Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 884

Chapter 884: Sinful Big Sister (r-18)

Peter caught her wrists mid-motion. Gentle. Inexorable. He guided them back down to the sheets—slowly, so slowly—thumbs stroking endless, burning circles over the frantic flutter of her pulse points until fresh sparks raced straight to her core.

"Stay," he murmured, voice gravel and sin. "Let me see you break for me... inch by inch, Big Sister."

Her lip caught viciously between her teeth. Eyes squeezed shut—then fluttered open again—wide, glassy, drowning. The flush spread in a slow, humiliating tide: throat, chest, the very tops of her breasts turning the same deep, embarrassed crimson as her cheeks.

A tiny, fractured "Please... brother..." leaked out—barely sound, more air than voice, cracked by mortification.

She was shivering violently now realizing how scandalous and taboo this was. Every breath came in shallow, uneven hitches.

Nipples throbbed under the cool air and his gaze.

Between her thighs, heat pooled thicker, wetter—soaking the cotton she still wore, the dampness spreading visibly, obscenely.

Only then—only then—did he finally push the fabric the rest of the way. One torturous centimeter at a time. The shirt slid over the stiff peaks—dragging across them with agonizing friction—before he peeled it up her arms, past her shoulders, over her head.

It caught briefly in her hair; he took his time untangling it, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin behind her ears, along her neck, making her whimper again—soft, broken, humiliated.

The shirt finally slipped free. Fell somewhere behind them. Forgotten.

She lay bare from the waist up—completely exposed—arms instinctively trying to curl inward again. Peter caught her wrists once more.

"Open for me," he rasped. "Show me everything."

She obeyed—shaking so hard the bed trembled with her. Fists clenched white-knuckled in the sheets. Face turned sharply into the pillow, cheek burning, lashes wet. Couldn’t watch him watch her.

He exhaled—low, reverent, predatory. Then he began.

Fingertips first.

Feather-light.

Tracing the fragile ridge of one collarbone... then the other... taking forever to follow the delicate line downward. Drifting into the shallow valley between her breasts—never touching the peaks—circling the firm outer swells in slow, endless spirals that made her arch involuntarily.

He paused at the tender crease beneath each breast—thumb brushing back and forth, back and forth—letting her feel the maddening nearness without relief.

A soft, mortified "ohhh..." slipped free—high and trembling.

Only then did his mouth descend. Open kisses—agonizingly slow—along her sternum. Wet, lingering drags of lips over the flushed skin just below one breast... then the other... tasting salt and heat and shame. Tongue flicked out—once—barely grazing the hypersensitive underside.

Her whole torso jerked. A tiny, shattered sob escaped before she bit it back.

He took his time. Kissed every curve. Every slope. Every trembling inch of skin he could reach.

Circled the aching peaks with hot breath—hovering, never closing the distance—until she was writhing, hips twitching upward in helpless reflex, thighs squeezing together as if she could hide the slick heat soaking through her shorts.

When he finally—finally—closed his lips around one stiff nipple, it was devastatingly slow. Just the softest suck at first... while moving his fingers letting Magical Touch and Touch of Taboo rewrite every nerve in real time.

Pleasure bloomed outward in forbidden ripples—along her ribs, down her sides, into the dip of her waist—places that had no right to feel this obscene.

The wrongness of it—the sin of his mouth on her like this—only made every spark burn hotter.

Her back bowed—offering more even as tears of pure overwhelm slipped free. Fingers clawed at the sheets. A soft, broken "Peter... I—I can’t take it..." cracked into a helpless whimper.

He stayed there—minutes—lavishing one nipple with slow circles of tongue, gentle pulls, tiny grazes of teeth—then switched to the other. Same unhurried torment. Same devastating patience. Every suck sent another hot rush of wetness between her thighs; the cotton was drenched, clinging, betraying her completely.

Everywhere except where she ached most.

She was soaking. Dripping. The wet spot on her shorts had spread visibly—dark, obscene—and still he refused to touch her there.

Just kept worshipping the rest of her—torturously, sinfully slow—until every soft, fragile sound she made felt like confession, until every tremble felt like surrender, until she was nothing but flushed skin and helpless need beneath him.

"Peter..." His name came out tiny, quivering, soaked in shame and want. A plea wrapped in unbearable anticipation.

Paused. Let the elastic bite into her fevered skin. Let the slow stretch twist inside her until she was shaking harder, thighs trembling, breath coming in short, desperate pants. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

And then—even slower—he began to drag the last scrap of fabric down... inch... by... agonizing... inch...

Kissing every newly bared curve of hip, every quivering line of thigh, every sensitive hollow—never straying to the slick, aching center that wept for him.

She was his. Utterly. Sinfully. Helplessly. And he wa s going to make her feel every second of it.

He hooked two fingers beneath the waistband of her shorts. Paused—deliberately cruel in his patience—letting the elastic bite into the soft skin just above her hips, letting her feel the slow, inevitable stretch. Her breath caught in tiny, panicked hitches.

Her thighs trembled. The soaked cotton clung obscenely to her wet folds, outlining every swollen detail of her outer folds she couldn’t hide.

"Peter... I—I’m so..." The words died in a mortified whisper. She couldn’t even finish the sentence—couldn’t admit out loud how drenched she was, how her body had already surrendered long before her mind caught up.

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