Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 390

Chapter 390: A Son’s Devotion, A Mother’s Desire

The door closed with a soft, definitive click, sealing the outside world away. Linda Carter stood in the entryway, backlit by the muted porch light, a silhouette of weary grace. Her nurse’s uniform, a crisp white and blue, seemed to hold the echoes of a long, demanding shift—the scent of antiseptic, the ghost of hushed hospital corridors, and the profound fatigue that comes from holding lives in your hands.

She started slightly when she saw me standing there, waiting in the dim warmth of the living room. Her eyes, usually so calm and sure, held a flicker of surprise, followed swiftly by a mother’s concern.

"Peter?" she said, her voice a gentle rasp. "What are you doing up? You should be resting. Your body is still recovering." The words were a scolding, but the underlying tone was a melody of pure, unadulterated relief. She was glad I was awake. Glad I was here.

I gave her a lazy, reassuring smile. "Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d wait for you." I stepped forward, taking the heavy bag from her shoulder. My fingers brushed against hers, and a tiny, electric jolt passed between us. "You look exhausted. Go on up, get out of those scrubs. A hot shower will wash the hospital away. Freshen up. I’ll take care of everything down here."

Her worry melted into a tender, grateful smile. She reached up and pinched my cheek, a loving, maternal gesture she’d done a thousand times before. But this time, her touch lingered. Her thumb stroked the line of my jaw for a fraction of a second too long.

{He waited for me. My beautiful, strong boy. He looks so much like his beautiful mother now... but there’s something else in his eyes now. Something dark and powerful like her. Waiting up just for me... It feels... different. Not just a son. A man. A very commanding man. That smile... God, Linda, stop it. He’s your son. But that look he’s giving me... it’s not a son’s look. It’s like he’s seeing straight through this uniform...}

Her thoughts were a chaotic, thrilling whisper in my mind—a torrent of maternal love crashing against the shores of a newly awakened, forbidden awareness.

"My thoughtful man," she whispered aloud, her eyes glistening with a complex emotion she couldn’t name.

She turned and walked towards the stairs. I didn’t move. Every muscle in my body went rigid, locking me in place as a low hum started deep in my gut. Her hips didn’t just sway; they rolled, a deliberate, liquid rhythm that was pure, concentrated sin. The crisp blue fabric of her scrubs didn’t just hug her ass—it outlined it, carving out a perfect, heart-shaped invitation with every step she took up the stairs.

My palms started to sweat, my own hands itching to feel that generous give, to dig in and pull her back against me until there was no space left. This wasn’t just watching her walk away.

This was like a preview, the first five seconds of a movie that had already started playing in my head, and I knew, with a certainty that stole the air from my lungs, that I was about to go make it real. My eyes were glue, tracing the hypnotic climb of each step, a prayer and a curse burning its way up her legs as she ascended. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

A thick, heavy heat pulsed in my groin, my arousal immediate and demanding. I was getting hard just from watching her walk away, this woman who had been a constant in my life, now unknowingly stoking a primal fire.

Shaking my head with a soft, disbelieving laugh at the sheer intensity of the taboo, I turned and marched into the kitchen.

I moved with a purpose that transcended cooking. The food we’d saved for her was in the refrigerator, but it was inadequate. The most precious woman in my world deserved a devotion served on a plate.

I tied an apron around my waist. The [High-Tier Cooking Skill] ignited in my mind, a symphony of flawless technique.

I became a whirlwind of perfect motion. A knife flashed, reducing vegetables to geometric perfection. Scallops met a searing-hot pan, their surfaces turning to a golden-brown crust that sang a sizzling ode. I created a beurre blanc sauce so silken and complex it seemed to hold layers of flavor within a single drop.

’A deep, hollow throb started low in my belly, a territorial claim my own body was staking on the memory. What am I doing?’ The question wasn’t one of shame, but of sick, thrilling anticipation. ’It wasn’t what was wrong with me, but what I would let him do to me.’

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify