Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation-Chapter 727: I Ruined Strip Clubs For You

Chapter 727 – I Ruined Strip Clubs For You

His name slipping from her lips like prayer.

Once he was fully seated inside her, he didn’t move immediately.

He leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time.

"You feel better than any victory," he murmured.

Then he began to move.

Slow at first.

Deep.

Measured.

Her hips lifted to meet him.

He increased the pace gradually, watching how her body reacted.

He didn’t slam.

He consumed.

Controlled rhythm building into something darker.

She wrapped her legs around his waist tighter.

He leaned down and bit gently at her shoulder, claiming her scent as his own.

Her moans grew louder.

Less controlled.

More desperate.

He felt his control slipping in the best possible way.

His cock hardened further inside her, responding to every sound, every movement.

"Lux— faster."

He did.

The rhythm shifted.

Harder.

Deeper.

His hand gripped her hip firmly, holding her in place as he drove into her.

This was not soft romance.

This was dark hunger wrapped in devotion.

His incubus side flared, feeding on her pleasure.

But it wasn’t draining.

It was amplifying.

Her body tightened around him suddenly.

He knew that sign.

He adjusted angle slightly, hitting exactly where she needed.

She cried out as the wave hit her.

Her orgasm rippled through her, clenching around him.

That nearly undid him.

He groaned, thrusting harder for a few final movements before finally losing himself inside her.

His body tensed, heat flooding through him as he finished.

For a moment, there was only breath.

Only heat.

Only skin pressed against skin.

He stayed inside her, forehead resting against hers again.

Her fingers traced lightly over his back.

"You didn’t lose control," she whispered.

He smirked faintly.

"I chose where to let it go."

Naomi traced her fingers slowly over his shoulder, down his chest, still flushed from what they had just shared. Her hair was messy against the pillow, her lips swollen, eyes softer now.

"You’re too confident," she murmured.

"I’m accurate."

She rolled her eyes lightly, then leaned in and kissed him again. Slower this time. Curious. Her fingers slid down over his abdomen, tracing the faint tension still there.

He exhaled softly, still inside her warmth, still holding her close.

"I have a confession," he said quietly.

She raised a brow. "That sounds dangerous."

"Before I returned, I went to a club. The club I went to... was a strip club."

Her eyes widened.

"You what?"

He brushed a kiss along her jaw.

"I booked lap dancers."

She stared at him.

"You’re saying this now?"

"I thought I could go blank," he admitted. "Clear my head."

Her hand paused against his chest.

"And?"

"And I was wrong."

He rolled slightly to his side, pulling her with him so she was half draped over him. His fingers idly traced along her thigh.

"I felt disappointed."

"Because?"

"Because they saw me as a money machine." His tone wasn’t bitter. Just factual. "Transactional. Rub me, I rain cash."

She studied him carefully.

"Well... it is a strip club."

"I don’t blame them," he said calmly. "That’s how it works."

"And you participated."

"Yes."

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"So you didn’t touch them?"

He shook his head.

"No kisses. No sex. No contract."

Her lips twitched faintly.

"That rule."

"I saw them as business."

"And me?"

He looked at her fully.

"You aren’t."

Something warm settled in her chest.

"After I had you," he continued quietly, "my standards shifted."

She leaned up on one elbow.

"So I ruined strip clubs for you."

He smirked.

"Yes."

She laughed softly.

"Poor dancers."

"They were skilled."

"But?"

"But I wasn’t hungry for them."

Her gaze dropped slowly.

"And you were hungry for me."

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Instead, he brushed his hand down her side again, sliding over the curve of her waist and resting at her hip.

She shifted slightly, pulling herself up so she was straddling him again, hair falling over her shoulders.

"So... what else do I need to know?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second.

"I met Fiera there."

Naomi blinked.

"Fiera?"

"She came to retrieve her cousin."

"Aelitha?"

"Yes."

Naomi sighed.

"That girl again."

"She made another scene. Family bodyguards involved."

Naomi leaned back slightly, studying him.

"And?"

"And Fiera and I talked."

"About?"

"Media. Reputation control. Invitations."

Her brows lifted.

"Invitations."

"Her family wants to apologize formally."

She stared at him.

"You in a fox clan formal apology dinner."

He smirked.

"It will be entertaining."

Naomi shook her head.

"You attract chaos."

"I diversify chaos."

She rolled her eyes, then leaned forward slowly.

"And that’s all?"

"Yes."

She watched him carefully.

"You’re telling me this because..."

"Because you’d hear about it eventually."

"And?"

"And I prefer disclosure."

She studied his face.

"You’re changing."

He raised a brow.

"How."

"You used to compartmentalize."

"I still do."

"But you’re telling me."

He paused.

"Yes."

She leaned down and kissed him softly.

"Good."

Her hand slid slowly down his chest again. This time, lower.

He inhaled quietly as her fingers brushed over his abdomen and continued downward.

She moved slowly at first, just testing the weight of him in her hand. Watching his face.

"You’re still hard," she whispered.

"You’re still here."

She smiled faintly.

Her hand began to move more deliberately now, slow strokes, controlled, teasing.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash through him.

"Naomi..."

She leaned forward, brushing her lips along his chest while her hand continued its rhythm.

"You like control," she murmured. "And you like choosing when to let go."

Her fingers tightened slightly, earning a low sound from him.

"Then let me choose," she whispered.

He opened his eyes, watching her carefully.

She shifted lower between his legs, her hair falling forward. Her lips pressed lightly along his abdomen first, slow kisses mapping downward.

He tensed slightly.

She looked up at him.

"Still calculating?"

"Always."

She smiled.

"Stop."

Her hand resumed its slow rhythm as her mouth traced closer. She wasn’t rushed. She wasn’t performing.

She was deliberate.

And that difference burned deeper than anything the club offered.

"You’re not a machine," she said softly, her voice brushing warm against his skin. "You’re not a wallet. You’re not an asset."