His hand clamped harder on her waist—fingers digging into that obscene curve, anchoring her as she moved. She fit him perfectly, the lush swell of her ass cradling his cock, the heat of her soaked pussy radiating just beneath, still swollen and dripping from how thoroughly he'd ruined her earlier.

She ground back again—a deep, languid stroke that parted her cheeks wider, letting his shaft glide through the slick valley, the fat head nudging dangerously close to where she was still tender and open.

"Careful," he warned, voice ragged, hips flexing involuntarily to chase the friction. "Keep that up and I'll spread you open and fuck you slow right here—watch this perfect ass take every inch while you moan into the pillow."

"I don't care," she breathed, pushing back harder, voice trembling with fresh hunger. "I'm sore and I still want it. Want you. Worth every ache tomorrow."

Her hand covered his on her waist, pressing it bruisingly tight, guiding his grip as she rolled again—slow, filthy, sinful circles that kept him sliding through warm, slick flesh without ever breaching her.

They hovered there on the knife-edge of fucking—bodies locked in lazy, hedonistic rhythm, his cock throbbing against her ass, her hips grinding back in silent demand, his hand mapping every decadent curve like he was branding ownership into her skin.

The sheets beneath them were wrecked—stained and twisted, heavy with the scent of come and sweat and her, the room thick with the raw perfume of thoroughly claimed woman.

His fingers traced that impossible waist one last time—thumb and middle finger nearly touching, marveling at the architecture that made her look like living temptation.

"How the fuck is this real?" he rasped, lips against her ear.

Sierra turned her head just enough to meet his gaze in the amber dark, eyes heavy-lidded and shining.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," she whispered. "Three weeks ago you were invisible to me. A boy I bullied and used for my essays. Now…"

She pressed back—one final, deep grind that nestled his cock perfectly between her cheeks—and her voice broke with raw truth. "Now I can't imagine anyone else ever touching me like this. Seeing me like this. Owning me like this."

His throat closed. He kissed her neck, hard—teeth scraping, tongue soothing, marking.

"Good," he growled. "Because no one else ever will."

"Promise?"

"Swear it on every inch of you I've ruined tonight."

She stilled then, body melting completely into his, breath evening out as exhaustion finally pulled her under.

But even in sleep, her ass stayed pressed tight against his still-hard cock—a silent, sinful promise that when she woke, he'd take everything she'd just offered.

And she'd beg for more.

****

Phei didn't sleep.

He lay there in the dark, holding her, tracing the curves of her body with ghost-light touches that made her shiver even in dreams. His fingers learning the map of her. The ridges and valleys. The impossible waist and the perfect swell below it.

Outside, Paradise and Downtown Paradise slept.

But here, in this penthouse above the clouds, the dragon kept watch over what was his.

And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Phei felt something that wasn't anger or pain or the cold calculation of survival.

He felt full.

The ice queen had melted. Had been claimed. Had given him everything—her walls, her pride, her body, her beginning.

And he'd kept it all.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

[Sierra Montgomery - Conquest Complete]

[Status: Fully Claimed. Taken Sierra's Virginity]

[Emotional Bond: Deep]

[REWARDS:]

+500 Points +400 EXP, +10 Charisma, New Ability Unlocked: Healing Touch Lv.1

[HEALING TOUCH LV.1: Host's body has an accelerated healing of minor wounds, bruises, soreness, and diseases—including sexually transmitted infections. Activation requires physical contact. Passive healing aura affects Host continuously.

[Conquered: Melissa Maxton (Marked), Sierra Montgomery]

[NOTE: Sierra is eligible for Marking. Offer at Host's discretion.]

[MAIN QUEST PROGRESS: 20%]

Phei felt it before the notification even finished scrolling: a slow, golden warmth unfurling through his muscles like molten honey poured straight into his veins.

It seeped into every bruised fiber, every delicious ache earned from hours of burying himself inside her, dissolving the soreness until his body felt reborn—fresh, sharp, humming with quiet power.

He almost laughed into the dark.

Healing Touch.

He remembered the first time the system had forced it on him—six stories down into a bounce house, spine screaming, nerves lit like live wires. It had cost him a hundred points he didn't have, shoving him into debt before he'd even known the rules.

Now it was a gift. Twenty percent milestone reward.

Freely given.

The warmth faded, leaving him alert and alive, like he'd stolen eight perfect hours of sleep instead of spending the night ruining the untouchable Sierra Montgomery in every way he'd imagined—and a few he hadn't.

She shifted against him, a small, involuntary sound of discomfort slipping from her lips even in sleep.

Her body was still tender, still carrying the sweet evidence of everything he'd done to her: the faint bloom of bruises on her hips where he'd gripped too hard, the swollen heat between her thighs that still leaked him slowly onto the sheets.

Human. Fragile. Mine. My Woman!

His hand found the curve of her hip again, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over warm skin. Hell Bitch Queen, they called her. She'd worn the title like armor.

But armor had cracks, and he'd slipped through every one tonight.

She wasn't hell ice. Never had been. Ice didn't burn like she did. Ice didn't arch and sob and beg with that raw, shaking need. Sierra was wildfire in couture—rage and loneliness and hunger wrapped in perfect packaging, waiting for someone strong enough to hold the flame without getting burned.

He'd held it. Fed it. Made it his.

Phei dismissed the glowing notification with a thought and let the quiet settle.

Twenty percent. The mission ticked forward whether he pushed it or not.

But here was the truth that curled warm and dangerous in his chest, the one that made him smile against her shoulder:

He hadn't touched her for the mission.

Somewhere between the old music room and the moment she'd looked up at him tonight—eyes wide, walls gone, whispering I've never with anyone—the system and mission had become background noise.

Percentages, rewards, cold strategy… all of it had dissolved.

He'd wanted her. The girl behind the crown. The one who'd waited three years for someone who wouldn't flinch from her fire.

He would finish the mission. Of course he would. He wasn't fool enough to ignore the power and reward from the system waiting at fifty, seventy, a hundred percent. The system had pulled him from nothing and handed him everything.

But it wouldn't be for points anymore.

Melissa—already Marked, already his, waiting in the Maxton mansion with stolen moments and desperate, hidden texts.

Sierra—naked and trusting in his arms, body instinctively seeking him even in sleep, grinding softly against his thigh like she couldn't bear an inch of space between them.

And the others who would come—not names on a quest log, but women he chose. Women who would look at him the way Sierra had tonight and decide he was worth surrendering to.

My women.

The phrase settled into his bones like destiny.

The dragon wasn't hunting because the system demanded it.

The dragon was hunting because it was what dragons did.

But they are as loving too.

Outside, the first pale edge of dawn crept across the sky, turning the glass walls into mirrors of soft rose and gold.

Neither of them moved to greet it.

They had time. They had her soft breathing against his chest, his hand on her waist, the slow throb of his cock already stirring again against the curve of her ass.

They had all the time in the world to burn it down and build something new from the ashes.

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