Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 117

Chapter 117: Making Her Cum on Facetime

Peter leaned against the mall’s second-floor railing, one arm lazily draped as if he had all the time in the damn world. Below, people moved like ants—moms dragging screaming toddlers, dudes with shopping bags they clearly didn’t want to be carrying, and couples so clingy they might as well fuse at the hip. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

His phone buzzed. Not the usual one—the other one.

The phone that didn’t exist.

The phone that got him in trouble.

ISABELLA RODRIGUEZ: My husband’s in the garage. I’ve locked the door. I need your voice. Call me.

Peter’s brow arched. A smirk crept across his lips, the kind that could burn cities.He thumbed open the message, eyes gleaming.

Another ping.ISABELLA RODRIGUEZ: FaceTime. I want to see you. I want you to tell me what you’d do to me if you were here. No filters. Just you and that voice that ruins me.

He glanced around. Families. Security. Mall jazz piping through overpriced speakers.Cute.

He tapped out a reply like he wasn’t about to commit digital sin from the middle of a high-end food court.

PETER: The one where you almost collapsed from one kiss? What a good little addict you are.

ISABELLA RODRIGUEZ: Don’t tease me. I can still feel your mouth on my skin when I stand against that wall. It’s driving me crazy. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. About you. About your hands on me.

Peter pushed off the railing, his other hand sliding into his pocket as he wandered toward the glass elevator like he wasn’t getting hard from just her words.

God, she was reckless.

Married. Older. Obsessed.

His favorite kind of stupid.

PETER: Tell me exactly what you’re thinking right now. Use your words, Mrs. Rodriguez.

ISABELLA RODRIGUEZ: I want your mouth on my tits again. I want your hands between my thighs. I want you whispering in my ear while I fall apart in the same stall you ruined me in. God, Peter... I’m already wet. I can feel it through my panties.

Peter almost laughed. Not out loud—but the kind of wicked laugh that curls behind your teeth like smoke.

He leaned against the back wall of the elevator, the doors closing like a secret.

PETER: Take them off. Right now. I want you to feel how soaked you are while you wait for me to answer your call.

ISABELLA RODRIGUEZ: I did. They’re in my hand. I’m touching where your tongue should be.

His jaw clenched.He hit the button for the top floor just to buy time—to think, to breathe, to not lose his shit in public.

This woman was a fucking menace.

PETER: Two fingers. Soft at first. Then deeper. You know how I like it. Do it slowly and think of my mouth around your nipple while I watch you fall apart through this screen.

There was a pause. The kind that hummed with quiet filth.

ISABELLA RODRIGUEZ: Fuck... I’m trying to stay quiet but it’s hard. I wish you were here to pin me to this wall again. Your voice alone makes me squeeze around nothing.

The elevator dinged.

Peter stepped out, adjusted his jacket like it could hide the kind of hard-on that only danger delivers.

PETER: Say what you need, Isabella. I’m listening. And maybe, if you beg right... I’ll pick up.

ISABELLA RODRIGUEZ: I need you. I need your voice. FaceTime me before I embarrass myself in here. I want to see that unreal fucking face while I cum.

The message hit him like a slap in the middle of Nordstrom.

Ding.ISABELLA: Tell me something dirty, Mr. Carter. Or better yet... let me show you something first.

Chime.Then again.Then again.

Three photos.

Peter’s jaw ticked. His back stiffened.He darted a quick glance around like someone might’ve seen the literal sin pinging into his palm.

A mom walked past, sipping her iced caramel latte and yelling at her kid to stop licking the glass.

Good. Distracted. Innocent.

He pivoted smoothly, pressing himself into the tight corner between the glass wall and a support beam like a sinner ducking behind a confessional.

Tap...

The first pic bloomed open—and his breath stalled.

Her fingers clutched the silk edge of her blouse like she’d been shaking, tugging it down inch by inch in some fevered ritual. It wasn’t just teasing—it was a damn invocation. An offering.The burgundy lace of her bra framed her like it knew it was seconds from being destroyed. The way it hugged her curves—tight, perfect, sinful—made his pulse throb in his throat.

Her skin was flushed, radiant, slick with that kind of heat that only comes when you’re burning from the inside out. She looked touched by the kind of fire only he could light.

Mine.

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