Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 680

Chapter 680: Keys and Hips, Lace and Sin

I nodded to her lies. Didn’t push.

She tilted her head. "Your turn. Why’s the Beach King sneaking into locked rooms instead of drowning in bikini girls?"

"Because bikini girls are easy," I said. "And easy gets boring. I was looking for hard. Found impossible."

Her flush deepened. She shivered, thighs clenching.

"You’re doing it again," she murmured. "That thing. I feel... drunk on you."

"Side effect," I said. "You’re just potent..."

She stood. Robe fell open completely: lace, skin, bruises, moonlight.

"Okay, play. And you better not disgrace my moves with some lame-ass ’Chopsticks,’" she said finally.

I laughed. "The honor is all mine, Your Grace. I’ll try not to embarrass you."

She walked to the center of the room. Dropped the robe.

Stood in nothing but white lace and moonlight.

"Play, Beach King."

I turned to the keys.

And began.

I didn’t touch the sheet music. I didn’t breathe for the first bar.

My fingers slammed the keys like I was claiming her soul.

A low, F minor exploded: thick as blood, dark as cum, vibrating through the piano’s ribs, through the carpet, through the marrow of her bones.

The left hand pounded a heartbeat bass: BOOM... BOOM... BOOM, syncing with the muffled throb from downstairs, with the wet thud of her pulse in her throat, with the slick pulse between her thighs.

The right hand slithered a melody: seductive, obscene, primal, curling like hot breath around her ankles, her calves, her dripping cunt.

Lila’s eyes slammed shut. Her inhale was a gasp: sharp, greedy, audible, sucking the jasmine-bourbon air like it was my tongue.

And she detonated.

One step. Bare feet sank into the snow-white carpet: plush, warm, swallowing her arches. Hips rolled slow, lewd, a liquid figure-eight that made the lace thong cut into her hips, splitting her swollen lips, the wet spot dark and spreading like spilled ink.

She raised her arms overhead, fingers spidering through the air, nails glinting, and her spine arched: a bow drawn for war, tits thrusting high, lace bra screaming, nipples diamond-hard and begging through the fabric, poking shadows that danced across the ceiling.

The bruises on her ribs flared in the lamplight: handprints, bite marks, belt buckles: each one a pulse, a throb, a wet slap in the symphony of her pain.

I dragged the tempo lower, dirtier. Added a minor ninth that hung like a tongue on her clit, buzzing in her teeth. She dropped: thighs splaying wide, ass brushing the carpet, lace thong snapping tight, splitting her lips, the wet sound of fabric on slick skin audible over the piano.

Then she rose: one fluid wave, hair whipping, blonde silk lashing the bruises on her lower back, ends kissing the dimples above her ass like filthy prayers, tickling the sweat beading there.

Moonlight poured through the glass wall, licking her skin in silver tongues, glinting off the diamond belly ring, sparkling in the sweat rolling between her tits.

The piano growled: low, starving, vibrating the bench under my thighs, buzzing through my balls. She prowled closer: three steps, four, hips painting slow, pornographic circles, the scent of her flooding the air: jasmine, sweat, bourbon, need, thick enough to taste on my tongue.

Closer.

Just hovered... inches from my cock, pulse thundering in her throat, bruises flaring with every breath, sweat beading on her upper lip.

I shifted to a blues lick; low, grinding, relentless, vibrating the bench. She rode the air above my lap: slow, deep, controlled, hips rolling like she was fucking me through my pants.

Her tits bounced with every roll, bra fully down, nipples brushing my chest, hard, wet, electric.

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