Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 819

Chapter 819: Sabrina’s Yearn and Desperation

The Torres estate was silent—unnaturally so, as though the house itself were holding its breath.

Antonio had been gone three days. Another "development deal" in Singapore after he’d managed the Six Towers Deal. Another trip requiring his personal attention. Sabrina hadn’t asked for details. She hadn’t asked anything meaningful in years. The questions had dried up around the same time the pretense of ignorance became too exhausting to maintain.

Madison was at Peter’s estate. Again. Her daughter drifted home only long enough to keep the fiction of residency alive. The rest of the time she belonged to that sprawling property on the hills—and to him.

The emptiness pressed in. Vast rooms echoed with absence. The silence wasn’t peaceful; it was thick, expectant, almost predatory.

Sabrina lay across the king bed that had long since become hers alone. The silk sheets slid cool and slippery against her bare thighs. The air conditioning droned its indifferent lullaby. Beyond the towering glass walls, Los Angeles shimmered—jewels scattered across black velvet, remote and uncaring.

She was wearing the black La Perla set she hadn’t touched in eighteen months. Not for Antonio, who no longer noticed what she wore to bed. Not for any clandestine affair—Sabrina Reynolds Torres did not have affairs.

She was faithful. Dutiful.

The wife who smiled at charity galas while her marriage quietly flatlined.

She wore it for herself tonight.

Because the lace cupped her breasts with deliberate cruelty, because the straps bit gently into her shoulders, because the thong rode high and tight and reminded every nerve ending that she still possessed a body capable of hunger.

Forty-three.

Still firm in the places that mattered. Still curved in ways that drew eyes across restaurants and boardrooms. Still alive with want that had nowhere to go.

Her phone lit the darkness.

Patricia.

"It’s done. Sending now. You owe me big, Sabrina. Had to practically blackmail the others to let me even hit record."

Fingers unsteady, she replied.

"Thank you. I know I’ve been... persistent."

A beat. Then:

"’Persistent’? Babe you’ve been feral for three weeks. ’Just a clip, Patricia. Just to see.’ We both know this isn’t about curiosity anymore."

Sabrina let the screen go dark. No denial rose in her throat. Patricia was correct. This had passed curiosity weeks ago.

It had begun innocently enough—at the wellness center.

Victoria, Anya, Ortega: months of glowing testimonials. "Eros is life-changing."

"You have to book with him, Sabrina."

"He just... gets it out of you." They returned from sessions flushed, loose-limbed, radiating a satisfaction too visceral for yoga flows or Pilates reformers.

Sabrina wasn’t naïve.

She understood exactly what "transformative" meant in that context.

She should have been outraged. Scandalized. Instead she felt a low, dangerous curiosity uncoiling in her belly.

Then she met him.

Eros.

He’d been... attentive. Charming. Looking at her with those eyes that seemed to see right through her designer workout clothes to the neglected woman beneath.

Tall. Deliberate. Eyes that stripped away Lululemon and Spanx and years of practiced composure in a single glance. His corrections during their session were textbook professional—hands on her hips to square them, palm between her shoulder blades to deepen the stretch—yet every touch landed like a spark on dry grass. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

And the teasing.

Soft. Deniable. A murmured "You’re holding so much tension here..." as fingertips ghosted the small of her back. A slow smile when color flooded her cheeks. The velvet suggestion: "I could help you let it all go, Sabrina. If you ever decide you want that."

She’d practically run from the studio.

Cold shower. Stern internal lecture. She was married. A mother. Madison’s mother.

But the dreams arrived that same night.

His hands. His weight. His voice unraveling her in the dark. She woke throbbing, sheets twisted, shame warring with the sharp, sweet ache between her thighs.

Had teased Patricia too. Not overtly. Nothing she could point to and call inappropriate. Just... comments. Glances. The way he’d leaned close to murmur corrections, his breath warm against her ear. The way he’d smiled when she blushed.

Peter Carter.

Anomalies.

The same slow, predatory roll of hips that screamed raw sexual confidence, the same powerful stride that made her core clench and her breath hitch as if he were already walking toward her to claim her.

Coincidence, she’d told herself. Lots of confident men moved the same way. Spoke the same way. Looked at women the same way.

The way both men seemed to fill whatever room they occupied, making everyone else fade into background noise. The thick, intoxicating aura of dominant masculinity—broad shoulders straining fabric, the faint outline of a heavy cock against tailored trousers, the kind of body built to pin a woman down and fuck her senseless until she begged.

Her clit throbbing insistently against the lace of her panties, slick arousal soaking through the fabric, breasts swollen and tender, every nerve screaming for rough hands, a bruising grip, a thick cock stretching her open after years of neglect.

And the dreams...

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