Transmigrated Into A Women Dominated World

A sudden, primal urge surged through him, raw and undeniable. His body burned to feel her warmth.

He stepped inside the kitchen, not paying attention to Kayla and Marceline who were in there with her.

"Smells good," Zaeryn's voice was a low murmur against Ysmeine's hair. He stepped up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest until her body was flush against his.

Ysmeine let out a soft gasp of surprise before a warm smile touched her lips. She leaned into his embrace, her head tilting instinctively as he nuzzled the delicate, perfumed skin of her neck.

"I was experimenting with some new herbs," she said, her own voice a little breathless. "I thought they'd give the dish an extra kick."

A slow smile spread across Zaeryn's face. He wasn't thinking about the dish; he was thinking about her, about the intoxicating floral scent that was uniquely Ysmeine. He leaned in, his lips tracing a path from her neck to the corner of her mouth.

Ysmeine tilted her head as he captured her lips in a kiss that was both deeply affectionate and fiercely passionate.

Her knees went weak, threatening to buckle as his tongue slid past her lips, a bold and searing claim. A jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shot through her, and she kissed him back deeply, hungrily. Her hands, which had come up to his face, tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as the heat between them exploded into a raging fire.

The sizzle of the pan and the soft murmur of conversation from the other room faded away, replaced by the roar of blood in her ears and the hard, solid feel of his body pressed against hers.

​"Ysmeine's mind was a whirlwind. 'His kisses changed,' she thought, a faint shiver running through her. They feel more… charged and more intimate now that he's all grown up.' The thought sent a jolt of heat through her. It wasn't just that they were different; they were more pleasurable now. Each touch of his lips left her wanting more, a fire ignited by his growing confidence. It was a thrilling, dangerous feeling she hadn't expected and couldn't ignore."

The innocent pecks they used to share—a simple greeting, a tender goodbye—were gone. This was different. This was the kiss of a man, not the boy she'd raised. His hands slowly slid down from her slender waist to her full hips and tightened his touch, no longer just comforting, but possessive.

A hot flush crept up her cheeks as she felt his hands touching her back. She could now confirm that this was far from just innocent embracing. But that made her very happy.

Ysmeine had to admit, she was beginning to look at Zaeryn as more than just her responsibility, someone who she had been tasked to look after. And in truth she stopped looking at him as just a task a few months after the exchange, he was a dear and an important person in her life. But now, he was more than that. And she could feel her body responding to him in ways it never had before.

Had she been so blind to his growing maturity, or had she simply refused to see the man he was becoming right before her eyes?

Her eyes fluttered shut in pleasure as the kiss deepened, a slow burn of discovery and surrender. Zaeryn's hands settled on the elegant curve of her hips, sliding lower until they cupped the soft swell of her ass, pulling her firmly against him.

The sensation of his hand on her ass made Ysmeine's mind—usually so controlled—scatter. There was no denying it now: the boy she had protected was gone, replaced by this man whose touch set her entire body on fire. This wasn't just affection; this was hunger. A soft moan escaped her throat as she arched into him, her hands tangling in his hair.

A low, sultry chuckle cut through the haze.

"My, my," her voice purred from the plush couch, "if I'd known the main course was going to be this entertaining, I would have skipped the appetizers." Marceline watched, amused, and in all honesty, she found it hot.

Zaeryn and Ysmeine broke apart, both breathless and flushed. Ysmeine, for the first time in years, looked genuinely flustered, her hand flying up to her swollen lips as she smiled.

She then turned back to the now-forgotten pan on the stove.

Zaeryn had completely forgotten that Ysmeine wasn't alone before he walked in here.

His smirk faded as he glanced past a laughing Marceline. He had fully expected the space to be empty, assuming Kayla would have stormed out in disgust at the first sign of intimacy.

But she was still there.

She hadn't moved an inch. She remained seated there, and there was no sneer, no eye-roll, just a quiet, intense observation that was far more unsettling than her usual contempt.

It was as if she were caught by surprise by the nature of Zaeryn and Ysmeine's intimacy.

Leaving Ysmeine flustered and breathless by the stove, Zaeryn felt a magnetic pull toward the sitting area. He walked over and sat down on the sofa next to Marceline.

She wasted no time. With that same sultry chuckle, she opened her arms and drew him into her embrace, pulling him sideways until his face was pressed deep into the valley of her cleavage.

A blissful, pillowy softness enveloped him, a familiar sensation that was just as full and intoxicating as Ysmeine's. Her warmth and the rich, floral scent of her perfume—a fragrance that was both comforting and dangerously seductive swallowed him.

When she finally let him go, her hands lingered on his shoulders as she held him at arm's length, her eyes drinking him in. It was then that Zaeryn truly took her in, and the sight stole his breath.

Marceline was not just beautiful; she was a force of nature given human form. Her dark hair cascaded in glossy waves around a face that defied time, with full lips curved in a smile that promised both maternal comfort and untold mischief.

Her silk dress clung to a wicked, hourglass figure, celebrating the lush swell of her hips and the impossible narrowness of her waist. He could see the soft upper curves of her full breasts, which rose and fell with each deliberate breath.

It seemed like a calculated display of power and allure, a silent reminder that she was a matriarch who was utterly unapologetic about her sensuality, and it worked on him every single time.

But it was her eyes that held the true power, smoky green and deep, they glittered with an ancient, knowing light, as if she could see every secret he held and was thoroughly amused by all of them. She wasn't just a woman; she was a matriarch, a goddess in her own home, radiating a serene, sensual confidence that was utterly captivating.