruptly that band shrieked more than our voices.

She gazed at it. Prolonged. Leisurely flutter of lids. Then—purposeful, nearly ritualistic—she dropped her palm. Moved away slightly to settle on the shut toilet seat. Thighs spread beneath the raised skirt—dark lace panties evidently drenched, adhering vulgarly to her puffy folds.

She glanced upward at me as if challenging me to recoil.

I refrained.

She assaulted my buckle—wrenched it apart, snapped the fastener, tore the zip. Absent undergarments below; my shaft leaped out—weighty, ridged, already dripping from the tip, substantial enough that it scarcely bobbed before steadying.

She gawked as though it had offended her directly. "You lack boxers.

"A certain individual mentioned," I remarked offhandedly with a lift of shoulders, "

She paid no heed. Her focus fixed on my erection—broad, wild, enraged, ravenous. As if it had slighted her by existing so tangibly, so girthy, so primed to destroy her.

Then she lunged.

No playfulness, no gentle laps, no staged deliberation.

She enclosed her mouth over the engorged crown and drew—firmly

Her aggressive tongue pressed savagely along the bottom, hauling deliberate and coarse as her cheeks caved in so intensely the pull resonated in my very core.

She drove onward—far too swiftly—choking damply around the width, gullet spasming, sight blurring promptly—but she declined to retreat.

Mmm, she's skilled at oral.

Saliva surged in her oral cavity right away, overflowing her mouth, trickling in heavy strands along her jaw, onto the upper swells of her chest, spotting the stone amid us.

She withdrew merely enough to expectorate sloppily onto the tip—once, twice—then dove back in, further, drawing more intensely, tongue whirling messy, urgent loops while her tautened mouth paled at the rims.

Each instance she reached the limit, she produced this deep, irate, humming groan that pierced directly into my testicles.

Her unoccupied palm thrust between her legs—skirt gathered at her waist, digits vanishing beneath sodden mesh—and she commenced circling her nub in compact, wrathful rotations, pelvis twitching, moist noises echoing in the enclosure louder than her gurgles.

She was damn enraged. Toward the phallus in her jaws. Toward me. Toward her partner for lacking anything comparable.

Toward the sensation of at last gagging on the reverie she'd harbored as a shameful hidden truth for ages.

She unleashed it all upon me—gobbling vulgarly, choking intentionally, drool streaming in paths down her throat, drenching the bodice of her outfit, pattering onto the tiles in small damp spots.

Her sparkled with each vehement stroke of her grip around the portion she couldn't engulf.

The forbidden energy intensified the more her banded digit manipulated me—her gullet easing impossibly, accepting extra length, then more, till her nostrils pressed to my groin and she was wailing surrounding me, tears flowing, makeup beginning to streak.

I wove digits through her locks—not compelling, merely steadying—permitting her ferocious rhythm as her oral efforts waged a battle she'd long since yielded. Each retch, each sodden strangle, each urgent rub of her fingers on her sensitive spot amplified the vice vibration, looping back to her, rendering her damper, more voracious, wilder.

She never averted her gaze. Stare fixed on mine—wrathful, beseeching, possessed—as the band on her finger gleamed with every messy, saliva-drenched motion.

She persisted. So did I.