Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 122

Chapter 122: "Oh~" (R-18)

"Ohh~" Janet whimpered. It was soft, like she was trying to swallow it. But he caught it.

"You’re getting there," he said, more breath than sound. "But don’t move faster. Don’t even think about your clit yet."

His tone shifted slightly—commanding now.

"I want you to do something for me."

A beat.

"Take your other hand, the one not between your thighs, and press it against your chest. Right between your breasts. Can you feel your heartbeat?"

Another pause. He imagined her palm sinking into her soft chest, pressing through lace or cotton or bare skin.

"Yesss~" She answered softly.

"Good. That’s your rhythm. That’s the pace you need to follow."

He took a breath, steady and long.

"Match it. One stroke on your pussy every time your heart beats. No faster."

Her breathing now? Ragged. Deep. Each inhale shaking like it was climbing uphill.

"You feel that?" he whispered. "The burn building in your stomach? That’s good. That’s your nerves waking up. You’re not touching yourself anymore. You’re listening to yourself."

She let out a small moan—real this time, helpless and soft.

Eros smiled.

"You’ve never been coached, have you?" he asked gently. "No one’s ever told you what your body needs. What she likes. What makes her sing."

He shifted slightly, his own arousal throbbing in sync with hers, but this wasn’t about him. Not yet.

This was her concert.

He was just the conductor.

"You’re going to edge yourself now," he said softly. "You’re going to keep stroking just like I told you—slow, deep, wet. And when it gets too much? When your body starts twitching, crying out for release?"

He paused.

"You’re going to stop."

*

She was shaking.

Not just from nerves—but from heat. From the voice curling around her like silk dipped in fire. His words weren’t just sounds; they pulled her—like invisible strings hooked under her skin, tugging her deeper into something she couldn’t even name.

His voice dripped through the wall like a drug, warm and slow and terrifyingly sure.

And she obeyed.

Every word.

Her fingers had stopped their clumsy rush, stilled just like he told her. Her thighs quivered slightly, parted under the hem of her skirt as she dragged her breath in—slow, shallow, then again, longer, softer.

Her other hand, the one she didn’t even realize was clenched, slowly moved to her chest.

Right where he told her to.

Her palm pressed between her breasts—right over the racing pulse hammering beneath her sternum. It was wild. Messy. Loud. But his voice made it feel... guided. Like he was taming the chaos inside her.

"Match it," he’d said.

So she did.

One slow, wet stroke between her folds for every beat she felt against her chest.

Her fingers slid upward—slick with her own arousal of her pussy—then back down again, just as slow. No rush. No pressure. Just the maddening tease of contact. She followed his rhythm exactly: one throb, one stroke.

And holy hell—it felt better than anything she’d done to herself before.

Because this time?

She wasn’t doing it.

She was being led.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was how intimate this felt. How seen she felt—despite a wall between them.

No man had ever talked to her like that.

No one had told her about the clitoral legs, or the inner lips, or that soft ridge between folds that was lighting up her nerves like they’d just been plugged in. No one had ever cared to teach her how to enjoy herself.

But he did.

Eros did.

"Stay on the edge, Janet," he continued. "That’s where the real power lives. That flutter in your stomach? That heat that just barely dips into your thighs? That’s the zone. Touch your clit too early and you ruin it. Tease it, though..."

And god, he was right.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify