My Taboo Harem!

And he resumed his thrusts.

Slow at first. Deep rolling movements that let her feel every ridge and vein dragging along her inner walls

𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

The broad crown pressed flush against her deepest wall on every downstroke, grinding in slow circles before he withdrew—her entrance clinging to the retreating head, reluctant, a thick strand of her juice stretching between them before it snapped.

Then the rhythm built. Heavier. More certain. Each thrust sinking a fraction deeper than the last, her body opening to accommodate him in increments, her pussy lips dragging outward on every pull—flushing white at the edges, then deep crimson—the evidence of their joining thickening into a glossy ring at his base that grew messier with every stroke.

"Ahhhh—" She hugged him so tight.

Her legs locked around his waist, heels digging hard into his lower back while her arms crushed him against her chest and the bare heavy tits pressing into the rough fabric of his shirt, her stiff nipples scraping with every roll of her hips.

Their mouths found each other between thrusts—messy, open-mouthed, broken by her desperate little gasps and his low rumbling growls.

The wet sounds of their bodies were muffled by their closeness—the steady slick rhythm of her cunt taking his cock, the soft impact of her soaked thighs against his clothed hips, the quiet squelch every time he bottomed out.

She was holding onto him the way a drowning woman holds a raft.

It was not just for the sex and definitely not just because he was the best thing she’d ever felt inside her body—though he was, by such a margin that every memory of Jonathan’s fumbling attempts had already been rewritten as evidence of a different, smaller, crueller life.

She was holding him because he had kissed every bruise... and showed her this was beyond pety revenge and spite sex she’d asked her.

He was showing her she was worthy every ounce of worship he was giving her and it had never been performative even at once.

Because he had knelt on the floor of her husband’s bedroom and pressed his lips to the purple-green map Jonathan had beaten into her ribs, her stomach, her thighs, and he had not flinched and he had not looked away and he had not said it’ll be okay because they both knew it wasn’t okay and might never be okay.

And instead, he had said nothing at all and simply kissed each mark and bruise until his mouth had replaced every memory of the fist that made it.

And now his cock was inside her and his arms were around her and she was safe.

For the first time in years, Roxanne Montgomery felt and she was sure that she was... safe.

And beneath her left breast—in the soft heavy curve where her heart beat strongest—something began to bloom.

It started as warmth.

A gentle heat spreading across her skin like sunlight pouring into a room that had been dark for decades. At first, she barely noticed it, too lost in the thick stretching drag of his cock splitting her open, too consumed by the pleasure already tightening in her core.

Then the warmth became a tingle. Electric and shimmering as it raced across her nerves like something alive.

Then the tingle became a burn.

But it was not painful.

A searing, yes and delicious burn that bloomed outward from the centre of her left breast and sank deep—past flesh, past bone, into the part of her soul that had been beaten dark. The heat pulsed in perfect synchrony with his cock inside her—every slow thrust sending another wave of liquid fire through the place where the Mark was waking up.

She gasped—not from his cock, but from the sudden overwhelming awareness of what was happening.

His Mark.

It ignited beneath her left breast in shimmering lines of molten gold that darkened to deep draconic crimson edged in flickering black fire.

The design seared itself into her skin with the precision of an artist and the possessiveness of a brand—a powerful Western dragon with broad wings folded tight against its muscular body, a long thick tail curling inward toward the soft secret crease where thigh met heaven.

Its scales were deep glossy black with subtle crimson-pink highlights that caught the light like fresh blood and flushed arousal. The dragon’s amethyst-purple eyes glowed with intelligent hunger, jaws parted as if tasting her skin.

Coiled through the dragon’s body was elegant ancient script that read PRT—the letters formed from living flame, glowing vivid pink-crimson, throbbing too with every heartbeat.

Each time the Mark pulsed the dragon seemed to shift against her skin, its tail tightening, its wings flaring just enough to send fresh spikes of searing pleasure straight to her clit and deep into her cunt.

The moment the Mark fully ignited, ecstasy hit her like a wall falling.

"HHHNNNG—! Aaaahhh—!"

Her entire nervous system detonated in pleasure.

Every nerve ending firing at once.

Her pussy spasmed hard around his thick cock—rhythmic, crushing contractions that milked his shaft with desperate uncontrollable force, her inner walls clamping and rippling as if trying to suck him deeper.

The crimson script of the Mark throbbed brighter, hotter, each pulse sending white-hot pleasure lancing through her clit, her pussy walls and cervix at the exact moment his cock ground against them.

Her thighs shook violently around his waist, toes curling until her feet cramped.

Her back arched, pressing the burning Mark harder against his chest as wave after wave of soul-deep ecstasy crashed through her—not just her cunt seizing around him but something deeper, something that reached into the black pit Jonathan had beaten into her centre and filled it with light.

Tears poured down her cheeks. Hot and overwhelming tears that had nothing to do with pain for the first time in so long she’d forgotten what the other kind felt like.

Finally. She thought to herself.

Finally, she was claimed by someone who wanted her. Who had kissed every bruise and still worshipped her. Who was now burning his eternal mark into her soul while his massive cock stretched her dripping pussy wide open on her husband’s bed.

She clung to him tighter, sobbing against his mouth between kisses.

"I’m yours... I’m yours... take all of me... I choose you, Phei... only you... my dragon... you’re my everything now..."

Phei felt their bond too settling into place in his chest—warm, absolute, a connection that had weight and permanence and would not be undone by anything in this world or the ones above it.

He looked down at her and then at the glowing Mark beneath her breast—the dragon’s amethyst eyes watching him with dark satisfaction, its tail curling tighter with every throb.

At the tears streaming down her flushed face and the woman who had spent twenty years being broken and had just chosen—freely, completely, with full knowledge of what it meant—to become his.

Something shifted inside him. But it wasn’t tenderness—he’d been tender all night. There was something underneath tenderness.