Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 676

Chapter 676: Blood Bass and Bad Decisions

Ava never released my arm.

She dragged me through the parted sea of bodies like Moses with a hard-on, nails sunk so deep into my forearm I felt the blood bead and trickle warm down to my wrist.

Every step she took was a declaration: heels cracking marble, hips rolling slow and lethal, hair whipping behind her like a black battle standard soaked in enemy blood.

The strobes painted her in freeze-frames: tits straining mesh, nipples cutting diamonds, thighs flexing, ass bouncing just enough to make grown men whimper.

Then it hit Aber.

"OH MY GOD, YOU’RE HER!" Aber shrieked over the music, eyes wide, already half-drunk on something pink and glowing.

She grabbed Ava’s wrist, brave or stupid, I couldn’t tell, and yanked her toward the dance floor. "Girls’ circle. NOW. You’re dancing with us or we’re all dying of jealousy."

Melissa, Sina, and the petite Asian girl materialized out of the strobe fog like backup dancers from hell.

Four sets of manicured claws latched onto Ava’s arms, waist, hair. Ava shot me one arched brow equal parts amused and murderous, before letting them drag her away.

I watched her disappear into the crush of bodies, black dress flashing like a shark fin through neon water, hair whipping as the girls formed a tight, screaming circle around her.

Within seconds they had her in the dead center of the dance floor, phones up, bodies grinding, Aber already trying to twerk on Ava’s thigh like a golden retriever in heat.

Dex appeared at my elbow, pressing a black Solo cup into my hand. "Welcome to the real party officially, Beach King."

The cup was cold, bubbling, smelled like rocket fuel and cherry cough syrup. I downed it in one. Fire raced down my throat and exploded in my chest.

The bar had been set up in what used to be a dining room: thirty feet of black marble, LED strips pulsing blood-red, bartenders in nothing but gold body paint and thongs pouring shots straight into open mouths.

Colt waved me over, already shirtless and glazed in sweat, lining up tequila suicides on the bar top.

"Body shots, motherfucker!" he roared. "You’re the king, you pick the body!"

Some random brunette with fake lashes and real tits volunteered instantly, hopping onto the bar and lying back like a sacrifice. Salt on her neck, lime in her mouth, tequila pooled in her navel.

The crowd chanted my name as I leaned down, tongue dragging salt from her throat, shot the tequila straight from her skin, sucked the lime from her teeth while she moaned loud enough to cut through the bass.

Next round: beer pong on a table made of surfboards. Jaxon versus me. Loser strips. I wiped the floor with him in four turns. He lost his shorts.

Crowd lost its mind.

Then flip-cup. Then rage cage. Then some game involving ice cubes, blindfolds, and a girl screaming every time someone found her clit with their tongue.

I won that one too.

Every victory earned another shot, another roar, another phone in my face. The room spun in neon streaks. Girls kept trying to grind on me; I let them for exactly three seconds before moving on.

Ava was still in the middle of the dance floor, laughing like a demon queen while Aber and the others worshipped at her feet.

I slipped away.

Needed air. Needed space.

After hours of endless drinking and girls smearing their bodies onto me.

The mansion was a labyrinth of sin.

I wandered.

Pool room: green felt, cigar smoke, some tech bro getting a blowjob under the table while he tried to bank the eight ball.

Kitchen: marble island covered in coke lines thick as garden hoses, two girls making out on top of them, white dust on their tongues.

Theater room: projector playing porn on loop, moans synced to the bass, three couples fucking on recliners like it was Dolby surround sound.

Balcony: ocean wind hitting my face like cold water, couple arguing over whose turn it was to get pegged, girl already wearing the strap.

Every room pulsed with the same heartbeat: young, rich, stupid, alive.

I kept moving.

Upstairs hallway: red lights, locked doors, muffled screams of pleasure and pain.

Downstairs again: secret speakeasy behind a bookcase.

I leaned against a wall, cup refilled with something clear and lethal, watching the chaos swirl.

The party was perfect.

And I was already bored.

"KING!" he screamed mid-air, then hit the water like a bomb. When he surfaced he was holding a glowing butt plug like Excalibur. "WHO WANTS THE SCEPTER?"

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