Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 989: Before

Her gaze turned deadly. Those pupils had widened to the point where it seemed she'd shot up espresso blended with pure desire.

"You—" she began, her voice dropping so low it threatened to shatter the nearby wine glasses.

"Careful," I interrupted, shifting my tone into smooth steel-edged silk. "Whatever dirty remark you’re gearing up to throw at me, recall that I hold the keys to your network’s prime scoop. One quick call, and your empire suffers a publicity meltdown demanding two Advil plus a career advisor."

Naturally, she simply grinned at my playful jab... damn, she's adorable.

My eyes drifted downward with exclusive access. "Your nipples stand so rigid they're plotting a revolt against that dress, Sable. Does my presence provoke that reaction?"

She glanced down—instinctive move—then whipped her gaze back to mine, igniting a blush that exploded over her features like a flare struck beneath her cheekbones.

Her throat bobbed. The gulp echoed clearly.

That sort of gulp signaling raw hunger.

I closed the distance.

Near enough for our torsos to graze, forcing her to crane her neck upward as if I were the blazing sun and she a furious yet aroused bloom.

I bent close until my lips ghosted along her ear's outer edge—part caress, part heated mind game.

"I’m still taming you," I murmured, tracing my lips languidly over her earlobe to savor the violent tremble that struck her like a zap from Cupid's wicked sibling. "I won’t be hiding that anymore. So... be a good girl, Sable. And I’ll take you apart properly."

My palm shifted—claimed the sinful curve of her ass.

Pure felony: plump, abundant, perfectly rounded, taut enough to ping a coin yet yielding so my digits sank deep as if in debt.

The fabric clung like transparent wrap; each bit of plush flesh resisted my hold, pressing into my hand as if annoyed by my restraint.

I kneaded once—sensed the globe swell in my grasp, overflow through my fingers, then rebound firm as I relented teasingly.

Then I slapped it... a resounding, full-handed smack echoing off the glassy walls like a pistol shot in a boardroom.

The material hugged the struck spot tight, then quivered as the underlying flesh surged in thick, pornographic ripples—globe jiggling out before snapping back with a hypnotic quiver cascading along her hip and leg like a lingerie-clad seismic wave.

A sharp gasp escaped her—like I'd vacuumed the air and infused it with raw vice.

Her knees buckled slightly before she steadied, enraged at her traitor body for its unauthorized thrill so early despite minimal provocation.

Warmth flared right beneath my hand; the smart seeped through the cloth, evolving into that profound, pulsing heat she'd feign disgust for another forty-five seconds at least.

I gripped firmer—digits burying into the quaking softness, massaging the new heat in deliberate, lewd rotations. The muscle pulsed against my hold like her ass waged its own battle: tense, submit, resist, cycle.

Another throaty noise slipped from her—before she clamped it off like a betrayal.

Her fingers remained clamped on mine.

Never released.

Not amid my award-caliber moral speech, not during the ghost-kiss, not past the smack likely revising her professional profile to "Freshly Claimed."

That vise-like, quivering clasp shouted louder than any safe word.

I eyed the exit. Then her—crimson-faced, panting as if sprinting in heels, nipples launching an escape, ass throbbing beneath my touch with its private rhythm.

The desk where I'd already marked her territory once. Back to her—eyes fierce, challenging, pleading, vowing lawsuits simultaneously.

My ladies and a true deity awaited my return. A whole land poised to etch my name into its shared mind.

Yet Sable Rivera—Empress's own sister—here with diamond-hard nipples, a satellite-visible handprint glowing red under the dress, fingers fused to mine as if breaking every bone preferable to my departure unfinished.

Nope.

Not leaving now.

The ass speaks truth, as does that death-grip.

Nope.

Her digits clung to mine—knuckles blanched, trembling as if clutching her final dignity fragment while her body howled for more.

Her bosom heaved in ragged, frantic heaves; the creamy silk now vacuum-sealed, taut like a prop in a restraint flick.

Each breath tugged the cloth over those rigid, needy nipples—two little traitors thrusting forward as if furious at my delay in tasting them.

The vivid handprint I'd branded on her ass pulsed fiery under my palm—skin heated, buzzing, a flashing beacon declaring ownership.

She fidgeted constantly, thighs clenching to contain the slick throb and sneak it past security.

Cute. Pointless.

I crushed her hand tighter and yanked her close—deliberate, cruel, unavoidable—until her form slammed against me like a deliberate collision in slow motion.

Her spare hand slammed my chest, claws piercing my shirt as if burrowing inward to nest. Hot puffs of her breath grazed my neck—jasmine, perspiration, and that tangy, electric tang of soaked lust frying neurons.

No further speeches. No more taunts.

Match ended.