Chapter 460: Morning After Pleasure (r-18)

The shower kept running, hot water pounding his shoulders like it could wash away the weight of the notification. It couldn’t. Nothing could.

But the steam helped.

Made the air thick enough that the words floating in front of him felt a little less sharp.

Phei braced both hands on the charcoal tile, head bowed, letting the spray beat down the back of his neck. The system had just handed him a soul brand — an active, irreversible enslavement tool — and the only thing that surprised him was how

little surprise he felt

.

He wasn’t horrified.

He wasn’t even conflicted.

He was...

ready.

Because the math was simple now.

Consort wasn’t just a threat. She was a guillotine waiting to drop. One order from the One Above and Patricia Bloom — the woman currently curled in navy sheets with her bare pussy still leaking him from last night — would be dead.

All of them.

Wiped out in whatever elegant, surgical way the old blood liked to erase problems.

And the system had answered with

Tiamat’s Claim

.

Not a sword. Not a gun. A brand that turned the blade back on its wielder.

He exhaled hard through his nose, water streaming off his lips.

Yeah.

He’d use it.

He’d look Consort in her perfect, porcelain face, fuck her until she screamed his name instead of her master’s, and when the moment came — when she was boneless, dripping, begging for more — he’d activate the brand and watch the rune burn into her soul.

Then she’d kneel.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she had no choice.

And the people who’d spent centuries turning women into weapons would finally understand what it felt like to have one turned against them.

Phei straightened.

Shut off the water.

Eira was still sat on the tub, watching him with that ancient, amused glitter in her void-black eyes.

"You’re thinking very loud thoughts," she said.

"I’m thinking necessary thoughts."

"Mm.

Necessary, dark, delicious thoughts." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. "You’re going to use it, aren’t you?"

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Eira’s crystalline lips curved.

"Good boy."

Phei stepped back into the bedroom, towel slung dangerously low around his hips, the white terry cloth barely clinging to the sharp V of his hips.

Fresh droplets clung to his broad shoulders like diamonds, tracing slow, glittering paths down the carved ridges of his abs, over the deep cuts of his obliques, disappearing into the towel’s edge where the thick root of his cock already strained visibly against the fabric.

The morning light had shifted—gone softer, warmer, more intimate—spilling across the navy sheets like molten honey poured slow and deliberate.

Every ripple of reflected river-light danced over Patricia’s bare skin, turning her into something golden and obscene.

She hadn’t moved.

Still on her stomach, silk camisole rucked up high around the small of her back like it had given up hours ago, leaving her completely exposed from the waist down. Legs slightly parted—one knee bent lazily, the other straight—giving him the full, devastating line of her body: the elegant dip of her waist flaring into the full,

heart-shaped

swell of her

ass cheeks,

the soft shadowed crease where thick thigh met plush globe, the faint pink handprints and faint bite marks his mouth and palms had branded into her pale skin last night still blooming vivid against the morning glow.

She looked asleep.

Breathing slow. Deep. Face half-buried in the pillow, dark hair fanned wild across her shoulders and spilling down her back like spilled ink catching fire in the sun.

But Phei knew better.

He always knew better with her.

The tiny, telltale hitch in her exhale the second his bare feet crossed the threshold. The subtle shift of her hips—just a fraction, but enough—pressing her bare, swollen mound harder into the mattress so her puffy outer lips kissed the silk with a soft, wet sound he could hear from across the room.

The fresh wave of goosebumps that raced up the backs of her thighs the instant she felt his hungry, possessive stare lock onto her dripping cunt.

She wasn’t sleeping.

She was

waiting

—already soaked through, already aching, already leaking for him.

He smiled—small, predatory, tender all at once—and padded silently to the bed, every step deliberate, muscles flexing under golden skin.

Climbed onto the mattress behind her, slow and careful, like he was afraid of startling something wild and perfect.

He didn’t speak.

He simply lowered himself, broad chest brushing the backs of her thighs first—warm, hard muscle on soft, yielding skin—then braced on his forearms so his hot breath ghosted across the small of her back, raising fresh gooseflesh in its wake.

Patricia’s breathing stuttered

hard

.

Just once.

A tiny, broken sound she couldn’t hide.

He pressed his

lips

to the

dip just above her tailbone

—soft,

open-mouthed,

lingering.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the faint salt of her skin mixed with the thick, heady musk of last night’s endless creampies still clinging to her, still leaking slow from her ruined hole.

She sighed—

a small, sleepy sound that fooled exactly no one

—and her ass cheeks

clenched

involuntarily, the full, plush globes

rippling

softly as fresh slick welled from her hidden cunt and trickled down in a glossy thread to coat her tight pink asshole, making it glisten in the light.

He

kissed

higher.

A slow, reverent trail up her spine—wet, open-mouthed kisses pressed to each vertebra, tongue dipping into every shallow hollow, lips sucking gently enough to pull tiny, broken whimpers from deep in her throat.

Her back

arched—barely

at first, then deeper, shameless—pushing her ass higher toward his mouth, cheeks parting just enough to reveal the glistening, swollen

pink lips of her pussy

peeking between them, already puffy and dark from overnight need, inner folds creamy and fluttering, clit hood peeled back so the fat pearl throbbed visibly, slick strings stretching from her entrance to the ruined sheet below.

He kissed the curve of her right ass cheek—

soft, worshipful

—then the left, alternating slow and deliberate, letting his morning stubble scrape lightly against the tender flesh.

Each kiss made her hips twitch, a tiny filthy

roll

forward into the mattress that smeared her leaking cunt across the silk, then back toward his mouth so her cheeks jiggled and spread wider, offering more.

"Still sleeping, Ms. Bloom?" he murmured against her skin, voice low, rough with morning gravel and raw,

barely-leashed

want.

She didn’t answer.

Just let out a soft,

needy moan

—muffled into the pillow—hips lifting another fraction, thighs spreading wider on pure instinct so her dripping pussy lips parted with a wet, obscene

schlick,

revealing the creamy inner folds, the

tight little hole

still fluttering and winking from last night’s ruin, a thick bead of slick welling at her entrance and dripping slow.

He rewarded her.

Kissed lower—

open mouth pressed to the sensitive crease where ass met thigh

—tongue tracing the line in long, slow, dragging laps that made her thighs tremble and quake.