Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 697

Chapter 697: Tempting My Aunt into Sin

The balcony air tasted like jasmine and smog, thick enough to lick off the back of your tongue. Los Angeles glittered below us, a million lights winking like voyeurs, but up here the only show was the one unfolding between us.

The railing was cool under Jasmine’s palms, the city breeze teasing the hem of her dress, but nothing cooled the heat rolling off her skin.

She’d dared me. Now the dare was daring her back.

I stepped in until the space between us was nothing but breath and heat. My voice dropped into the Whisper of Sin—low, velvet, impossible to ignore.

"I can already imagine my hand sliding under that dress... right now... while the city watches your nephew finger-fuck his own aunt’s greedy cunt."

The words sank into her like molten sin, spreading slow and thick. The Forbidden Appeal turned the very wrongness of it into a drug—the public exposure, the age gap, the family tie twisting every nerve into a live wire.

Her breath caught—sharp, audible, the kind of hitch that happens when a body remembers what it wants before the mind can veto. Her knees softened. Her hand clutching the railing slid down the metal, fingers curling like she needed something to hold onto that wasn’t me.

Yet.

I didn’t touch her. Not with hands. I let the Lust Presence do it. The invisible weight that pressed against her skin, her throat, the inside of her thighs. The kind of pressure that made her feel claimed before a single finger had grazed her. Her nipples tightened under silk, two hard points begging for attention she hadn’t asked for yet.

A tremor ran through her hips, subtle, but I saw it—the way her thighs pressed together, the way her lower lip caught between her teeth.

She was soaked. I could smell it. Sweet, sharp, unmistakable. The scent of a woman who’d just realized how close she was to the edge.

The Bloodline Tension made it worse—better—every heartbeat screaming nephew while her body screamed take me, you filthy little bastard.

"Peter—" Her voice cracked on my name. Not a warning. A confession.

I leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, breath hot against the sensitive skin there. "You’re dripping for your nephew, Jasmine. Say it. Say you’re a dirty fucking aunt who wants her sister’s son to ruin her cunt, to stretch her out and fill her with family seed." 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

The words hung between us like smoke. She swallowed. Once. Twice. Then, soft as a prayer in a church she’d already set on fire:

"I’m a dirty fucking aunt who wants her sister’s son to ruin my cunt... to stretch me out and fill me with family seed."

The admission broke her open. The Bloodline Tension flared—her pulse hammering at the hollow of her throat, the word nephew echoing in her blood like a drumbeat.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her body swayed toward me like gravity had flipped. I caught her wrist—Touch of Taboo—and the contact lit her up like a match struck on skin.

A full-body shudder rolled through her, starting at the point where my thumb pressed against her pulse and racing down her arm, across her chest, pooling low in her belly. Her breath came in shallow, desperate pants.

Her free hand flew to her throat, fingers pressing against the frantic beat there, as if she could slow it down, as if she could stop what was already in motion.

She couldn’t.

I just rested my hand there, palm flat against the tops of her thighs, heat bleeding through fabric. Her hips jerked forward, seeking more, chasing friction she hadn’t earned. The Forbidden Appeal made every second of denial feel like a caress.

Her eyes snapped open—dark, glassy, wrecked. "Please—"

Her hand came up, fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer. Her mouth found my jaw, my throat, open-mouthed kisses that were more breath than contact, like she was trying to taste the air around me.

I let her tongue trace the line of my collarbone. Let her teeth scrape the skin just above my pulse. Let her body press flush against mine, the hard length of me trapped between us, throbbing against her stomach.

She gasped when she felt it—really felt it—and ground her clothed pussy against me instinctively, a slow, rolling motion that made her dress ride higher, made the wet silk of her panties drag against my jeans. The Bloodline Tension made her grind harder—nephew, nephew, nephew—each roll of her hips a confession she couldn’t take back.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify