Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 132 - A Free Show for the Cuckolded Guy
Raven’s mouth found her ear.
"I’m claiming what’s mine," he said.
Three words.
She felt them in her chest. In the specific hollow that eleven months of the Dalton family had carved there — the managing and the performing and the correct expressions and the letting go of what she wanted in favor of what was arranged — and she felt those three words fall into that hollow like they’d been shaped for it.
His eyes were at the edge of her peripheral vision. She turned to look.
That expression.
She’d seen his face in the pool footage. Seen it in the coffee shop encounter she’d turned over in her head more times than she’d admit. But this close — his face right there, the rain on his skin, those purple eyes not soft and not gentle but — certain, the specific quality of a person looking at something they have decided on completely, something that didn’t require justification from external sources because the decision had been made internally and was final —
Something quivered.
Deep. Low. In the exact place he was pressing into, something that was not pain, that was humiliating and involuntary and completely real, a pulse of heat that spread outward from where his cock rested against her broken entrance.
He kissed her.
And her body — which had been doing everything it was supposed to do, which had been trembling and resisting and providing physiological evidence of distress — betrayed her completely.
Her hands released the stone cross.
Found his arm instead.
And his cock pushed.
"NNNHH~~~—"
The sound came from her belly, not her throat.
He pushed slowly. Not all at once — that would have been simpler, would have compressed the experience into a single moment. He was deliberate. An inch at a time. Her walls stretching around him with the full, specific complaint of tissue that has not done this before and is doing it now around something built for women who have done it many times before.
Her hymen gave.
She felt it.
Not the dramatic rupture of fiction — a precise, hot sting, brief, the specific sensation of something small and final, and then the blood came properly, running down his shaft in thin red lines that the rain washed as quickly as it appeared.
Her virginity left in the rain of her fiancé’s father’s funeral.
"AAAHH~~ — it’s TOO BIG — RAVEN IT’S — it HURTS—"
Her tiptoes pressed harder into the mud. The upward angle of his cock lifting her — literally lifting her, her heels clearing the ground, her full weight supported partly by the stone cross and partly by his arm and partly by the impossible upward press of him inside her.
"Be — please — be GENTLE—"
PAH.
"HIEKK~~~!!"
His hips pulled back slightly and drove forward. Not brutal — not yet — but not gentle either. The specific pace of a man establishing what this is, what the rhythm will be, the first measured thrust that told her everything about what came after.
Her breasts swung.
Forward with the impact, the bare flesh wet and cold and bouncing with the jolt, the nipples dragging against the cold air, and another thrust and they swung again and his hand found one and held it, the flesh compressed and released, the jiggle of it against his palm.
PAH.
"UNNGHH~!!♡"
"BASTARD—" Victor’s voice, cracked and wet. "YOU BASTARD I WILL—"
PAH. PAH.
"AAAHH~!! — Victor — Victor he’s — AAAHH~!!"
She heard herself saying his name. Heard the words coming out between the sounds her body was making without permission. She was saying Victor’s name but she was not looking at Victor — her head was tilted back against Raven’s shoulder, her eyes half-open, looking up at the grey rain sky, and the tears running down her face were the tears of pain and the tears of something else and the rain mixed with all of it indifferently.
PAH. PAH.
Raven turned her.
One motion — pulling out enough to reposition, her breath hitching at the withdrawal, a sound of relief and protest simultaneously — and then she was on the ground.
The mud was cold.
Her back hit the wet grass and she felt it — the cold shock of it, the mud, the puddles, the rain hammering down on the estate cemetery, a rivulet of water running between the grave markers collecting in the hollow of where she lay. Her dress was open at the chest. Her hair was soaked through, spread against the mud. She looked up.
He was above her.
That body. The specific wrongness of it by any normal measurement, the shoulders and the arms and the way he occupied space like something that had decided how much of the world it was entitled to and had decided on all of it.
His cock in his hand. Wet with her blood and her. Still thick. Still — she couldn’t look at the size of it directly the way you can’t look directly at the sun, her brain processing it sideways, understanding it through consequence rather than direct perception.
He came down over her. His weight between her thighs. The mating press of his body pinning her into the mud, her legs spreading around him, the cold of the ground at her back and the warmth of him at her front.
"Victor is watching," she said. Not a protest. The words just fell out of her mouth, landed in the rain between them.
"I know."
He thrust.
"AAAAAANNGHH~~~!!!"
Full depth.
Whatever her body had taken before was not this — this was all of him, the full terrible length of him pressing through the resistance of her walls until there was no more resistance left and he was simply in, filling her in a way that pressed against things she hadn’t known could be pressed, the specific interior pressure of it reaching up into her belly.
"AAHH~!! AAHH~!! RAVEN—I CAN’T—IT’S TOO—AAAHH~!!"
PAH. PAH.
His mouth found her breast.
Her nipple between his teeth — the pull of it, the suction, drawing the flesh in with a pressure that matched the thrusting of his cock and her nervous system ran both signals together and produced something that was completely past her ability to categorize.
"HNNGH~!! — gentle — PLEASE — be GENtle—AAAHH~!!"
PAH. PAH. PAAH.
"AAAAHHH~!!♡♡"
"STOP IT—" Victor’s voice from somewhere to her left. She could hear him but couldn’t turn her head. Couldn’t organize the muscles of her neck for any purpose beyond its current one, which was keeping her head from falling backward entirely. "STOP TOUCHING HER — THAT’S MY — SHE’S MY—"
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
PAH. PAH.
"HNGH~!! AH~!! AH~!!"
Raven moved.
Not repositioning — he lifted her. His arms under her back, pulling her up from the mud, her thighs wrapping around his waist without instruction, the shift in angle driving him deeper as gravity and his grip combined and she screamed into his shoulder.
He walked.
Two steps. Three.
And lowered himself — and her — above Victor.
Victor, who was on his knees in the mud, face upturned, his expensive mourning suit soaked through, his eyes wide with the specific wildness of a man watching something he cannot stop and cannot look away from.
Elena looked down.
Victor looked up.
Their eyes met.
She was directly above him.
His face eight inches below hers.
His face that she’d looked at across dinner tables for eleven months and had performed feelings for and had calculated her position relative to and had managed—
PAH.
"OUUNGHHH~~!!♡"
