Chapter 1006: I have to Make Her Mine!

Then

Bloodline Tension

activated.

This ability amplified family-dynamic attractions—that took the already charged connection between a man and his lover’s blood relative and turned it into something magnetic.

Maria’s last thought—

would that work on me too?

—had pulled the trigger. And now the tension was building between us with a force that had nothing to do with choice and everything to do with the cosmic architecture of what I was.

Generational Heat

layered on top of that—the ability that specifically targeted older women, that made the age gap not a barrier but an accelerant.

And

Cougar Instinct

completed the sequence—activating in women who were drawn to younger men, amplifying their attraction, lowering their defenses, making the thing they wanted feel less like a sin and more like an inevitability.

I watched it work on her. Watched the shift in her posture—subtle, involuntary.

The way her crossed legs pressed together tighter, thighs clenching with a sudden, unwelcome heat.

The way her breathing changed—shallower, a little faster.

The way her fingers found the armrest and gripped it like she needed something solid to hold onto.

She had no idea what was happening to her. She just knew that the room felt different than it had thirty seconds ago, and the man across from her was looking at her with eyes that seemed to see through every wall she’d ever built.

I decided to

save

her before she pounced on me.

"Walk with me," I said.

She blinked. The sudden shift in energy—from confrontation to casual invitation—caught her off guard.

Which was the point.

"Excuse me?"

"Walk with me. For a bit." I stood. Easy. Unhurried. "I promise it’ll be worth it."

Her eyes narrowed. The mother in her screaming that this was exactly the kind of manipulation she’d come here to expose.

The woman in her—the one she was trying very hard to keep gagged and locked in a closet—whispering

go

.

"Fine,"

she said like the word cost her something.

I led her to the back of the private office. She followed three steps behind—a deliberate distance, maintaining the illusion of control.

When I stopped in front of what appeared to be a wall—smooth, seamless, indistinguishable from the rest of the room—she tilted her head.

I pressed a button.

The wall split. Panels sliding apart with a soft mechanical hiss, revealing an elevator behind them—sleek, brushed steel, illuminated by a strip of ambient light that pulsed once in greeting.

Maria stared at it. Then at me.

I gestured for her to enter.

She walked past me. But not before she paused.

Right beside me. Close enough that I could smell her—something clean and warm, like sandalwood and white tea, a perfume that was expensive without trying to prove it.

She looked up. Met my eyes. Held them.

The pause lasted two seconds. Maybe three. Long enough for the Bloodline Tension to pulse between us like a heartbeat. Long enough for me to read the thought that crossed her mind as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud.

{Where is he taking me? Does he have some

private bedroom

down here where he

corrupts

mature women who are attracted to him the way I

’m stupidly attracted to his body right now?

}

I smiled. Like I hadn’t heard a single word of that.

She stepped in. I followed.

The elevator was not large. It was designed for two, maybe three people—intimate by architecture, not accident.

When the doors closed, our bodies were close. Shoulder to arm. Hip to hip. The kind of proximity that wasn’t quite touching but made you aware of every millimeter of space between you.

My arm brushed hers.

"Sorry,"

I said, shifting to create distance. Polite. Respectful.

She was quiet for a beat. Then—

"It’s okay. I don’t bite."

Her voice said the words. Her tone asked something else entirely.

{Why are you

pretending

you don’t know what’s happening to me? Why are you being a gentleman when we both know you can feel this?}

The ride went down. And down. And down.

Past floors Maria didn’t know existed, into depths of the estate. The number on the display climbed in the wrong direction—deeper, lower, further from the surface and the office and the version of reality where she was a disapproving mother on a righteous mission.

The elevator stopped.

The doors opened.

Maria’s mouth fell open.

A

go-kart

racing track.

But calling it that was like calling ARIA a chatbot.

What stretched out before them was a full-scale, multi-level racing circuit built into the underground expanse of the estate—banked turns sweeping up into walls that gleamed with embedded LED strips, straightaways that disappeared into tunnels of pulsing light, elevation changes that would make a professional driver’s stomach drop.

The karts themselves sat in a gleaming row along the starting grid—not the sputtering, gas-powered toys you’d find at a family fun center.

These were ARIA-engineered machines. Low-slung. Angular.

The kind of technology that looked like it had been sent back from a century that hadn’t happened yet.

The track lighting shifted as they stepped out—responsive, alive, the environment recognizing their presence and adjusting.

Screens along the pit wall displayed real-time telemetry stations. The floor beneath their feet was polished to a mirror finish that reflected the neon glow of the circuit like a dark lake reflecting city lights.

She couldn’t believe she was still in the present. This was the future. Pulled forward and installed in the basement of a twenty-something’s estate like it was a hobby room. (image attached)

"Luna told me about your tech," she said. Her voice had changed.

The judgment was still there—she was a professional, she wouldn’t drop the act that easily—but underneath it was something she couldn’t hide.

Awe.

Genuine, childlike, what-the-hell-is-this awe.

"But I couldn’t believe it was actually this... insane."

I just smiled.

She’d seen so much tech since the moment she’d stepped into the estate. The Homebots gliding silently through hallways. The drones that appeared and disappeared like mechanical ghosts.

The Quantum Watches on every wrist.

The way almost everything in the estate seemed to change daily—ARIA bringing something new each morning like a divine intelligence with a compulsive need to upgrade her Master’s world before breakfast.

The TV alone had left Maria so mesmerized she’d asked if she could buy one too.

And so much else.

But we weren’t here to discuss tech.

I pointed her toward the other section—a doorway off the main pit area that led to what was clearly a changing area. Sleek. Private. Stocked.

"You should change into something more comfortable for the race," I said. Casual. Easy. Then, without breaking stride:

"Something that won’t distract me.

That would be cheating

, you know."

Her mouth opened—the protest already forming, the rehearsed disapproval about how inappropriate it was for me to be so casual about being attracted to my wife’s mother—

But I was already walking to the other side. Already gone. Already denying her the confrontation she wanted, because you couldn’t argue with a man’s back.

When we came back, she emerged from her side of the changing area and walked toward the starting grid.

I had one thing to say to myself.

One thought. One sentence. Absolute. Irreversible.

I am going to fuck her.

The racing suit she’d changed into was tight.

Fitted.

The kind of technical fabric that was designed for aerodynamics and had no idea it was also designed to make a man lose his mind.

It hugged every line of her body—and there were lines.

The slim waist I’d noticed in the office was now defined in high contrast, the curve of her hips visible in a way the draped skirt had only hinted at.

Her legs—those long, toned, time-defying legs—were encased in material that showed every contour of her thighs, her calves, the shape of muscles that moved beneath the surface when she walked.

The suit’s zipper sat at her collarbone, pulled down just enough to show the elegant column of her throat and the faintest suggestion of what lay beneath.

Her long black hair was pulled back now—swept into a loose tail that exposed her neck, her jawline, the delicate architecture of her ears.

Without the hair framing her face, every feature was sharper.

Starker.

More devastatingly beautiful.

I couldn’t imagine this kind of body

belonging to anyone else but me

.