He didn’t target Jonathan. He wanted to see Sierra’s father clearly—without the influence, without the pressure. Wanted to see what the man was truly made of.
Sierra was watching him, pale and rigid in a dress her mother had probably chosen, looking like she wanted to disappear into the floor.
Phei didn’t hesitate.
He crossed the room—ignoring Jonathan’s narrowing gaze, ignoring Roxanne’s flustered attempt to compose herself, ignoring everything except her.
"Hey." He pulled her into his arms.
Sierra lted. All the ice in her veins cracked and thawed in an instant. All the tension, the fear, the weight of being caught between him and her parents—it dissolved the mont he held her.
She pressed her face into his chest, breathing him in, her whole body softening.
"You ca," she whispered.
"Always my love, always."
He held her there and let the mont stretch. Let everyone in this room see exactly where his priorities were.
Then he pulled back, cupped her face, and kissed her forehead—soft, tender, a gesture that said you’re safe without words.
When he turned to the table, his voice was perfectly polite.
"Mr. Montgory. Mrs. Montgory. Thank you for having us."
He crossed to Jonathan first. Extended his hand.
Jonathan took it—grip firm, testing, the handshake of a man who’d spent decades reading people through palm pressure and eye contact. His jaw clenched as he felt the unnatural steadiness in the boy’s grip. Phei t it evenly. Gave nothing. Took nothing.
Just two predators acknowledging each other across a dinner table.
Then he turned to Roxanne.
"Mrs. Montgory."
His voice wrapped around her na like silk.
Charm Speech. Sixty percent effectiveness on aroused targets—and she was very aroused now, had been since he walked through the door, her body betraying her before her mind could catch up.
The nas landed soft and warm, sliding past her defenses like they belonged there, making her lean forward slightly without realizing she was doing it.
He extended his hand to her.
She hesitated—just a fraction of a second, her eyes flicking down to his palm like it might bite her—before taking it. Her fingers were cool. Slim. Trembling slightly despite her best efforts to hide it.
This boy... this disgustingly godly boy is making wet in my own dining room, she thought, sha and heat warring inside her. I hope I did have to put up an act for Jonathan.
"Thank you for welcoming us into your ho."
Simple words. Polite words. The kind of words a thousand boys had said to a thousand mothers across a thousand dinner tables.
But from his mouth they sounded like a promise.
Roxanne’s lips parted. She found herself nodding along, agreeing to sothing she hadn’t consciously processed, her head moving before her brain gave permission.
His voice was doing sothing to her—sothing warm and heavy that settled in her chest and spread lower, making her want to keep listening, keep nodding, keep agreeing to whatever he was saying because agreeing felt good.
"The pleasure is—" she started, then lost the thread of her own sentence, distracted by the way his lips moved when he spoke.
The mont their skin touched, everything fired at once.
And Phei did it on purpose.
Not subtle. Not careful or asured deploynt of a man playing the long ga. This was reckless. Deliberate. The controlled fury of a boy who’d watched this woman sneer at lissa—his lissa, his aunt, his lover, the woman who’d protected him in the shadows when no one else would—and decided that Roxanne Montgory needed a lesson in humility.
You think you’re above it, don’t you? Above the taboo. Above the incest. Above the scandal. Let show you exactly how quickly you’ll fall.
Hunger Touch read her first—and gods, what a read. Not just aroused. Not just turned on by his presence and embarrassed about it. Roxanne Montgory was starving. Years of deprivation written in the tension of her grip. Sexually neglected and chronically unsatisfied.
She is a banquet of unt needs dressed up in a midnight blue gown and pearls.
Jonathan had been too busy controlling the Supre Court to control his wife properly, and her body had been screaming into the void for longer than she’d ever admit.
Abandoned jewel. My favourite kind. And you had the audacity to judge lissa?
Then Goddess Fall Touch activated.
Subtle. Just a whisper of it—not the full blast, not the thing that unmade won on contact, just enough to let her feel what his touch could be. A preview and simple taste.
It was the absolute peak of physical sensation delivered through nothing but his palm against hers.
Roxanne’s eyes went wide.
Her lips parted and her spine straightened like soone had run an electric current through it. Every buried desire she’d been suppressing for years—every fantasy she’d told herself proper Legacy wives didn’t have, every ache she’d blad on stress or age or her husband’s schedule—all of it woke up at once and scread.
She made a sound.
Low. Involuntary. The beginning of a moan that she caught just in ti—strangling it into a cleared throat, a polite little ahem that fooled exactly no one in this room with functional ears.
Phei held her hand a beat too long. Let his thumb brush across her knuckles—once, slow, deliberate.
This is what awaits you, Mrs. Montgory. This is your future. On your knees next to the woman you just insulted, both of you serving the sa cock.
He t her eyes.
Compelling Gaze. Just a flicker. Just enough to let her see the athyst depths, to feel the pull of sothing vast and hungry looking back at her, to watch her last coherent thought dissolve like sugar in hot water.
Her pupils blew so wide the green of her irises nearly disappeared. Her thighs pressed together under the table—Loss of thought. Forgetting where she was. Forgetting who she was married to. Forgetting everything except the hand holding hers and the desperate, shaful need pooling between her legs.
Cucklord’s Dominancewas singing. Forty percent more attraction because she belonged to another man—forbidden fruit always tasted sweeter. Cuckold’s Awareness had Jonathan’s subconscious screaming warnings he couldn’t consciously hear. The Cuckolding Stole amplified everything by fifty percent, turning the heat up on a woman already burning.
And Natural Born Cuckolder?
That one was simple.
Roxanne Montgory had been hungry for years. Starving. Her husband too busy, too important, too focused on controlling the Arican legal system to notice his wife was withering.
And now she was standing in front of soone who could feed her.
All Phei had to do was reach out and take... he was doing it deliberately and pausing with her just as deliberate.
Underneath it all—Cool Aura pulling, Charm Speech still landing with every polite syllable he spoke, making her want to agree, want to please, want to hear him say her na again just so she could feel that warmth spread through her chest one more ti.
All of this in the span of a handshake.
He released her with a polite smile.
"A pleasure."
Her voice ca out wrecked. Thin. Barely functional. "Yes. I—" She cleared her throat again. Twice. "—likewise."
She was soaked. He could sll it from here—the sharp, unmistakable scent of a woman’s arousal cutting through her expensive perfu like a confession. The woman who had sneered at lissa for fucking her nephew was now dripping through her panties because her daughter’s boyfriend had shaken her hand and said thank you for welcoming us.
Hypocrite.
But you won’t be for long.
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen the handshake. Seen the duration. Seen his wife’s reaction—the flush spreading down her neck, the way she wouldn’t et his eyes, the suspicious throat-clearing that had sounded nothing like a normal cough.
What the hell was that? he thought, a flicker of unease he couldn’t na tightening in his gut.
"Bold," Jonathan said, voice flat, sothing dangerous flickering behind the ice. "Touching my daughter before we’ve even been properly introduced."
"With respect, sir—" Phei t his gaze without flinching. "—I don’t believe introductions change what already exists between us."
Dominant. Polite. Not crude.
Jonathan studied him for a long mont.
"Sit.The first course will be served shortly."
Phei sat beside Sierra. His hand found hers beneath the table. Her fingers interlaced with his, squeezing tight.
Across the table, Roxanne was still trying to compose herself—face flushed, breathing uneven, thighs pressed together beneath the tablecloth.
The woman who had sneered at lissa for fucking her nephew was sitting there soaking through her panties for her daughter’s boyfriend.
And the night was just beginning.
User Comments
0 comments from readers