Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

The pink-gold aura flared behind him like a slow explosion, tendrils of heat snapping through the air like dragon's breath uncoiling. It licked over her skin, brushing her inner thighs, her belly, her throat. And beneath her, she felt the air crackling—like something ancient had stirred and was watching.

He wasn't just aroused. He was awakening.

And she had asked for it.

Pyris lifted her off the minibar with impossible ease and stepped forward, pinning her softly against the cold glass wall.

Her dress slid further down, baring her entirely above the waist. The city lights from the skyline behind her cast her body in silver and black shadows, and Pyris devoured the sight of her—the smoothness of her skin, the hunger in her eyes, the way her lips trembled under control.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, but his voice wasn't gentle.

It was a final warning.

She answered by tilting her head and baring her neck—an open throat, offered freely.

"Then say it," he growled. 'Say you accept my Seal and Mark!"

"I accept the Dragon's Seal," she whispered. "Mark me. Make me yours."

The seal responded instantly.

It wasn't magic. It was corrupted instinct, seared through soul and flesh. A soft brand of energy formed beneath her skin where his palm lay flat against her belly—just above the womb. A pink-gold symbol lit in a slow, spiraling pattern, burning into her soul like a hot brand from a long-dead god.

[Ding! You have formed a bond!]

Her back arched. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. The sensation was too raw. Too total.

It wasn't pain.

It was identity being rewritten.

Pyris felt it too. The link. The invisible thread now drawn tight between them. Her desires skimmed his surface. Her pulse echoed in his chest. Her arousal, her fear, her devotion—all now his to feel, to feed, to command.

And just as it sealed, her nails clawed into his back—and she moaned his name, ragged and broken.

"Pyris…"

His mouth caught hers again. This kiss wasn't hungry like before.

It was possessive. Final. Marked.

His tongue danced with hers, fangs brushing, corrupted pleasure riding every flick and drag of contact. Her hands didn't just hold him—they clung to him, as if the Seal had ignited some older hunger in her vampiric bloodline that had been starving for centuries.

She reached between them again—but this time, he didn't stop her.

Her hand gripped the full length of him, still restrained beneath tight slacks but pulsing with unnatural weight, length, gitch and heat.

Her lips tore from his. "You're... burning."

"You sealed yourself to a Lust Dragon," he whispered, biting her ear. "You expected less?"

She stroked once, and the Divine Cock now a Corrupted Cock perhaps, throbbed beneath her palm like a living beast—each twitch synced to the now unbreakable bond between their souls. Her thighs clamped tighter. Her fangs nearly drew blood.

"You're going to ruin me," she whispered.

"I already have," he murmured.

__

She was trembling now.

Pinned against the glass, skin bared to the city lights and his corrupted aura, Esmeralda's thighs clamped tight around his hips as if her body already knew—knew it was too late to run, knew it belonged to him now. Her breath hitched as Pyris leaned in and pressed his lips along the line of her collarbone, tongue tracing the edge, slow and molten.

"You're burning me from the inside," she whispered, voice thin, ruined. "Like you're in my blood."

"I am," he murmured against her skin.

Her hands buried into his hair again, tugging his mouth lower, down between the heavy swell of her breasts still caught in black lace. But he didn't obey. Not entirely. Pyris dropped to his knees in front of her.

And then—he opened her legs.

She gasped.

Not out of fear. Out of helpless need.

Her thighs resisted for a moment, a reflex, a final dignity. But his hands—those Lust-imbued hands, that corrupted LUST touch—were already working their dark magic. His thumbs brushed the sensitive lines on the inside of her thighs. His Lust Body radiated heat like a slow fever, his skin alive with pheromones, sending jolts through her legs like lightning cracking through velvet.

Her knees buckled slightly as her thighs parted—and Pyris caught her.

He always caught her.

Her lace panties—so delicate, soaked through—were pushed aside, not removed. He didn't undress her, not yet. He just spread her wider with those firm, heated hands, and leaned in with that pink-gold aura still smoldering behind his eyes.

Her inner thighs were exquisite. Pale, smooth, lightly freckled with traces of old battle scars—a story etched in velvet. They were strong too, muscles honed over years of undead agility, but now they quivered under his corrupted touch like prey at the edge of surrender.

Above, her breasts under her bra were a marvel: full, high, perfect in their wicked symmetry, barely restrained by black lace that clung tight across her curves. The delicate fabric gave way to the swell of her soft flesh with each shallow breath, nipples pebbling beneath the mesh, begging for attention he hadn't even granted yet.

He knelt down as she wrapped her legs around his neck

He kissed the inside of one thigh—then the other. Not gently. His lips grazed her flesh like a worshipper kissing the altar before setting it ablaze. Esmeralda's head fell back with a soft thud against the glass, and she moaned low, barely human, barely in control.

His tongue tasted her like a man corrupted—slow, patient, possessive.

"Your thighs," he said between kisses, "are sinful."

She laughed, breathless. "They were made to kill kings, Aaahhh~~~"

"They're about to be devoured by a dragon."

And then his mouth met her heat.

Her gasp cracked through the silence of the office.

Her lace panties—so delicate, soaked through—were pushed aside, not removed. He didn't undress her, not yet. He just spread her wider with those firm, heated hands, and leaned in with that pink-gold aura still smoldering behind his eyes.

She arched. Her fangs bared. Her moan tore itself from her throat with raw abandon. Pyris didn't rush. No, his technique was merciless in its precision. Every motion of his mouth was a command. He dragged his tongue upward in slow strokes—through her soaked panties—forcing the fabric against her swollen clit until it clung to her like a second skin.

Esmeralda couldn't speak.

Couldn't think.

He was kissing deeper—into her heat, into the very center of her being—with that Corrupted Lust burning in every flick, every suck, every devouring pull of her love juice on his tongue. Her legs closed around his head instinctively, thighs trembling, heels digging into his back.

She gripped the edge of the glass wall behind her until her nails cracked.

"Pyris—" she choked. "I—if you don't stop—!"

He didn't stop.

Instead, his hands slid under her ass, pulling her deeper onto his mouth, making her grind against his tongue. One of his fingers traced her soaked slit, teasing entrance—never breaching, just circling it, pressing her higher and higher.

"Say it," he growled between kisses, his voice dark and wet with her taste. "Say who you belong to."

"You—!" she gasped.

He sucked her clit and her soul shattered.

"Say it," he commanded again, voice now echoing with Lustful Villain energy, a note of taunting, dangerous authority in his tone.

Esmeralda's head dropped forward. Her hand grabbed a fistful of his hair. Her lips trembled.

"I'm yours," she breathed. "Pyris… you lustful Dragon… I'm yours."

His eyes flared. His aura burst wide.

Her body responded to that—her core tightening, thighs locking tighter around his face, her climax building like a scream between galaxies. His tongue never stopped. His fingers stroked with unbearable rhythm.

She couldn't speak.

Couldn't breathe.

Each flick of his tongue pressed the damp lace harder into her, dragging every inch of her sensitive heat against his mouth. Her thighs tightened like a vice, the muscle of them locking around his head. Her hips bucked once—sharp, uncoordinated—as her climax slammed into her.

Her pleasure crested like a black tide—and then—

She broke.

She came with a cry that should've shattered the windows, her body spasming as the Seal between them pulsed and locked deeper, her essence now eternally tied to his.

Came onto his tongue.

Not inside.

On it.

Soaking through her panties with a wet, violent shudder that left her legs shaking and her vision swimming.

The lace stuck to her folds, utterly soaked, her arousal dripping down her thighs as his tongue kept stroking, pulling every pulse of her orgasm into his mouth like he needed it to breathe.

Her body responded to that—her core tightening, thighs twitching, nipples peaking so hard they threatened to tear the lace.

He didn't stop.

And neither did she.

Still, he licked her slowly, easing her down from the high with reverence and addiction. Her thighs trembled against his cheeks, her hips twitching with aftershocks, and Pyris finally looked up—his lips glistening, eyes golden-pink, and that grin...

That villain's grin.

"You taste like royalty," he said.

She looked down at him, dazed, destroyed, cheeks flushed, sweat-damp hair clinging to her face.

"And you," she whispered hoarsely, "you're like damnation."

"Now please, FUCK ME!"