Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 995

Chapter 995: Vanessa’s Kiss

She pressed her lips together—hard—like she was physically trying to stop the smile and the whimper from forming.

Neither listened.

"You’re insufferable," she whispered.

"I’ve heard that twice today, actually. I’m collecting the full set."

"From who? Your other women?"

"Jealousy and sarcasm? In the same car ride? Vanessa... I’m flattered."

"I’m not jealous!"

"You brought up my other women unprompted. That’s textbook."

She turned away from me—toward the window—but I could see the reflection of her smile in the glass. Wide now. Unguarded. A smile she probably hadn’t let herself have in a very long time.

The car drove itself through the LA afternoon. A comfortable silence settled between us—

"She drew you, by the way," Vanessa said after a while, still facing the window. "Rory. Last night. Before bed."

"Drew me?"

"With crayons. You’re very tall in the picture. And you have purple hair for some reason."

"Purple’s a strong choice. I respect that."

"She also drew Charlotte next to you. Charlotte has a crown."

"Obviously. Queens get crowns. Princesses get whatever they want from their daddy."

"And then there’s me." She turned back now, and there was something in her expression—softer than the teasing, vulnerable in a way that made my cock twitch just from looking at her. "I’m in the corner. Very small. Waving."

"Waving?"

"Like I’m watching from far away." She shrugged—casual, but it wasn’t casual at all. The motion made her breasts shift under the thin blouse, nipples still traitorously tight against the fabric. Okay horny dog, it’s not time to think about her breasts, not time and place... but gods, so hot.

"Kids draw what they see, I guess."

That landed. Harder than she probably meant it to.

I looked at her—not scanning her desire map with The Eyes, not plotting pressure points or calculating how many seconds until she soaked through her panties, even though I wanted to.

Just... saw her.

The faint shadows under her eyes that concealer couldn’t quite hide. The way she angled her knees away like she’d spent years making herself smaller so the world wouldn’t notice how tired she was.

The stubborn strand of hair she kept tucking, over and over, like a nervous tic she couldn’t kill. The fact that she’d told me about the drawing like it was a joke when it had clearly carved itself into her ribs and stayed there all night.

"You don’t have to wave from the corner, you know," I said.

"It’s a crayon drawing, Peter. I’m not having an existential crisis over stick figures."

"You kind of are, though."

Her mouth opened to argue—then closed. Because she was. And the truth sat between us like a third passenger, breathing heavy.

"Come here," I said.

"I’m literally right here. It’s a car."

"Closer."

"There’s a center console between us."

"Vanessa."

The way I said her name—low, steady, stripped of all sarcasm—made her freeze. Not influenced by my Whisper of Sin or my Lust Presence.

Just my voice, naked, asking for something real.

She looked at me.

I reached over. Slowly. Tucked that rebellious strand behind her ear again—and this time I didn’t stop.

My fingertips ghosted down the sensitive skin behind her ear, along the delicate line of her jaw, then lower—barely skimming the frantic pulse hammering in her throat.

Her breath hitched. Loud in the quiet car. Not fear. Want. Started in the belly and burnt upward.

"You’re not in the corner," I said. "You never were."

"Peter—"

"I know what you’re going to say. That it’s complicated. That you have Rory. That you barely know me. That the other women—"

"All of those things. Yes."

"I know." My thumb traced her cheekbone—slow, reverent. "And I’m not asking you to solve the equation right now. I’m just telling you—you’re not far away. You’re not waving. You’re right here."

Her eyes did that helpless thing—wanting to flee the intensity, unable to break away. Gaze of the Unspoken wasn’t even active either... just raw.

This was just me.

Looking at her like she was the only goddamn thing that mattered in this zip code.

"You’re doing that thing," she whispered.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you look at someone like they’re the only person in the world. Ms. Chen warned me about it."

"Smart woman, Ms. Chen."

"She said it was dangerous."

"It is."

"She said I should be careful."

"You should."

Her voice dropped to almost nothing. "I’m not being very careful right now."

"No," I murmured. "You’re not."

She closed the distance.

Just the slow, inevitable forward tilt... her nose brushed mine first—soft, warm, trembling slightly.

Soft. They’re... so fucking soft. The barest press—like she was afraid the world would shatter if she pushed too hard. Like she was asking permission with her lips.

Her hand rose—hesitant, then decisive—and flattened against my chest.

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