Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 125 - Police Arrived Slightly Delayed
She sucked more deliberately. Her cheeks hollowed. Her tongue moved in circles, slow, because she was paying attention and paying attention told her that slow worked.
Raven’s hand tightened once in her hair. Not pulling. Just — acknowledging.
’There it is’, she thought.
The heat from the mark at her neck pulsed. Low and steady. Like a second heartbeat installed in the wrong place.
She didn’t stop what she was doing, but her brain was running a separate track. Had been since Veronica materialized from nothing.
Since the bullet became ash.
Since she’d watched this man’s cock split her open and her own body had — responded, had ’welcomed’ it, which was the thing she couldn’t file under any category she already had.
’He gave her those powers’, she thought, her tongue moving against him. ’It was him. He fucked her and something unlocked.’
The phoenix mark on Veronica’s collarbone was visible from here — the red of it, the detail, the way it moved slightly when Veronica breathed like it was alive in some sense that the design of tattoos wasn’t.
’What would mine be’, Marga thought.
’If he decided to—’
She stopped the thought. Put it down. Picked up a different one.
’If he decided to give me something.’
The thought didn’t go away.
Raven’s hand moved through her hair again. That ruffling. That casual warmth.
She sucked his balls deeper into her mouth.
The sound she made was — less professional than she’d intended.
’"Mmmnh~"’
Above her, Veronica worked the full length of him with a thoroughness that Marga could hear in the wet sounds and the occasional low, satisfied noise that came from Veronica’s throat when she found a particular angle. The bobbing of her head had found a rhythm. Her hair swept forward with each movement, the dark red of it swinging against the side of Marga’s face.
Raven’s thighs were tight. His breathing had changed — still controlled, but shallower. His hand had stopped ruffling and was simply holding Veronica’s head now, fingers spread, not directing, just present.
"’By the way,’" he said.
His voice was entirely normal. Conversational. The voice of a man conducting a meeting from a lounger while two women worshipped him.
Veronica made a questioning sound around his cock.
"’Your son.’"
Veronica pulled back.
The suction broke audibly.
She looked up at him. Her lips were swollen. Her chin was wet. Her expression was the expression of a woman who has just been handed a sentence she hasn’t parsed yet.
"’My—’"
"’Where is he?’"
Veronica blinked. Then — slowly, carefully — "’Why?’"
Raven looked down at her.
His expression was the expression it always was. Unhurried. Containing something that was several degrees warmer than it appeared and several degrees more dangerous than the warmth suggested.
"’I want to cuck him too,’" he said.
The sentence arrived in the afternoon air and stayed there.
Veronica stared at him.
Then something moved in her face. Not shock — she’d stopped being shocked some hours ago. Not outrage. Something that was — partly amusement, partly the weariness of a woman recognizing that the man she’d decided to attach herself to was going to be a consistent source of exactly this kind of sentence.
She sighed.
It was the sigh of a woman accepting terms.
She lowered her head. Found his balls this time — her mouth wrapping around them with the deliberate, sensory attention of a woman who is making a point through the quality of her work — and sucked.
’"Mmmhh—"’
Not delicate. She sucked the way she’d done the first thing — like it was something she actually wanted, her lips working against him, her tongue pressing flat and then curling, the sounds her mouth made obscene and wet and completely without self-consciousness.
Marga had moved to the shaft.
Her tongue traced the thick vein on the underside from base to head, slow, then down again. Her hands cupped what her mouth wasn’t covering — one wrapped loosely around the base, the other spread across his inner thigh.
The two of them working in the specific, unspoken coordination of women who have found a shared task.
’She gave a man’s arm to ash’, Marga thought, as her tongue moved up the shaft. ’She materialized out of nothing. She burned weapons. She marked me and teleported me and her eyes glow.’
She pressed her lips to the head. Let the pre-cum meet her tongue.
’And she used to be—what? A politician’s wife. A background character. Furniture, she’d said. Alexander’s word.’
’She was furniture until this man happened to her.’
PAH.
The thought wasn’t a thought anymore, it was a question. A specific, focused, embarrassingly direct question that her brain was now filing under ’priority’.
’What would he give me?’
She’d been ambitious her whole professional life. Had calculated every angle, placed herself in every room she needed to be in, smiled at every man who needed smiling at. She’d gotten herself inside Alexander Dalton’s orbit through a combination of her body and her brain and her willingness to use both without squeamishness.
And what had that gotten her?
A dead man on the marble. A mark on her neck that bound her to a stranger. A kneeling position on a poolside in the afternoon with another woman’s cum on the lounger and her own body still aching from being opened by a cock that had no right to exist.
Versus.
’Fire.’
’Teleportation.’
’That thing Veronica’s eyes did.’
The mark pulsed at her neck and Marga, involuntarily, sucked harder.
’"Mmmnh~♡"’
"’You’re thinking loudly,’" Raven said, above her.
Marga paused.
Looked up.
His purple eyes were on her. Not on Veronica, who was still working his balls with focused dedication. On her. On the specific something-calculating expression she apparently hadn’t managed to hide.
Marga held his gaze.
Didn’t look away. Didn’t perform innocent. She was twenty-four and she had spent four years using her face as a tool and she knew what she looked like when she was thinking about something she wanted.
She took the head of his cock into her mouth.
Fully. The stretch of her jaw. The taste of him on the back of her tongue. She let him feel the interior of her cheek, the press of her tongue from below, the suction of her sealing her lips around the girth.
Then she looked back up at him.
With his cock in her mouth.
The message was not subtle.
Raven’s mouth curved.
He looked at her the way he’d looked at Veronica in the beginning — that clinical, assessing look that contained its own specific kind of danger.
"’Not as ambitious as you think,’" said a voice.
Not Raven.
Marga’s eyes moved sideways.
Veronica had lifted her head from his balls. Her chin was wet, her lips dark. She was looking at Marga with an expression that was — complicated. Not hostile. Not warm. The expression of an older hand watching a newer one and taking a full inventory.
"’You were faster than my darling could corrupt.’" Veronica tilted her head. "’Young whore.’"
The words were not cruel. They had the texture of observation. The same voice she’d used on the poolside with Alexander — factual, not particularly interested in the other person’s feelings about the facts.
Marga pulled off his cock.
Her jaw ached. She pressed her lips together, tasted him.
"’I—’"
