Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 755

Chapter 755: When Gods Dance

Lila finished her solo and stood in the center of the floor, breathing hard, glowing with that specific satisfaction that came from moving freely.

"You’re incredible," I said from the doorway.

She smiled, wiping sweat from her forehead. "I’m rusty. Haven’t danced like that in months. The agency kept me so controlled, so structured—I forgot what it felt like to just move."

"You’ll get it back. Your body remembers."

She nodded, then looked at me with something like curiosity.

"Do you dance?"

I pushed off the doorframe. "Yeah."

"Like... casually? Or actually dance?"

"Actually dance." I crossed to where she stood, bare feet silent on the sprung floor. "Ballet. Contemporary. Jazz. Hip-hop. Ballroom. I know most styles well enough to teach them."

Her eyes widened. "You’re joking."

"I don’t joke about dance. It’s art. I respect it."

She studied me for a long moment. Then smiled—that specific smile of someone who thought they’d found an opening.

"Prove it."

I laughed. "You want to dance with me?"

"I want to see if you’re full of shit or if you’re actually as good at everything as everyone says you are."

Fair challenge.

"Okay." I gestured to the space. "What style?"

"Ballet partnering," she said immediately. "If you know it, prove it. Most guys can barely do basic lifts without dropping their partners. Let’s see what you’ve got."

She was testing me. Expecting me to fumble, to be adequate but not exceptional, to be another rich guy who claimed skills he didn’t actually have.

She had no fucking idea what she was asking for.

"ARIA," I subvocalized. "Something classical. Slow build. Give me eight minutes."

"Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, Pas de Deux variation," ARIA replied instantly. "Perfect for showcasing technique and partnership. Cueing now."

Music filled the sanctuary. Soft at first—strings and woodwinds weaving together in that haunting melody that every dancer knew. The kind of music that made you want to move before you even decided to.

I offered my hand.

Lila took it, still skeptical, and let me guide her to first position.

Our feet aligned. Her right hand in my left, my right hand settling light on her waist. Professional hold. Respectful distance.

The music swelled.

And we began.

First Movement: The Test

I led her through basic steps first. Simple choreography—chassés, balancés, gentle turns. Testing her technique, letting her test mine.

She was good. Really fucking good. Her lines were clean, extensions perfect, balance impeccable even after months of forced inactivity. Muscle memory carrying her through movements she’d done ten thousand times.

But she was still testing me. Waiting for me to fuck up the timing, miss a cue, lead her wrong.

I didn’t.

Every step was precise. Every hand placement exactly where it needed to be—never gripping, never controlling, just there at the exact microsecond she needed support.

Every moment of contact calibrated to her body’s specific physics—her weight distribution, center of gravity, the heat of her cunt radiating through the thin fabric when my palm pressed low on her lower belly, the way her ass flexed under my fingers when I guided her hips.

We moved through a simple promenade, my hand steady at her waist as she extended into arabesque, leg rising behind her in a perfect line.

But as she reached what she thought was her maximum height, I applied the slightest upward pressure—not lifting, just suggesting—and her leg climbed another three inches while my thumb deliberately stroked the sensitive crease where thigh meets ass, teasing the edge of her leotard.

Her eyes widened. Her breath hitched and her pussy visibly clenched under the fabric.

That shouldn’t have been possible. She’d been dancing professionally for years. She knew her arabesque height.

Except I’d just shown her she’d been wrong.

We transitioned into a supported pirouette. My hands on her waist, lifting just enough to make the turn weightless. She spun—one rotation, two, three—and I was there at the end, catching her precisely, absorbing her momentum, my thumbs pressing firmly into the dip above her hip bones, right where her pelvis tilts forward when she’s aroused.

No wobble. No adjustment. Perfect.

But then I did something that made her breath catch and her nipples harden visibly through her leotard.

I caught her at the end, perfectly balanced, my cock now obviously hard against her lower belly, and she stared at me with something like fear and awe and raw, dripping hunger mixing together.

We flowed into a more complex pattern. Développé into attitude, my hand supporting her extended leg, holding her steady as she found her balance. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

I traced my fingers along the underside of her thigh—professional, clinical—feeling where her muscles were tense while deliberately dragging my knuckles over the damp gusset of her leotard, feeling how soaked she already was.

"You’re gripping here," I murmured, pressing lightly on her hamstring. "Release it. The support comes from your hip flexor and core, not your leg... and definitely not from clenching your pretty little cunt around nothing."

Second Movement: The Revelation

Pas de bourrée into lift prep. I felt her weight shift, knew the moment before she jumped, and my hands were already there—catching her waist, lifting her clean off the floor in a fish lift that elevated her horizontal, her back arched, arms extended like wings while my fingers dug into the meat of her ass, spreading her slightly through the leotard.

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