Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 1096

Chapter 1096: Heaven in Eternal Residence (r-18)

Anastasia laughed breathlessly before she wicked and I could tell she was already plotting how she’d make me pay later—and that sound shattered the final filament of restraint I’d been pretending still existed.

I spun her body once more and put her front against the cool obsidian-and-gilt curve of the island so I could chart every obscene contour of her like freshly claimed dominion I had zero intention of relinquishing.

The heavy raging insistence of my cock pressed between us, wedged tight against the sublime swell of her rear like a weapon demanding war, yet I disregarded it entirely like it was not arching to enter her.

This morning existed to imprint upon her—and upon me—precisely who commanded every arc, every desperate tremor, every unrestrained and cock-hungry utterance about to tumble from her lips.

Because I do not hurry when I came to my women but I sure as hell composes symphonies of raw, depraved sensation that leave their bodies ruined in pleasure only I could give and their souls begging for more even though their bodies can’t take anymore.

I kissed the nape of her neck.

My teeth brushed first in a languid, taunting graze that coaxed her spine into a profound arch, her back bowing like she was presenting herself for the taking... I instead her clamped down—firm enough to etch a pale crescent, not yet deep enough to bloom into lasting color and my Touch did all the rest.

She exhaled a sharp fractured moan "Ah—!", the note ringing pure and unfiltered against the vaulted walls, her full, heavy tits mashing harder into the unyielding surface.

I swept my tongue across the imprint I had just made, mollifying, before driving my teeth deeper, drawing until the flesh darkened beneath my mouth into a savage, claiming bruise. A sovereign imprint unfurling precisely where her hair would veil it from the cosmos, yet never from my gaze.

"Fuck, Haaah," she exhaled, driving backward into me with shameless greed, mashing those fat, pendulous breasts even harder against the cold stone until they flattened and spilled outward like ripe fruit begging to be mauled.

I smiled into her skin. Precisely. Celestials like I was becoming, after all, never petition for leave.

My mouth descended, voracious and open, traversing the elegant incline of one shoulder.

I made a swift, incisive pinch at the juncture—playful and tender to remind her of my unending love for her before I transitioned into an elongated, ravenous clamp along the sinew, incisors embedding with measured deliberation until she released a deeper, resonant moan that reverberated through her entire frame that was shaking in pleasure—

"Mmm—fuck, Peter—!" My palms refused idleness even for once... there was so much how I had to pleasure her, while one remained locked upon her breast, compressing the lavish, pendulous mass until it bulged obscenely between my fingers, thumb circling the taut, aching peak until it stiffened impossibly further into a stiff, begging nub, my other hand coated with Touch ventured southward to that scandalous ass.

I seized one entire hemisphere, digits burrowing profoundly into the plush of the firm supple ass of my Russian woman, it’s jiggling meat, parting those fat cheeks just sufficiently to sense the fervent, dripping warmth radiating outward.

I landed a crisp, stinging swat that sent the plush firm flesh into a mesmerizing quiver, the ripple cascading upward through the robust, thick columns of her thighs like waves of pure, filthy invitation.

Another moan. Deeper. More ravenous. "Nngh—harder, my King—!"

I only advanced along her back, pressing open-mouthed devotions down the regal meridian of her spine as though it had been engineered solely as a thoroughfare for my tongue and teeth.

At the hollow above her ass I halted, then clamped—abrupt, ferocious, incisors locking onto the yielding, soft flesh until it yielded like butter under the pleasure of my hands.

She convulsed, a fractured whimper escaping—"Ahh—yes, mark me—!"—that arrowed directly into my core and made my cock twitch with dark approval.

I drew the mark inward, tongue spiraling over the deep indentations my teeth had carved, then pacified it with unhurried, humid caresses before biting anew in the identical locus, fiercer, staking absolute dominion with a wet, obscene suck that left her skin blooming purple from rawness yet the pleasure was so good for her.

I danced lower still.

Her ass constituted an absolute paragon of two immaculate, fat orbs of pale, resilient opulence that would drive lesser men to compose prayers and compel gods like me to annihilate them at dawn with nothing but teeth and palms.

She ground backward into my face with rapacious hunger, a guttural, yearning moan ripping free from her depths—"Oh god—bite it, fuck—!"

I delivered a sharper slap to the opposing cheek—the resounding snap reverberating through the chamber like a whipcrack—observing the flush spread and the heavy flesh rebound and wobble like the perfect before I bit there as well, cycling through variations: a tender graze that elicited violent shudders and a breathy "Mmm—!", a voracious draw that extracted a gasping "Fuuuck—yes—!", a fleeting nip, a profound claiming vise that imprinted my dental signature perfectly and summoned a quavering, obscene whimper of pure, broken need.

A tremulous chuckle that dissolved into a needy "More—please, more—!" as she quivered beneath my sovereignty, her entire body a canvas of quaking, marked-up depravity.

I traced my tongue along the furrow where ass met thigh, then nipped the delicate, hypersensitive terrain there—incisive and unforeseen—before progressing to the posterior aspects of her thighs.

I kissed upward along one, then raked my teeth downward the other, forging a procession of diverse clamps: delicate scrapes that provoked full-body shudders and muted, whimpering moans, firmer pinches that triggered hip spasms and sharp cries of "Yes—fuck, again—!"

One extended, drawing suction upon the inner slope of her left thigh that I knew would flower into a vivid, unmistakable contusion by Paris, wrenching a whole-body convulsion and a shattered, resonant moan from the depths of her chest—"Ahhh—Peter—!"

Her legs quivered now like they’d been turned to jelly.

I for one understood precisely how to reduce a woman to a trembling, dripping mess without so much as grazing the sanctum between her legs.