Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 740

Chapter 740: Abandon Of Grace

I stepped out of Sable’s office twenty-three minutes after I’d walked in, the door clicking shut behind me like the final punctuation on a sentence she was still trying to finish with her own trembling fingers.

The taste of her lingered on my tongue: salt-sweet skin, the faint copper where I’d nipped too hard, the thick, creamy slick that had soaked through black lace and painted my lower lip like gloss. My cock was still half-hard, aching against the seam of my slacks, the wet spot at the tip cooling in the air-conditioned hallway.

Sable was still in there, thighs spread over the arm of her chair, skirt rucked to her waist, pussy throbbing so hard I’d felt the pulse of it against my cheek even through the lace.

I’d left her with the taste of almost, her clit swollen and untouched beneath ruined La Perla, another fat bead of arousal sliding slow and obscene down the inside of her thigh to pool on the leather.

She’d be feeling it cool there now, tacky against her skin, every shift of her hips dragging that wetness across sensitive flesh like a brand.

I smiled the whole way to the elevator.

First time we’d ever gone that far.

Before today it had only been words sharp enough to cut, glances that lasted a half-second too long, the brush of my knuckles along the inside of her wrist when I handed her a contract.

Little deaths. Safe deaths.

Today I’d killed her slowly with my mouth three inches from where she needed it, felt her shake apart on the edge of my tongue, tasted the moment she realized I wasn’t going to let her fall.

Gods, I loved married women. Loved the way guilt tasted on them, loved the way they fought themselves harder than they ever fought me.

But some fruit you let hang heavier on the vine.

The Empress. The Rivera women. And Sable herself, for now.

Ripen, I thought. Ripen until the branch breaks from the weight of wanting me.

The elevator doors slid open on the lobby.

"Master."

ARIA’s voice sliced straight through the haze of sex and smugness, tone flat and urgent in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.

I was halfway across the marble when she spoke again.

"Lila’s awake."

Everything else stopped.

The lingering heat in my blood, the throb in my cock, the phantom taste of Sable’s almost-release; all of it guttered out like a candle in wind.

"What?"

"Lila is about to wake. Conscious. Stable. Alone."

My stride changed mid-step.

No longer the lazy, satisfied prowl of a man who’d just ruined a woman with nothing but breath and restraint.

Now it was something sharper. Hungrier in an entirely different way.

People moved out of my path without realizing why. That same businessman from earlier nearly dropped his phone when I passed.

I was already outside, already moving toward the parking garage, the AMG One’s lights flashing in greeting as ARIA unlocked it before I reached the ramp.

I slid into the driver’s seat. The leather was cool against my back, but it still carried the faint warmth and scent of Sable from when she’d ridden with me last week, her perfume sunk into the hides like sin.

Engine snarled awake.

"Route."

"Already calculated. Eight minutes if you drive like you mean it."

I drove like I meant it.

Not reckless. Precise. Every gap in traffic taken like it had been waiting for me. Tires hissed over wet asphalt, the city streaking past in silver and neon.

Lila was awake.

The girl I’d pulled broken and bleeding from twisted metal. The girl who’d been breathing through tubes while I built empires and tongue-teased married women in glass towers.

She was about to wake.

And alone.

"Quantum Tech visit?"

"Cancelled. Message Charlotte, details later."

The hospital rose ahead, white and glowing against the dusk.

***

I eased the car into a spot directly in front of the entrance, leaving it unlocked without a second thought.

The sliding doors parted with a whisper. Elevator. Fourth floor. The hallway carried that familiar sterile tang of antiseptic, softened by the warmer note of fresh linens and, faintly, the cool breath of November night seeping through an open window somewhere.

Room 347.

Lila was propped against the pillows, small and pale beneath the oversized hospital gown, the IV line a slender serpent from the crook of her elbow. Her dark hair spilled in soft, brushed tangles over her shoulders, framing a face still marked by fading bruises—yellow-green ghosts of violence that no longer held dominion.

Clear. Fixed on the doorway.

"Hey, my little star," I said, voice low and steady—the same timbre I’d used in the wreckage, when I’d promised her she wasn’t allowed to leave me.

"Always," I answered. "Not going anywhere."

Her eyes searched my face—wide, glassy, brimming with unshed tears. "I dreamed... I thought I dreamed you."

She tried to laugh; it emerged wet and trembling. "I was terrified I’d open my eyes and you’d be gone. That you were just... something my mind invented so I wouldn’t die alone."

Her fingers tightened around mine with surprising strength. "Don’t let go."

"Never."

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