Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 997

Chapter 997: Taste of a Mother (r-18)

I flicked the tip—quick, cruel little lashes—and her thighs clamped together so violently her hips lifted clean off the mattress.

I felt the hot gush of her slick soak through her against my knee—she was dripping so much I could smell it now, thick and sweet and obscene.

I switched to the right nipple, giving it the same ruthless attention—suction so deep her back arched into a perfect bow, teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out, then soothing with flat, broad strokes of my tongue. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Her hands fisted in my hair, yanking me closer, hips grinding air in helpless little circles.

"Peter—please—lower—touch me—fuck, I need—"

I let the Taboo Aura roll off me in slow, invisible waves.

Her pupils blew wide.

Her breathing turned ragged.

The forbidden weight of this—of a younger man worshipping the body she’d hated for years—hit her like a drug.

Her inhibitions dissolved.

Hidden fantasies surfaced in a rush: being taken, claimed, used by someone who saw every imperfection and still wanted to ruin her.

I released her nipple with a wet pop, the dark peak glistening with my spit, swollen bigger than before.

I trailed open-mouthed kisses down her sternum, over the soft swell of her belly, tracing every silver stretch mark with my tongue until she was shaking, whimpering.

"Peter—God—yes—more—"

Her fingers knotted in my hair, yanking me in, greedy. I grazed my teeth over the sensitive point—just enough sting—and she keened, high and shattered. I switched to the right nipple—same ruthless attention: suction, lashing tongue, gentle bites that made her sob my name like a prayer.

Her heartbeat slammed against my lips. Starving. Forgotten. A body finally remembering what it was made for.

I kissed downward—methodical, reverent.

Every rib.

Every silver stretch mark sucked gently into my mouth. Her navel—a soft little well I circled with my tongue until she whimpered.

The gentle, motherly curve of her lower belly—still sweet, still soft, still perfect.

She was panting now—shallow, frantic. Hands everywhere: gripping my hair, clawing sheets, reaching for me like she didn’t know whether to pull me in or brace herself.

I reached her jeans. Held her gaze.

"These need to come off."

Vanessa lifted her hips instantly—no hesitation, no trace of the shame that had chained her for years.

We tugged the jeans down together, laughing breathlessly when the denim caught on the flare of her hips, the fabric reluctant to let go until it finally peeled away with a soft, sticky rasp.

Her legs kicked free, jeans discarded somewhere off the bed.

Now she lay in nothing but those light-blue cotton panties.

The crotch was obliterated.

A dark, soaked oval of her pussy dominated the front—plastered transparently to her mound like wet tissue paper, the thin cotton turned sheer from the sheer volume of her arousal.

Every swollen contour was brutally visible: the plump swell of her outer lips pressed outward, thick and heavy, outlined in perfect relief against the fabric.

The faint shadow of her slit ran vertical down the center, a deep, shadowed crease that had soaked the material so thoroughly it clung like a second skin, molded to every fold. Her clit—already engorged—pushed aggressively against the cotton, a distinct, rounded bulge that throbbed visibly with each frantic heartbeat.

Thin rivulets of slick had leaked beyond the gusset, darkening the inner thighs in glossy trails that caught the low bedroom light like liquid silver.

That ridiculous little embroidered cat near the waistband—pink nose, tiny whiskers—somehow made the whole thing dirtier. Innocent cartoon against obscene reality.

A cruel sweet joke of motherly embarrasment.

She flushed scarlet when she caught me staring—cheeks, throat, even the tops of her breasts blooming crimson.

Her hands twitched toward the waistband like she wanted to cover up.

"I didn’t—they’re not sexy—I wasn’t expecting—"

"Vanessa." I cut her off with an open-mouthed kiss high on her inner thigh—right where slick had already dripped down in warm, sticky lines. I tasted her there—salty-sweet, thick with that rich mature-woman musk—and she shuddered so violently the bed creaked beneath us.

Thin, glistening strands of arousal stretched between the cotton and her skin like lewd spiderwebs—long, viscous threads that snapped and fell back against her thighs. She lifted her hips again—thighs shaking uncontrollably—and then they were gone.

Fuck...

Her outer lips were plump, thick, flushed a deep, angry rose of neglect and sudden, violent arousal—swollen so full they parted naturally on their own, revealing the slick, darker inner folds beneath.

Thin, viscous strands of her arousal stretched and snapped between the folds, clinging to the skin in shiny threads.

Her clit stood proud at the top—fat, engorged, hood peeled back just enough to expose the glistening pearl, pulsing visibly, red and desperate, begging for contact.

"Look at your pretty cunt, Vanessa" I murmured, voice low, reverent, filthy. "Swollen. So, fucking wet. All that need just leaking out of you like you’ve been saving it for me."

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