Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 631

Chapter 631: Owning the Day

Hours Ago....

"You’re... so beautiful..." Her voice cracked, eyes glassy, tears spilling down her cheeks, salty on her lips, breath hitching.

"My baby... my man... how did you get so... perfect..."

I smiled, slow, warm, no teasing now, voice soft, warm. "So are you."

She blushed deeper, eyes flicking back to my face, then down again, unable to stop, gaze lingering on the bulge, lips parting, tongue darting out to wet them, tears glistening. "I... I shouldn’t... but I can’t..."

"Look all you want," I said, voice soft, hands sliding up her thighs, thumbs brushing the crease where leg met hip, feeling her tremor, the wetness seeping from her pussy, scent rising—sweet, musky, hers. "I’m yours, Mom!" 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

She reached out, hesitant, fingers brushing my chest, tracing a scratch, nails light, shivering, feeling the heat, the pulse under my skin, tears dripping onto my chest.

"You’re... perfect..." Her voice cracked, eyes glassy, tears threatening, fingers trembling as they traced the bite marks, the bruises, lingering on the V of my hips, thumbs brushing the sweatpants. "My baby... how did you get so... beautiful..."

"You," I said, simple, true, voice warm, thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. "You made me; raised me to become this."

She smiled, shy, sweet, tears spilling, leaning in to kiss my collarbone, soft, reverent, tongue flicking a water droplet, tasting salt, me, her, tears mixing with sweat. "Eat with me," I said, voice gentle, no teasing. "Just breakfast. Like always. But better."

She nodded, shy, reaching for a pancake, tearing it in half, feeding me a piece with trembling fingers, syrup dripping on my lip, sticky, sweet, warm.

She leaned in, kissed it away, slow, sweet, tongue shy, tasting butter, sugar, me, lingering, soft, warm, tears dripping onto my chest.

"Like when you were little," she whispered, voice cracking, feeding me bacon, eggs, coffee from her mug, our fingers brushing, eyes locked, shy smiles, soft laughs, tears glistening in her eyes, scent of milk, syrup, her rising. "Only... not."

I smiled, chewing, thumb brushing a tear from her cheek, feeling the warmth, the salt, the love, the pulse under my fingers. "Better than little."

She fed me slowly, eyes never leaving my face, my body, drinking me in like wine, fingers lingering on my lips, wiping syrup, sucking it off her thumb with a shy giggle, eyes flicking to my bulge again, cheeks burning, tears dripping.

"You’re... too much," she murmured, voice soft, awed, breath hitching, tears glistening. "Too beautiful... too mine..."

I kissed her forehead, slow, warm, lingering, feeling the tremor in her skin, the love in her breath, the pulse under my lips. "Always yours."

No words about the shower. No need.

Just Mom. Just me. Just breakfast.

And the taste of milk, syrup, her—lingering on my tongue, in my soul, forever.

**

The sun had crawled across the sky like a lazy god, bleeding gold into orange, then violet, then black.

We’d started in the kitchen. Morning light spilling through windows, the smell of pancakes and bacon filling the air, Linda standing at the stove in nothing but one of my old t-shirts.

She’d made breakfast with trembling hands, kept looking at me like she couldn’t believe I was real—scratches down my back, bruises on my hips, the evidence of what we’d done written across my skin.

I sat on the counter, bare-chested, watching her cook. When she brought the plate over, she didn’t give it to me—she fed me. Fork to my lips, syrup dripping, her eyes tracking every movement of my jaw, my throat, my tongue.

She blushed crimson when I pulled her close and kissed her, tasting butter and maple and her.

"You’re beautiful," I’d said.

She’d cried. Actually cried. Standing there in my kitchen in nothing but a t-shirt, tears running down her face because I called her beautiful.

The counter had become sticky with syrup and milk by the time we finished. Her t-shirt rode up when she leaned against me, and I felt her—warm, bare, still wet from earlier. She stayed there, curled in my lap, head on my shoulder, breathing me in like I was oxygen.

That’s when I told her about the harem.

She’d frozen. Gone completely still except for her fingers clutching my chest.

She trembled against me, pussy getting wet on my thigh, and I kissed her breast—slow, reverent, tongue finding the nipple that was still leaking. The milk was warm and sweet and hers, and she moaned, fingers in my hair, pulling me closer.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify