Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 286- I Want a Gift

His hand at her breast. The slow, kneading quality of it — one-handed, his arm still around her waist, his palm working her breast with the unhurried, attending quality of a man doing several things at once and giving each of them the weight it deserved.

Below her — Mira’s breathing changed.

Raven’s other hand had found Mira’s thigh. , upward movement of it — her leg being lifted, guided, repositioned — Mira making a sound against her own closed lips, the low, muffled "Hmmmnh—" of a woman trying not to participate in what her body was already doing —

And then Raven lined himself against her.

, attending quality of it — the blunt, thick, flushed head of his cock pressing against Mira’s entrance, the wet, yielding quality of her body meeting him at the threshold — Avriana could feel the adjustment of his hips through the contact of his body against her own, and the knowledge of what was about to happen arrived in her before it happened with the full, sensory, unambiguous clarity of the Sense doing its job.

’He is going to—’

’Right here. With me sitting—’

’While he is kissing—’

He plunged.

Mira’s scream was not muffled.

"AAHN~!!! HIEKK—!!!"

The full, raw, ceiling-aimed quality of it — her body arching off the mattress in one single, convulsive bow, spine lifting, belly rounding upward, both hands slamming into the sheets with the flat impact of a woman whose nervous system had just received the thick, sudden, full-depth intrusion of a cock that had not taken its time arriving and had not stopped at the polite place.

He was seated to the hilt.

The round, warm swell of her belly pressing against his lower abdomen — , intimate, absolutely insane quality of this position, his hands on both women simultaneously, Avriana’s breast in one hand and Mira’s hip in the other, his cock buried completely inside a pregnant woman who was currently making a sound like she had forgotten language.

"Hah — Hah — ohh—" Mira gasped, her voice breaking apart between each breath. "It — it’s against — I feel it against—"

Her cervix.

, interior, full-depth quality of a cock seated completely inside a woman who was already full of something else — the pressure of it, the thick, stretching, impossible depth — her eyes were wide and glassy and present and she was gripping the sheet with both fists with quality of hands that had nothing else to hold onto.

Avriana’s mouth pulled from his on an inhale.

"Hh—"

He had not pulled back. Her mouth had separated from his because she needed air, because her lungs had been waiting for the moment the kiss broke to remind her they existed. She gasped — the sharp, full, body-filling quality of it — her chest heaving, her freed nipple catching the cold air —

He pinched it.

The slow, firm, twisting quality of his fingers closing on her nipple — not punishing, deliberate — and she made a sound against the air that she was not proud of. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

"Ahn—! Nngh—"

He looked at her.

Dark. Level. His hips had not moved yet. He was seated deep in Mira below them and he was looking at Avriana with the full, attending, unhurried quality of a man who was doing one thing and asking about another.

"For healing you," he said, his voice perfectly level, "what gift do I get?"

His hips rolled.

The slow, first withdrawal — Mira’s body dragging against him as he pulled back, , wet, clinging quality of her around him, her breath catching, the low "Hnngh—~" of a woman feeling the pull — and then the return.

Pah.

The full, flat sound of bodies meeting — flesh against flesh, his hips finding the back of her thighs, the slap of skin carrying in the hotel room air —

"Aahn~!!"

One more.

Pah.

"Oungh~!! H — Hah—"

Mira’s breast bouncing with the impact — the full, heavy, milk-swollen jiggle of it, the wet nipple leaving a small, warm stain against the sheet — her belly moving, the round, taut swell of it shifting with each thrust, her thighs trembling.

Avriana was watching.

She was watching and she was furious about watching and her body was doing something entirely separate from her fury that she was going to address at a later time when she had more resources.

"What gift," she repeated.

Her voice arrived flat and low and precise — the boardroom register, dragged back from the fire at significant personal expense. "You want a gift."

"Hmnnh—" His thumb at her nipple, not releasing. "Something fair," he said. The absolutely level quality of a man having this conversation while his cock was inside another woman. "Something appropriate to the exchange."

Pah. Pah.

"Hnghh~!! Ohh — Raven — I — Hahh—" Mira’s voice dissolving, her body rocking with the rhythm, her hands scrabbling at the sheet.

His hand moved.

From Avriana’s breast—downward—finding the hem of her torn dress where it had gathered at her thighs, his palm sliding under it with the unhurried, attending quality she already knew, moving inward toward the wet center of her—

"I told you," Avriana said. Low. Warning.

His hand pressed.

Full, direct-pressure contact of his palm against her between her legs—through the ruined, soaked fabric of her underwear—and the sound that came out of Avriana Menhante was not the sound of a woman who had told him anything.

"Hh—!! Nhh—"

His fingers began to move.

She slapped him.

The full, open-palmed, no-warning quality of it—her right hand coming from beside her body, the flat crack of her palm connecting with his cheek with precise impact, the quality of a woman who had grown up in rooms where people occasionally needed to be redirected with physical clarity.

The sound of it hung in the room.

His head turned with the impact, the rotating quality of a face receiving a sharp slap—the red bloom of it appearing at his cheekbone, warm and immediate.

A silence.

Avriana scrambled backward.

The full, scrambling, undignified quality of it—she did not care. She was moving, putting mattress between them, her back hitting the headboard, her legs spreading in the impact of the scramble, her hair in her face, her torn dress around her waist and her chest bare, her chest heaving.

"How dare you," she said.

Her voice cracked.

The high, breaking quality of a voice in a woman who was furious and something else, who had been crying and was still crying and could not currently separate which tears were which. "How dare you ask me for a gift—"

She was gasping. Her hands pressed against the headboard behind her, her body trembling, her legs spread from the scramble, the wet, ruined fabric of her underwear in full, exposed, embarrassing evidence of the alley and everything after.

She was still crying.

’I am crying.’ The bewildered quality of the recognition. ’I do not cry. I have not cried in—I am crying on a hotel bed and I can’t—’

Pah!

The brutal, single, sharp quality of it—Raven’s hips snapping forward without ceremony, a thrust that had no warmth in it, the full, punishing depth of it meeting the back of Mira’s world—

"AANGHH~!!! HIEKK—!!!"

Mira’s body jerked off the mattress—fully, completely, her spine arching in the convulsive, helpless quality of a woman who had been hit from the inside with the flat, total force of something that did not ask permission—her hands flying, her belly swaying with the impact, the milk leaking from both nipples in two thin streams from the jarring.

His hand had not left Mira’s hip.