Chapter 476: Disarming Aunt Cassiopeia (r-18)

Phei shifted—slow, deliberate—until her back pressed flush against the cool expanse of the floor-to-ceiling glass.

The city lights fractured across

Cassiopeia’s

divine body like offerings:

molten

gold

slashed over

the razor-sharp line of her collarbones,

crimson

bled thickly down the deep, shadowed cleft between her heavy, upthrust breasts,

violet

gathered in the hollow of her throat and traced the lethal inward curve of her waist that was so deep before spilling over the generous flare of her hips.

She really had it all! Maybe that’s why she was so sure... so proud!

Downtown Paradise glittered behind her like a galaxy on its knees and she was high and it was this boy who’d put her there, but nothing in creation mattered except the trembling goddess pinned between mortal heat and cold glass—every

lethal,

quivering inch of her laid bare to his worship.

He never rushed something

sacred.

He had a way of making her feel like that... sacred.

Without saying it!

His mouth found the

pounding

pulse at the side of her neck first.

Soft, open-mouthed kiss. Warm lips sealed tight. His tongue dragged slow and flat, tasting salt, night-blooming jasmine, and the first faint metallic edge of her unraveling control.

Cassiopeia’s breath shattered—sharp, involuntary—a low, velvet moan vibrating straight into his mouth as her thighs clamped together, silk whispering wetly, already soaked through at the crotch.

"Good girl,"

he rasped, voice gravel wrapped in reverence. "Let me hear every fucking sound you’ve buried for years."

He kissed lower—deliberate trail along the straining tendon, teeth scraping just enough to make her shiver and her empty cunt clench hard.

Then back up, under her jaw, to the tender spot behind her ear.

He

sucked

—slow, wet pulls—tongue circling in lazy, glistening spirals until another broken sob tore from her throat.

Her nails raked down his shoulders through fabric, leaving stinging crescents she didn’t even realize she was making.

He pulled back only far enough to drink her in: lips parted on shallow pants, cheeks flushed rose-gold under neon, silver-streaked black hair already wild, pupils blown to black lakes of hunger.

Then he tore.

Fingers hooked the fragile midnight straps. One long, wrathful pull—the silk parted with a soft, obscene

riiiiip

that echoed like scripture being rewritten.

The dress split down her lower thighs the front like sacred wrappings coming undone for him alone.

Cool air licked newly naked skin.

Her

heavy breasts

spilled free—full, round, flushed deep rose at the peaks, nipples already dark plum and painfully stiff, standing high and begging under the fractured city glow.

The ruined silk slithered down her arms, catching at her elbows before he dragged it lower, baring the soft, trembling plane of her stomach, the elegant flare of her hips, the shadowed dip of her navel, and finally the drenched silk panel still clinging desperately to her pussy mound.

Cassiopeia moaned—loud, head tipping back against the glass with a dull thud, hair fanning like spilled ink.

"Phei... fuck..."

He answered with his mouth.

Slow, reverent suck at the hollow of her throat—leaving a faint red brand that bloomed like possession.

Down the centerline of her sternum, tongue tracing delicate bone in wet, lingering strokes. Then to the inner swell of one breast—lips brushing soft, fever-hot skin in a slow spiral toward the nipple without touching it.

She arched—back bowing violently off the glass, tits thrusting forward in raw demand, nipples tightening to cruel points.

He teased her the way a goddess deserved to be teased.

Every inch of her skin felt like warm silk stretched over living flame—velvet-soft yet fever-hot, so smooth his lips kept sliding, desperate for more friction.

Her breasts were heavy and impossibly full in his hands, the undersides so sensitive that the lightest brush of his knuckles made her whole body jerk.

Her nipples were stiff little peaks of dark plum, so hard they felt like they could cut glass, and every time his breath ghosted over them her back bowed harder, pushing them closer to his mouth in silent, greedy plea.

She didn’t even realize she was doing it—subconscious, lust-drunk movements that made his

cock

throb harder: hips rolling in tiny, helpless circles against nothing, thighs rubbing together with wet silk sounds, back arching deeper every few seconds like her body was trying to offer her tits to his mouth on instinct.

Her fingers kept knotting tighter in his hair, pulling him closer without meaning to, while soft, broken whimpers kept spilling from her throat—celestial and filthy at the same time.

"So fucking perfect," he growled against her skin, voice rough with awe. "Every inch of you feels like sin wrapped in heaven."

Finally, his mouth closed over one peaked nipple—

hot, wet suction

that made her cry out sharply. Her back arched so violently the glass behind her creaked.

He

sucked

harder, tongue flicking the stiff peak in rapid, ruthless strokes while his hand kneaded the other breast, rolling the

neglected nipple

between thumb and forefinger until she was panting, sobbing, thighs clenching so tight the silk between them was drenched and dripping down her legs

His tongue flicked the tight bud—once, twice—then flattened, lapping broad and slow, circling the wide, dark areola in slick rings.

Cassiopeia cried out

—sharp, broken—hips jerking forward to grind her soaked silk mound against the iron ridge of his cock still trapped in denim.

The ruined dress clung obscenely to her lower thighs, crotch panel dark and plastered, thick glossy rivulets of her slick weeping straight through and dripping in slow, shining strands down from her inner thighs.

"Fuck—yes—Phei—

" Her voice cracked into a whimper, thighs quaking.

Cassiopeia was lost.

Her head kept falling back against the glass with soft, rhythmic thuds.

Her hips rolled in unconscious little thrusts, chasing friction she couldn’t find. Every time he

sucked

harder on her nipple her

cunt clenched

visibly, fresh slick soaking through the ruined panties and running down her inner thighs in glossy trails.

She didn’t notice her own hands sliding down his back, nails digging in, or the way her legs kept trying to wrap around his waist—pulling him closer, begging without words for him to fill the aching emptiness between her legs.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same slow, devastating treatment—long, wet pulls that made her nipple throb against his tongue, teeth grazing just enough to make her jolt and moan louder.

More slow kisses around the areola, wet circles with his tongue, then deep, hollow-cheeked suck that pulled her forward onto her toes.

One hand slid down—fingers splaying wide over the dip of her waist—then lower, cupping the full, perfect round of her

ass

through shredded silk.

He squeezed—

hard

, possessive—lifting her just enough that her dripping cunt mashed tighter against his thigh.

Soaked silk dragged filthy and loud over denim with every roll of her hips.

She

ground down

—slow, obscene circles—silk sliding wetly, leaving a glistening trail that soaked through his trousers in seconds. The sharp, sweet scent of her flooded the space between them, thick enough to taste.

Every inch he kissed felt hotter, softer, more sensitive than the last, like her body had been waiting ten thousand years just for his mouth to claim it.

And then he touched her.

Palm flat against her bare stomach—warm, steady—right below her navel.

The

Goddess Fall Touch

ignited.