Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 506

Chapter 506: Patricia’s Erotic Dance (Minor R-18)

"Look at you," he whispered, his eyes dark pools of pure desire. "Blonde hair like fucking sunlight against this glass. Eyes that look at me like I’m the answer to a prayer you didn’t even know you were still praying."

The hand on her waist slid up. So. Fucking. Slowly. Palm flat against her ribs, his thumb brushing the soft, sensitive underside of her breast through the silk. Not grabbing. Not taking. Worshipping.

"These lips," he breathed, his gaze fixed on her mouth. "Perfect. Pink. The way they part when you breathe. The more I can see your pulse beating here, in your neck."

Patricia’s hips rolled against him, a slow, involuntary wave of pure need. Her body was responding to his words, to his touch, to the thick promise of his cock, moving with a sensual rhythm she hadn’t known she possessed.

She felt it in her core, a deep, clenching pulse. Her pussy flooded, soaking the silk, a dark, wet bloom of pure need. Her clit throbbed where it pressed against him. Her entire body was awakening from a twenty-three-year slumber, and it was a glorious, agonizing rebirth.

"The way you move," he groaned, and she felt his cock twitch against her, a powerful throb. "Like water. Like silk. Like something I don’t deserve but I can’t stop wanting. Patricia, the way your body responds to me—the way you’re moving right now—it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

She moved again. Couldn’t help it. Her back arched, pressing her breasts toward him, the silk camisole riding up to expose the soft skin beneath.

Her hips rolled, slow and deliberate, grinding against the hard length of him. Creating a friction that made her gasp, made her clit ache, made her want to rip all the clothes off their bodies and fuck him right there against the glass with all of Los Angeles watching.

But she didn’t. Her body found a rhythm—a slow, sinuous, erotic dance. Rolling her hips. Arching her spine. Pressing and releasing, moving as if she were already fucking him, as if her body was expressing what her mouth couldn’t articulate, every frustration, every desire, every fantasy of the last two decades poured into this single, perfect movement.

Eros squeezed his eyes shut. His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her ribs, hard, possessive bruises she knew she’d cherish tomorrow. His other hand curled into a fist against the window.

She felt his cock throb again, a heavy, insistent beat against her. Felt it get impossibly harder. Felt the tension in his body, the way every muscle was locked, like he was using every ounce of his godly control not to rip the silk away and take her right there.

"Patricia," he groaned, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Fuck. The way you’re moving. I can feel every fucking inch of you. Your hips rolling against me. Your pussy is so wet I can feel it through our clothes. Your body is telling me exactly what you need."

She moved faster, her dance becoming more desperate. Her hips grinding against his cock, the silk shorts pulling tight, the friction a delicious, agonizing torment. Her breasts moved with each roll of her hips, the lace scraping her sensitive nipples, sending electric shocks straight to her clit.

And he just stood there. Eyes closed. Fist clenched. Letting her movements carry him away. Letting her dance against him, express herself, take what she needed without him taking a single thing from her.

His face... god, his face. Eyes squeezed shut like he was in agony or ecstasy or both. Jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. Lips parted, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants.

He looked like a man being torn apart. A man in a dream he was desperate to never wake from.

"Don’t stop," he whispered, his voice a raw, broken thing. "Please don’t fucking stop. Let me feel you. Let me memorize this. The way your body moves. The way you feel against me. This is—fuck, Patricia, this is everything."

She didn’t stop. She moved against him like she was possessed, like twenty-three years of stifled, starving sexuality was pouring out of her hips. Slow, sensual rolls. Tight, desperate grinds. Arching and pressing, creating a friction that had her gasping for air, had her soaking the silk, had her balancing on the razor’s edge of an orgasm so intense it scared her.

And she felt it. Felt the way his body was responding, even through his monumental restraint. Felt his cock kicking against her with everyroll of her hips. Felt his hands trembling where they held her. Felt the coiled tension in his body, a spring wound tight.

It made her feel powerful. It made her feel divine.

"That’s it," he encouraged, his voice strained. "Show me. Show me everything you’ve been holding back for years. Every desire. Every need. Every fantasy you’ve had lying awake at night while your husband snored beside you. Give it all to me."

Patricia whimpered, her movements becoming frantic. Her hands slid up to grip his shoulders for leverage, using his solid frame to grind harder, press closer, create more of that maddening friction against her throbbing clit.

The silk was utterly, shamelessly drenched now. She could feel it, a wet second skin, no barrier at all between her aching pussy and his rigid cock. She could feel every ridge, every vein, every powerful, promising throb.

"That’s it," he whispered, sensing her teetering on the edge. "Take what you need. Come against me. Let me feel you. Let me know what I do to you."

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