Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 393

Chapter 393: The Cursed Protector (R-18)

The credits of the movie rolled, casting the room in a silent, blueish light. Linda’s breathing had evened out into the soft, deep rhythms of sleep, her body a warm, trusting weight against his chest. The war she’d been waging within herself had finally been lost to exhaustion. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Peter moved with a predator’s silence, shifting her carefully. He lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

She was all silk and softness, her head lolling trustingly against his shoulder. A scent of shampoo and her own unique, sleep-warmed skin filled his senses—a fragrance of home, and now, of something infinitely more tantalizing.

He carried her up the grand staircase to the master suite, her room a mirror of his own in size and luxury. The moon cast pale stripes across the vast bed. He laid her down with a reverence that felt both sacred and profane, pulling the duvet over her.

He leaned down, and his lips brushed her forehead in a kiss that lingered—a gesture of pure, devoted care, yet laden with the unspoken hunger that thrummed through his veins.

He turned, a predator slipping from the lamb’s pen, ready for the sanctuary of his own room. Then—tug.

A touch. So, light it was almost imperceptible. But to his heightened senses, it was a bolt of lightning.

He froze, every muscle locking. Slowly, he turned his head.

Linda’s small, delicate fingers were wrapped around his index finger, holding him with a strength that belied her sleep. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips parted, and a whisper, soft as a sigh, escaped into the moonlit room.

"Stay... Peter. Sleep here. Like you used to... when you were scared."

The words hit him with the force of a physical blow. A pang seized his chest, so sharp and tight he thought his heart might stop. It was a direct line to the past, to the boy who would creep into her room, seeking refuge from thunderstorms or the shadows of nightmares.

She had been his sanctuary. The woman who had sung him back to sleep, who had made him feel safe in a world that felt too big.

The vulnerability was a physical blow.

And now, that same woman, her fingers curled around his, was asking him to be her sanctuary. The inversion of roles was dizzying.

The boy who sought protection was now the man being asked to provide it. And he wanted to provide so much more. He wanted to protect her, to cherish her, to worship her with his body until the memory of every lonely night was erased from her soul.

And now? Now he wanted her with a primal, devouring hunger that defied every law of blood and bone. He wanted to bury his aching cock deep in the pussy that had sheltered the twins and sweated while she ran around the hospital to provide for the.

Guilt? The Taboo System scorched the thought to ash. Where it should have been, there was only fire. A roaring conflagration of love, desire, and a protective fury so intense it felt like his soul was boiling.

Protect her. Love her. Possess her. More than anything. More than life itself.

He should have felt a tsunami of guilt. Guilt for the images flashing in his mind: of his hands not tucking her in, but peeling away the silk; of his body not lying chastely beside her, but covering hers, filling the emptiness that had haunted her for years. He should have felt monstrous.

He felt only a love so fierce it burned away all else. It was a conflagration in his soul, hotter than any hellfire, a need to protect and possess that were now one and the same.

Before the fully formed thought even registered, Peter was moving. He shed his clothes with efficient haste, the fabric whispering against the floor. Seconds later, he slid into the cool space behind her, bare skin against silk pajamas—the thinnest armor imaginable.

The world shifted, then narrowed, to that single, searing point of contact. He moved behind her, and the rigid, heavy length of his cock slid home, settling perfectly into the channel between her ass cheeks like it was forged for that space alone.

A violent shudder ripped through her, sharp and utterly electric. It had nothing to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with a profound, bone-melting rightness. A soft, broken sigh escaped her—the sound of a string finally cut, of every muscle in her body going liquid and loose against him. This wasn’t submission; it was a homecoming. His heat was a brand, his solid weight an anchor in the storm of her life.

"He’s here. He’s safe. He’s mine." She whispered in her sleep. The air crackled with her desperate, silent worship.

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