My All Powerful System

Chapter 220: Lynx, Eleanor and her Squad

He wasn’t. He shoved into her from behind and set a hard pace immediately, hands on her narrow hips, and Rhea’s elbows gave out on the third stroke.

She went down onto her face and just took it, took every thrust, cheek pressed to the sheets, fingers twisted in the fabric, and she came a third time like that, silent except for the wet slap of their bodies and a single broken exhale.

He pulled her upright onto her knees. Back against his chest. One hand spread flat across her stomach, the other at her throat, not squeezing, just there, the way he’d held Eleanor.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes and let him fuck up into her while his fingers found her clit and rubbed slow circles, and her thighs shook and her breath came in short hot bursts against his jaw.

"Look at them," he murmured.

She opened her eyes. Nadia was still on the bed, both hands fisted in the sheets, thighs pressed hard together, hazel eyes locked on Rhea’s face with an expression that was half horror and half hunger.

Iris and Layla were tangled on the far side, spent, watching. Eleanor was asleep.

"They’re watching you come apart," Lynx said, low at her ear. "And you’re not screaming. You’re not begging. You’re just taking it. Is that better or worse?"

"Worse," Rhea whispered. "It’s worse."

He bit her shoulder. She came a fourth time, hard, her whole body bowing back against him, and he felt her cunt clench around him in a rhythm he couldn’t ignore, and he let himself go.

Buried to the hilt, spilling inside her, hot and thick and pulsing, and Rhea’s head fell forward and she shuddered through it and made one small sound at the end, almost a sigh.

He pulled out. She dropped forward onto her hands and knees and stayed there a moment, breathing, cum sliding down her inner thigh, before she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes without a word.

Lynx turned.

Nadia Goldspire had not moved from where she’d been sitting since he’d told her not to touch herself. Both hands still fisted in the sheets.

Thighs still pressed together. Her dark skin was flushed across the chest and throat, and her full lips were parted, and she was breathing through her mouth like she’d just run somewhere.

She met his eyes and immediately looked away.

"Don’t," she said, before he could speak.

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t do the thing where you say something smug and I have to pretend I don’t want to hit you."

Lynx crawled across the bed toward her. Slow. He stopped a foot away and sat back on his heels, and his cock was already hardening again, already glowing, already slick with the last three women, and he made no effort to hide any of it.

"You’ve been sitting there for long now," he said. "You haven’t touched yourself. You haven’t looked away. What do you want, Nadia?"

"I want you to stop asking me questions like that."

"That’s not an answer."

She let go of the sheets. Flexed her fingers. Then she looked at him, the way she’d looked at him across the courtyard when he’d caught a boosted strike in one hand, and something in her face gave up a fight it had been losing all night.

"I want to know if you were lying," she said. "About the stamina."

"I wasn’t."

"Then prove it."

She stood up off the bed and reached behind her and unzipped her dress, the same dark thing she’d worn all day, tight across the bust, straining at the hips, and let it fall.

Underneath... black lace that had no chance against her body.

The bra held her full breasts like it was losing, and the panties cut high on her hips and disappeared between the wide flare of her thighs, and the whole shape of her, narrow waist, huge round backside, thick thighs, was the kind of thing that made a room feel badly designed.

She hooked her thumbs in the panties and dragged them down and stepped out of them and stood there with her hands on her hips and her chin up.

"Well?" she said.

Lynx stood up off the bed. He crossed to her in two steps and got both hands on her, one at the small of her back, one spread wide across the heavy curve of her ass, and pulled her against him.

Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her hips pressed into his cock and she felt it and her breath caught and her chin came down half an inch.

"I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember why you were arguing," he said.

"You’re going to try."

He kissed her. She kissed him back like she was still fighting, teeth and tongue and a hand fisted in his hair, and he walked her backward to the bed and put her down on it on her back and came down over her.

And she hooked her legs around his waist before he’d even positioned himself, pulling him in, impatient, done pretending.

He pushed into her.

She was tight and wet and hot, her hymen snapped, neither cared about it, lynx cock was working its magic and she took him all the way to the root in one slow stroke.

And Nadia Goldspire, arrogant, proud, easily teased, made a sound she would never admit to later, a high thin thing that broke in the middle, and her nails raked down his back and her heels dug into his ass and she said, "Move. Move, move, move—"

He moved.

Hard. From the first stroke. The bed slammed the wall and Nadia’s tits bounced with every thrust and she stopped talking entirely and just held on, one hand in his hair, one fisted in the sheets, her full lips open and her hazel eyes glassy and fixed on his face.

He dropped his mouth to her throat and bit down and she cried out, a real cry, loud, the first one of the night that came from her, and her cunt clenched around him and he felt it and fucked her harder.

"That’s it," he said against her skin. "Let them hear you."

"Fuck you—"

"You can. Later."

He pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach before she could answer, and Nadia caught herself on her forearms and looked back at him over her shoulder with her hair in her face and her lips parted and her whole body already trembling.

And he got his hands on her hips, wide, heavy, the kind of hips a man could hold onto, and pushed back into her from behind.

The angle made her cry out again. Deeper this time. He set a brutal pace immediately and the slap of their bodies filled the room and Nadia stopped looking back at him and dropped her face into the sheets and just took it.

Took every stroke, and the sound she made was nothing like the arrogant fourth year who’d sneered at him in the lounge.

He reached around and found her clit with two fingers and rubbed it while he fucked her, and she came fast, hard, sudden, her whole body locking up, a long broken moan muffled in the mattress, and he didn’t slow down.

He fucked her through it. Through the second one, which came right behind the first. Through the third, which built while he dragged her upright onto her knees and pulled her back against his chest and fucked up into her while one hand cupped her heavy breast and the other spread flat across her stomach.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder and her mouth was open and she was saying his name now, over and over, quiet and broken, like she’d forgotten she was supposed to be fighting.

"Say it," he murmured at her ear.

"Say—"

"Say you were wrong."

"I—"

"Say it."

"I was wrong," Nadia gasped. "I was wrong, I was wrong, fuck—"

He laid her back down. Missionary, but not gentle, her legs pushed wide, her knees hooked over his elbows, and he fucked her at that angle with his full weight behind every stroke, and Nadia’s eyes rolled back and she stopped being able to say anything at all.

Just sounds. Broken, helpless sounds, one per thrust. Her breasts rolled with each one. He dropped his mouth to them and sucked one nipple, then the other, and she came a fourth time with her hands buried in his hair.

Her thighs were shaking. Her cunt gripped him in tight, rhythmic pulses that he couldn’t ignore much longer.

He buried himself to the hilt and came.

Hot and thick and pulsing, filling her while she shook beneath him, and Nadia’s back arched off the bed and she came one more time around him.

Milking him, and then her whole body went slack and she lay there with her chest heaving and her eyes closed and her mouth open, and she didn’t say a single word.

Lynx stayed inside her for a long moment. Then he pulled out slowly and cum followed him, a thick trail down her inner thigh and onto the sheets, and he sat back on his heels and looked at the bed.

Five women. Eleanor asleep on her side, purple hair a wreck, cum dried on her thigh. Layla sprawled on her stomach, crimson hair fanned out, one leg still bent.

Iris curled against the headboard with her eyes closed and a small smile she hadn’t bothered to hide. Rhea on her side, ice blue hair stuck to her cheek, breathing slow. Nadia on her back, legs open, too spent to close them.

The fireplace had burned down to embers. The night air through the cracked window had gone colder. Somewhere far below, the Void capital hummed with lights and traffic and the ordinary noise of a city that had no idea what had just happened in this room.

Lynx got up. He crossed to the window and pushed it open wider and stood there for a moment with his hands on the sill, letting the cold hit his chest, and the glow of his cock faded slowly back down to a soft pulse at the base.

Behind him, the sheets rustled.

"Lynx," Eleanor said, from somewhere in the tangle. Her voice was thick with sleep. "Come back to bed."

He turned.

She was propped up on one elbow, purple eyes barely open, hair everywhere, and she was looking at him the way a queen looks at something she has decided to keep.

"It’s going to be complete with you here," she said.

He walked back across the room and climbed onto the bed and lay down in the middle of them, and five bodies shifted around him in the dark, and someone’s hand found his chest and someone else’s hair spread across his shoulder, and Eleanor’s forehead pressed against his jaw and her sigil pulsed once, soft gold, against his skin.

"Tomorrow," she murmured, already half gone again. "The King."

"Tomorrow," Lynx said.

Outside the window, the city kept burning its lights.