My Taboo Harem! - Chapter 513: At the Ashford Estate Gates (r-18)

Chapter 513: At the Ashford Estate Gates (r-18)

Phei drove.

He’d plucked the keys from her hand outside the tower before she could even form the protest on her lips. She’d opened her mouth—probably to remind him whose car and parking lot it was—and he’d already rounded to the driver’s side, sliding in like he belonged there. She closed her mouth again.

Smart.

The car was low, black, predatory—built to slice through Paradise at night like a switchblade through silk.

The engine didn’t roar; it purred, deep and expensive, the kind of sound that vibrated up your spine and settled hot in your balls.

Every shift of the gears felt deliberate, intimate, like foreplay.

Gods, I like driving cars… it’s insulting how I don’t even own a car with billions sitting on a fucking black card I am holding.

Ashford Madam sat shotgun with her heels kicked off, bare feet tucked beneath her on the seat, body finally unwinding in a way he’d never seen at the office.

Her shoulders softened with her head tilted against the rest. Watching the city bleed past in gold, crimson, violet neon—restaurants still glowing, clubs starting to throb, beautiful bored people drifting like moths under streetlights.

Her ink-black hair spilled over one bare shoulder, catching flashes of light, and the pendant at her throat winked every time a streetlamp swept over it.

She hadn’t shut up since they left the office. Small talk at first—easy, warm, the boardroom ice finally melting into something softer, something that made her laugh without scanning for who might overhear.

Phei drove one-handed, the other resting on the gearshift, letting her voice fill the dark cabin.

A woman like her didn’t drop the armor often. When she did, you didn’t interrupt. You drove smooth. You listened. You let her remember she could still be human.

The Ashford Estate gates rose in the headlights—tall iron, old money forged into spikes.

He slowed before he stopped just outside. The engine idled beneath them, low and hungry.

He didn’t move.

She turned to him.

Dashboard glow painted her face in soft blue—sharp cheekbones, full lips parted, faint sheen of sweat already gathering along her collarbone and sliding slow into the deep valley between her breasts.

The halter dress clung to her like a second skin, silk darkened at the peaks where her nipples had stiffened hours ago and refused to calm.

“I had a good evening,” she said, voice low, almost shy.

Phei smiled—slow, predatory. “So did I.”

“The sushi was—”

“Don’t say adequate.”

She laughed—quiet, smoky, the sound curling straight to his cock. “I was going to say extraordinary.”

“Better.”

The laughter faded.

She turned her full body toward him and he slowly turned his. The console between them might as well have been nothing.

They were close enough that he could smell the scent on her skin and the faint salt of her arousal that had been building since the first course.

“Phei~” she whispered—just his name, in that soft divine voice he could never try to resist, like she’d been tasting it in private all night and finally let it slip free.

His fingers found the elegant line of her jaw, thumb settling beneath her chin as he tilted her face to his with a gentleness that felt obscene from hands that had broken bones for far less.

She let him, dark eyes wide and unblinking, watching him close the distance the way one watches lightning fork across the sky—knowing it would burn, knowing it would ruin something beautiful, and choosing to stand right in the strike zone anyway.

The moment their lips met the kiss ignited—slow at first, deliberate, his warm mouth sealing over hers as her lower lip parted under the gentle drag of his.

Hot, unsteady breaths mingled instantly, already tasting like raw sex.

“Mhmm~” A small, broken sound escaped her throat, the first crack in her perfect wall, and her hand flew to the back of his neck, fingers knotting tight in his hair to pull him deeper.

The kiss turned molten in a heartbeat. His tongue brushed hers in the lightest, almost worshipful stroke, testing, teasing, before growing bolder and sliding in with long, wet, filthy glides that dragged a deep, ethereal moan straight from her chest into his mouth.

“Phei~” Her heart and his skipped at once.

She opened wider for him, tongue meeting his in lazy, hungry circles, tasting faint green tea and raw masculine heat while her teeth grazed his lower lip—gentle at first, then harder—pulling a low, guttural groan from his throat that vibrated straight down her spine and settled throbbing between her thighs.

His free hand claimed her waist, palm burning through thin silk as fingers curved possessively into the dip of her hip, thumb stroking the lush swell before sliding lower, slow and deliberate, over the full curve of her ass.

He squeezed once—hard—then dipped between her thighs from the front and cupped her mound with firm, deliberate pressure.

The heel of his hand ground right against her swollen clit through the dress, making her gasp sharply into his mouth, hips jerking forward because she was already soaked beyond reason.

The silk of her panties had turned transparent hours ago, plastered obscenely to every plump, puffy fold; her outer lips pulsed hot and swollen under his touch. Fresh slick wept out in a slow, glossy flood, soaking through dress and lace in a dark, shimmering patch that caught the blue dashboard light.

“Gods—Phei—” she whimpered against his lips, voice trembling on the edge of a sob.

“I’ve been aching for you since the first time… I won’t stop leaking the second I think about for the past days… feel how drenched I am—how badly I need you inside—”

He answered by pressing harder, drawing slow, torturous circles over her clit through the soaked layers, feeling the fat little nub throb and swell even more beneath his thumb.

Another hot gush coated his fingers as the wet schlick of shifting fabric filled the quiet car.

Her thighs trembled violently; she rocked into his hand with desperate, greedy rolls, chasing every stroke while her tongue plunged deeper into his mouth—messy, wet, saliva slicking their lips and chins, dripping in thin strings whenever they parted for air.

He broke the kiss just enough to drag his mouth along her jaw and down the sensitive tendon of her neck, teeth grazing the spot beneath her ear.

“You’re ruining this dress, Goddess” he rasped, voice pure gravel and hunger, “that pretty cunt is crying through silk… listen to how wet you get every time you grind—like you’re already fucking my fingers.”

She moaned—high, broken, and needy—when he finally slipped two fingers under the edge of her panties and touched bare, fever-hot skin.

Her outer lips parted easily around them, glossy and swollen, clinging wetly as he traced the full length of her slit without pushing inside yet.

Her entrance fluttered against his fingertips in tiny, starving spasms, leaking more slick that ran down his wrist in warm, glossy rivulets.

“Please—” she breathed, forehead pressed to his, eyes glassy black with lust, “don’t stop—my clit is so fucking swollen it hurts—every circle makes my walls clench and flutter like they’re begging for your cock—please—Phei—finger me deeper—stretch me—make me drip all over your hand—”

This… the way she was speaking was stripped of the grace she had the first time… she really has been hungry for him.

His cock strained iron-hard against his trousers at the though, thick veins pulsing, the head leaking steadily and soaking dark patches through the fabric.

She felt it instantly, reached down blindly, palm cupping the rigid length as her fingers traced every throbbing ridge, feeling it jump and pulse under her touch.

“You’re so fucking hard for me, love,” she whispered, voice wrecked and reverent, “so thick… I can feel every ridge… gods, I want it sliding along my slit—slow—teasing my entrance—rubbing that fat head against my clit until I’m shaking—until your pre-cum mixes with my slick and we’re both dripping—”

She bit his ear and whispered…”You love it when your Goddess is dirty talking.

He growled—deep, possessive—fingers sliding back up to circle her clit with slick, relentless pressure while his mouth claimed hers again.

The kiss turned outright pornographic: wet, open-mouthed, tongues fucking deep and slow in perfect rhythm with the filthy circles on her clit.

Her hips bucked harder, riding his hand as obscene schlick-schlick-squelch sounds filled the car—her pussy weeping openly, coating his wrist, dripping in thick glossy strings onto the leather seat beneath her ass.

She was trembling now, right on the edge, clit throbbing visibly under the thin silk, walls fluttering wildly even untouched inside.

One final sharp grind of his palm sent her over—small, shuddering orgasm ripping through her with a muffled scream against his lips.

Her pussy spasmed in rhythmic waves, squirting in short, hot pulses that soaked his hand, puddled warmly beneath her thighs, and left the seat glistening.

They broke apart, breathing ragged, lips swollen and shiny with spit and her slick. Foreheads pressed together, bodies still shaking, the gates still open behind them and the engine idling low and hungry.

Her dress was ruined, the dark wet patch spreading obscenely between her thighs and clinging to every swollen fold. His trousers were stained dark with pre-cum and her squirt where she’d ground against him.

Neither moved toward the house.

Not yet.

Because the real fucking hadn’t even started.