Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 628

Chapter 628: Mom’s Other Gift; Aunt Jasmine

Jasmine Carter stepped out.

My aunt. Twenty-six. The only sane branch on the family tree. The woman who sent us kids money when we were broke, who showed up when no one else did, who hugged us like her life depended on it.

And I hadn’t seen her in four months.

Her eyes carried exhaustion—deep, carved-in stress that clung to her like a shadow. Shoulders tense. Jaw tight. Something had chewed through her peace these past months.

But then she saw us.

Me. Emma. Sarah.

And everything hardened in her expression cracked open. Light bloomed across her face. Joy surged so fast it looked painful. That weight evaporated like someone had opened a window inside her.

"AUNT JAZZ!"

Sarah was already moving to her, but I was faster, always faster now.

Three strides and I was on her.

Up close, the years collapsed into nothing.

Jasmine was twenty-six, yet looked like sin poured into a twenty-two-year-old’s body and left to ripen. Candlelight slid over her like it was paid to worship: honey-blonde hair spilling in thick, glossy waves past her shoulder blades, a few strands brushing the swell of her breasts with every breath.

The black sleeveless turtleneck wasn’t just thin; it was criminal, stretched taut over full, high D-cups that defied gravity and logic, the faint shadow of stiff nipples pressing shamelessly against the knit because of course she wasn’t wearing a bra.

The fabric tucked into high-waisted white trousers that looked painted on, hugging a waist so small my hands could almost span it, then flaring over hips made for bruising fingers and an ass so round, firm, and obscene it turned every step into an event.

Long, toned legs went on forever, the kind of legs that ended in stilettos and ruined men.

Her skin glowed like she’d been dipped in warm gold, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, mouth a wet, plush invitation, lower lip fuller, glistening as she gasped. Delicate gold chains glimmered at her throat and wrists, catching the light every time her pulse jumped, which it was doing now, hard, under that perfect collarbone.

She’d always been beautiful. Now she was devastating.

"Peter?"

That voice, Christ, low, smoky, wrapping around my name like velvet soaked in whiskey. It stroked straight down my spine and settled heavy behind my zipper.

Her eyes, wide, impossibly blue, ringed in thick black lashes, flicked over my face, searching, stunned, pupils blown wide. "Oh my God... Peter?!"

I didn’t speak. I just dragged her into me.

The second my arms locked around her waist, her whole body seized, one sharp, electric heartbeat of shock. A tiny, helpless sound caught in her throat, half-gasp, half-moan, and her manicured nails clawed into my shirt like she needed to anchor herself before she floated away.

Then she broke.

Every inch of her melted against me, plush and burning. Those perfect, heavy breasts crushed to my chest, nipples diamond-hard, dragging across the thin knit with every ragged breath she took. She rose up on her toes without thinking, arms sliding around my neck, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me down like she was starving for the contact.

Vanilla, jasmine, and hot skin flooded my senses, so thick I could taste her on the back of my tongue. Underneath the perfume was the raw, unmistakable scent of her, warm, faintly sweet, unmistakably aroused, and it slammed into me like a drug.

"I missed you," I growled into the silk of her hair, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She shuddered, violently. "I missed you too, sweetheart," she whispered, voice cracking, husky and ruined. "God, I missed you so much it hurt."

Her heart was a trapped bird against my ribs, frantic, matching the hammer in my own chest. Every breath she dragged in pushed those lush tits harder against me; every exhale trembled out warm across my throat. Her hips rolled forward without permission, thighs parting just enough to slot one of mine between them, the heat pouring off her cunt so blatant I could feel it through two layers of fabric.

I eased back an inch, just enough to see her face.

Jesus Christ.

Eyes glassy, huge, glassy, midnight-blue pupils swallowing the irises, stared up at me like I was a ghost made flesh. Cheeks flushed dark rose, lips wet and parted, swollen from the way she kept biting them. A thin sheen of sweat glowed at her hairline, making stray strands cling to her temples.

And the scent, Christ, the scent of her arousal, thick, honey-sweet, unmistakable, curling up between us like smoke.

She was shaking.

Not from nerves.

From want.

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