Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 996: Vanessa’s First (r-18)

Hardly had the door clicked closed when Vanessa collided with me, her lips parted and ravenous, tongue diving deep as though she'd been starving for oxygen over two long years with me as her last gasp of life.

Fuck.

Not those gentle pecks from the car.

Not the hesitant, may-I-please, opening-line smooches that felt like approval given word by careful word.

These were the follow-up kisses—the kind that exploded once a woman had chosen and her body raged at her mind for the delay.

Her palms gripped my cheeks. Both hands. Nails scraping my jawline as if she'd rip me apart should I dare retreat.

Her lips stayed wide, slick, voracious—frantic not as an act but from sheer, bursting starvation. Two years without touch flooded out via her mouth, her tongue, the tiny, broken, beastly moans she couldn't hold back against my teeth.

I savored her ancient isolation on my tongue, the sharp sweet tang of raw desire, sensed her tongue quivering as it pursued mine like she aimed to burrow into me via my mouth.

Guiding her backward step by step. Controlled. Firm grasp on her hips, navigating her past a penthouse she ignored. The vista, the sunset glow over marble floors—irrelevant.

All that mattered was my lips sealing hers and our arrival in a locked space with a bed and zero disturbances.

Her legs buckled against the bed edge. She sank down. Gazed upward.

Gods—how she gazed up at me.

Face blazing red. Mouth puffy, glossy, stung like a bee's kiss. Locks tousled from the drive, clinging to her sweaty neck. Eyes huge, shadowed, shimmering with terror and craving plus something raw, true, innocent amid the thick lust.

I want to ruin her... I want to corrupt her so perfectly!

She resembled a woman who'd fantasized this edge for years—petrified yet leaping regardless.

"Hi," she breathed.

"Hi."

"I’m nervous."

"I know."

"It’s been—"

"Years. I know."

I sank to my knees before her. Set palms on her knees—soft push, steadying her. Gazed up on purpose, since Vanessa had looked up at belittling figures for decades, and now I craved her seeing someone kneel by choice.

"You won’t mess this up," I assured her. "Your body knows how. It showed in the car, soaking your jeans from just my fingers on your thigh."

Her inhale stuttered—ragged, near a cry.

"I’ll handle you right," I promised. "Bit by bit. Completely. And if you ever want to halt—"

"Peter." Her palms cradled my face once more—intense, loving. Thumbs tracing my cheekbones as if I were priceless. "I’ve been halted for years. I don’t want to halt.

That rawness. That cost.

Like it drained her final shreds of pride... I adored it... adored how she opened to me eternally!

To become my woman since she grasped that after this... she’d belong to me and Rory would be my daughter.

I needed nothing else—just claim her now!

I stood. Brushed my lips to her brow—tender. Then her mouth—lingering, worshipful.

My fingers hooked her shirt's edge.

"Arms up, honey."

She raised them—shaking like total submission.

I tugged the cloth up bit by teasing bit, letting it graze her skin, then dropped it in a quiet pile.

There she perched in just her simple black bra, arms crossing over her plush, curved belly—the spot she loathed most, that soft bulge from carrying Rory that never fully receded. Stretch marks shimmered silver in dim light, subtle tiger stripes fanning from her belly button like fine bolt scars.

I seized her wrists soft but sure, lowered her arms till they dangled limp at her sides.

Her jaw tightened, eyes misting.

I knelt between her spread legs, leaned down, planted my open mouth on the first silver streak across her belly—gentle, holy, sampling her faint salty skin.

Then the next.

Then deeper, lips trailing over the warm, yielding skin under her navel, tongue following each subtle line like sacred text. Her belly twitched beneath my lips.

Her breath caught in a jagged gasp, fingers weaving unsteadily into my hair, clutching as if release meant shattering.

I whispered into her abdomen, words humming into her depths.

"They’re not—"

"They’re signs you created life." I kissed another—firmer, sucking till a red spot bloomed under the silver. "And I’ll revere and possess every damn one."

She uttered a noise—half chuckle, half sob, something torn wide and glowing.

I reached back. Fingers hit the hook.

One snap.

The bra slackened.

I eased straps off her shoulders—deliberate—eyeing the lace slide over her breast tops before it tumbled free.

They tumbled out—weighty, lush, perfectly ripened. No youthful bounce; these were a mature woman's, mellowed by years and birth, shifting softly with each labored breath.

Pale skin pulled tight over ample shapes, pale blue veins mapping secret paths underneath like veiled bolts.

They dangled with real, pendulous heft, bottoms plush and yielding, grazing her rib tops on outbreaths.

Her nipples—protruding as if pleading. Broad areolas wrinkled into firm, folded circles, rosy deeper at rims, tightened so taut they seemed sore.

Each thick bud pulsed outright—in sync with her pounding heart—shiny from arousal sweat dotting the peaks and dripping down the bumpy surface in lazy, gleaming paths.

The tips glistened wet, as though her form wept desire from everywhere.

I leaned close. Puffed cool breath over one engorged peak.

She whimpered—piercing, powerless.

I took the nipple between lips—light first—then drew strong, tongue whipping the stiff end as my hand supported the full base, squeezing the pliant flesh till it spilled past my fingers.

Stretch marks lower on her breasts—thinner silver lines—sparkled in light as I trailed my mouth over them too, pressing kisses, laps, nips to mark faint red moons.

Her back curved. Hips bucked ahead on instinct. New flood of wetness drenched her panties— sugary and earthy, gathering under her core... the enticing aroma of approaching ruin.

"Every mark," I snarled into her breast, teeth skimming the areola. "Every scar. Every yielding spot. Mine to adore now."

My own cock twitched fiercely in my trousers merely from the sight—years ignored yet this eager, already leaking pre-cum at the head from my gaze alone.

My palms seized them anew—overflowing, digits burying in supple, giving tissue.

She gasped—keen, near painful, since mere touch after ages burned like flame and balm together. I hefted them easy, thumbs gliding the hyper-sensitive underfold, then traced those shadowed, throbbing tips with lazy, taunting swirls.

I kissed the top curve of her left breast.

Then the right.

Then licked that sensitive under-rim—scorching, slick, tasting brine and flesh and that potent grown-woman aroma swelling: sultry musk, light soap, overripe fruit sun-steeped.

Her spine arched sharp, thrusting those full tits firmer into my mouth.

I engulfed her left nipple. Firm, languid pull. Tongue circling the engorged bud, sensing it swell further on my tongue, the rough texture scraping my tastebuds.