Chapter 86: A Temperamental Senior [R18]
"S... seduce Lordi Payne?!" Sun Elaine's breath hitched, her carefully cultivated seductive expression freezing into genuine shock. The tea cup she held nearly slipped from suddenly trembling fingers as Luca Dawnwick's words registered. Her eyes wide as she gaped at Luca Dawnwick, sprawled in the guest hall's carved chair, his smirk lazy yet predatory.
That vulgar brute? That uncouth oaf who can't even afford proper cultivation pills? Her stomach churned at the thought.
Luca Dawnwick didn't pause his exploration of her body, his large hand sliding possessively along the curve of her hip, fingers dipping beneath the thin silk of her sash. "What?" His thumb circled the sensitive hollow just above her thigh, making her gasp. "You're unwilling?"
Hell no, I'm not willing!
The protest burned her throat, but Sun Elaine swallowed it, mind racing like a trapped fox. Lordi Payne? That brash nobody? Trade this for him?
Instead, a breathy moan escaped as Luca's fingers found the heat between her legs through the fabric. She forced a trembling smile, voice dripping with feigned surrender as his hands stoked fires she couldn't ignore. "Hah... Senior Brother Dawnwick... Hngh♡... we're so intimate already... Ahh♡... ngh♡♡... how could you push me to bed another men?"
With a feral growl, Luca tore what remained of her dress—the delicate lace fabric ripping like paper, her undergarments yanked away in a single, brutal tug. Bare, vulnerable, she knelt on the zither table, thighs quivering as she arched instinctively, her nude hips thrust toward him under his commanding stare. The air thickened, heavy with lust, her skin prickling as his eyes drank her in—every curve, every shiver.
Wait—this isn't—
Sun Elaine's thoughts scattered as a calloused finger traced circling with a torturous slowness around her dripping entrance, warm and teasing, before thrusting inside without warning.
The sudden finger invasion that made her body clench, a moan spilling free. "Hngh! ♡♡♡ Haa!"
Sun Elaine's back arched involuntarily, breasts pressing against the smooth zither table surface as he began a ruthless rhythm. Slow at first, his rhythm built—deep, relentless, punishing, each stroke sparking pleasure laced with shame.