Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 171

Chapter 171: Luna: Every. Damn. Inch.

I carried her like she was made of air, her mouth a brand against my neck—sucking, biting, marking territory that would bloom purple tomorrow. Her bedroom was her—scrupulously organized, clinical even, with medical journals stacked neatly on the nightstand like silent sentinels of the life she was about to detonate.

"This is happening," she breathed as I set her on the bed, pristine duvet pooling around her. The words weren’t wonder. They were disbelief. "I’m really doing this."

"We can still stop," I offered teasing her, though even to me too, the thought of stopping now felt like amputation.

"Fuck that." She dragged me down, her kiss furious, desperate. "I’ve been responsible my whole fucking life. Tonight, I want to burn." She bit my lower lip, drawing blood. "Tomorrow, I’ll hate myself... but tonight..."

"Tonight, you’re just Valentina," I finished, tasting the coppery tang of the bite.

"Exactly." Her hands slipped under my shirt, nails raking across my now developing abs—sharp points of fire that made me hiss. "Jesus, Peter... when did high school boys get carved from fucking marble?"

"Special supplements," I gritted out as she found a nipple and twisted, pleasure-pain lancing through me. "Lots of... beta-blockers."

She laughed, the sound dissolving into a shattered moan as my mouth found the juncture of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a galaxy of bruises. "Don’t make me laugh," she gasped, hips rocking against mine. "Not when I’m trying to self-destruct with dignity."

"You’re succeeding," I rumbled, dragging my lips up the frantic pulse in her throat. "Without even trying."

"Am I?" Her hands trembled as they went to her sweater hem. "Feels like I’m fumbling this. It’s been..." She yanked the top over her head in one fluid motion, revealing a black lace bra that looked less like underwear and more like engineered sin. "...a while." 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"How long?" My voice was a growl. My eyes devoured the swell of her breasts, the delicate lace casting shadows on her skin.

"Since undergrad." The confession was jagged. She reached for my shirt, fingers flying over hem. "Unless you count the Tinder disaster six months ago who called me ’too intense’ about my career goals." My shirt hit the floor.

"His terminal fucking loss," I rasped, drinking in the sight of her—black lace against flushed skin, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was a goddess carved from moonlight and shadow.

"Your gain?" Her hands hovered at my belt buckle, uncertainty warring with hunger in her eyes.

I caught her wrists, bringing them to my lips, pressing a kiss to each frantic pulse point. "More than okay, Valentina." My voice dropped, thickening with promise.

"More than fucking okay." The air crackled. The pristine bed wasn’t just furniture anymore. It was an altar. And she was the sacrifice. Tonight, responsibility wasn’t just lost. It was ripped to shreds and thrown to the flames.

I looked at her.

I just looked.

She was on the bed—nervous, flushed, still half-swallowed by that black lace bra like armor she couldn’t quite shed. But Christ, she was devastating. Not magazine-perfect, but alive—flushed skin slick with a sheen of sweat, chest rising and falling too fast like she’d forgotten the rhythm of breathing.

Lips parted around shallow breaths. Thieves pressing together like dam walls holding back a flood I’d already started to unleash.

"Lie back," I murmured, the words stripped bare.

She did. No hesitation. Just trust hanging by a thread.

I crawled over her, slow like gravity itself had redesigned its rules just to pull me toward her. My hands braced beside her head, caging her in without confinement. I lowered myself until our noses brushed—a fraction of space crackling with enough electricity to power the city. Her breath hitched.

Her lips trembled almost imperceptibly, but I felt it in my bones.

"I want you to know something," I whispered, voice low, rough, scraping against the quiet. "You’re not a rush. Not a prize. Not a moment I’ll forget." My eyes held hers—dilated pupils swallowing the warm brown. "You’re this. Right now. My focus. My worship."

Her eyelids fluttered like trapped moths.

I started with a kiss. Not demanding. Not deep. Just a press of lips—soft, questioning. She melted under it, a soft sigh escaping. Her hands slid up my arms, hesitant at first, then clinging like I was the only solid thing in a world tilting off its axis.

When I pulled back, her eyes tracked mine—dark, dazed, pupils blown wide with trust and terror.

I kissed her again. Cheek—feeling the frantic pulse beneath the skin. Jaw—scraping lightly with stubble. Down to that hollow below her ear where her breath stuttered and fractured against my skin.

I let my mouth trail across her neck—open-mouthed, slow, deliberate. Not biting. Not yet. Just letting her feel the heat, the scrape of teeth held in check, the promise of pressure. She arched up off the duvet, a silent offering.

She nodded, a jerky movement. "Yeah... just—God, yes."

I undid the clasp. The straps slid down her arms like liquid night. I peeled the lace away—not pulling, but reveling. Unwrapping a gift denied sunlight for too long. Her breasts were soft weight in my palms, flushed deep pink, nipples already taut, pebbled peaks begging for attention. I didn’t grope. I didn’t rush. I pressed my lips to the valley between them first—honoring the space, the sanctuary, before claiming anything more.

"Fuck," she breathed, the word ragged. "Peter—"

My hand slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, then curling under her thigh. I kissed lower. Stomach—feeling muscles jump beneath my lips. Navel—dipping my tongue into the shallow indentation, making her squirm. Every inch got its moment. I made her feel every second of the exposure, the surrender.

Her breath caught audibly the moment my eyes truly saw her. Not with mortal sight. With mine. The kind that saw every hyper-sensitive nerve ending screaming for touch, every капillary flooding her skin with heat. Her body was a road map of need, and I was the only one who could read it.

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