Not just physical—though the physical was brutal enough. It was the full package: the impossible heat of Fiery Cock Technique that triggered instant, shattering orgasms; the endless ejaculation that let him flood them until they overflowed; the sheer, monstrous presence of him inside them, stretching, claiming, rewriting nerve endings.

Every unique pleasure became a drug they couldn't replicate.

No wonder Maddie had turned into a needy little fiend.

Some days twice wasn't enough. Four if she was restless. She'd crawl into his lap during movie nights, whisper please against his ear, and he'd carry her to the nearest flat surface because denying her felt physically wrong or just let her ride him right there without her being discrete at all.

Sierra wasn't much better—cool, composed Sierra who now begged with her eyes the moment he walked through the door.

Melissa, elegant and restrained, would send discreet texts from the mansion: Come over. Now. I'll make an excuse.

They weren't just ruined for other men.

They were ruined for any version of sex that didn't include him.

And yet—miraculously, generously—his cock never truly harmed them.

Common sense said it should have.

Eleven and a half inches of thick, unyielding dragon, used multiple times a day, sometimes for hours, should have left bruises, tears, mandatory ice packs, and solemn vows of celibacy.

Instead: soreness, yes. Tender thighs the next morning. A delicious ache that made them walk like they'd ridden a horse for three days straight. (Not what you think you; actual horseback ride😂)

But no real damage.

No bruising. No bleeding. No injuries that lingered beyond a day.

They healed fast—unnaturally fast—and if their stamina held, they'd be wet and ready again next few hours.

The system never explained that part.

Phei suspected it was bundled into the Dragon's Rod package: a built-in safety net woven from the same impossible magic that let him grow infinitely, come endlessly, burn like a furnace without scorching.

A monster that destroyed pleasure for everyone else… but never the woman it claimed.

He didn't question the gift too closely.

He simply accepted it.

Between training, planning, and watching the Legacy families like a predator in tall grass, he hadn't spared a single minute for new conquests.

His current three kept him occupied.

More accurately: they kept him grounded.

Without their demands—without Maddie's impatient hands, Sierra's cool commands turning into desperate pleas, Melissa's quiet hunger—he'd have trained himself into dust by now.

They were his anchor as much as his addiction.

Then there was the distinction he'd finally clarified in his own mind.

Permanent Taming versus Tame Mark.

Two different beasts.

Permanent Taming was biological. Inevitable. The moment a woman took and later came on his cock in satisfaction—truly came, body surrendering completely—she was ruined for all others. No choice. No reversal. A quiet, permanent rewriting of desire.

Tame Mark was something deeper.

Sacred, almost.

The Mark bound him and them eternally. Soul to soul. He could never betray them, discard them, walk away—and they could never do the same to him. It was a vow carved into existence itself.

But it didn't give him license to be cruel.

He treated his marked women—Melissa, Sierra, Maddie—like the treasures they were.

He listened. He cared. He made damn sure they knew they weren't trophies on a shelf.

They were his.

For life.

And he would never—could never—do to them what had been done to him.

Abandon them.

Leave them hollow.

That particular wound ran too deep.

The dragon hoarded his women fiercely.

Not because the system forced him to.

But because, for the first time in his life, he had something worth keeping.

And he would burn the world before he let it take them away.

****

Fiery Cock Technique.

He'd cracked that one wide open on day one.

Mental switch. Instant heat. Warm, hot, or searing—dealer's choice, no mana cost, no cooldown.

Insertion plus activation equaled immediate, violent orgasm.

A literal cheat code for Maddie's insatiable daily quota.

He'd used it in restrooms, empty classrooms, the back seat of the car, once even in the penthouse elevator when she'd gotten impatient between floors. (A/N: This has been explained in the last chapters but since it is one of the DxD Elements, it has been mentioned again but I did not go into full details since you know already)

Moving on.

Daddy's.

The final DxD Element, and the one he was still mapping.

The system's description had been straightforward: young women aged sixteen to twenty-five would, after two or three positive interactions, begin to register him as an instinctive authority figure laced with raw attraction. Mild constant arousal in his presence if he put in an effort into embracing and let them be in his existence with welcoming their flaws. Heightened receptiveness. An inexplicable pull they couldn't name or resist.

It worked exactly as advertised.

Delilah had it worst.

She'd gone from polite indifference to full-blown obsession in under a week. Lingering near his locker. "Accidentally" choosing the seat behind him in shared classes. Finding excuses to brush past him in hallways, close enough for him to feel the small shiver she couldn't hide.

Amber was catching it now—stolen glances, flushed cheeks when he spoke directly to her, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt whenever he was near.

Natasha too. Cool, untouchable Natasha, who'd started biting her lip when he entered a room. (A/N: This too but this is an ability I had to emphasize.)

Daddy's was quiet, patient, and terrifyingly effective.

And Phei?

He didn't hate any of it.

Not the blushes that bloomed across pretty faces when he walked by. Not the gifts piling up in his locker—handwritten notes, chocolates, small charms, once an entire sketchbook filled with studies of his profile. Not the way the cafeteria fell into reverent silence the moment he appeared.

It warmed something cold and scarred inside his chest.

Proof.

Proof that effort paid off. Proof that the world bent when you finally stopped apologizing for existing. Proof that taking what you deserved didn't always end in punishment.

More practically: proof that popularity was armor.

If he vanished tomorrow, people would notice.

Hundreds of them.

Many from Downtown Paradise—the "wrong" side of the gates, the scholarship kids, the children of staff and second-tier wealth. They weren't Legacy royalty, true.

But money?

Some of them had more raw cash than some of the Main Families. Old shipping fortunes. Tech windfalls. Entertainment empires.

In Paradise, bloodline was the first currency. Money was only second.

Phei understood the difference intimately.

He also understood that his new fanbase—obsessed, vocal, and increasingly protective—represented real power. If something happened to their Pretty Boy, their Heartthrob, their quiet dragon, questions would be asked. Loudly. By people with resources.

Popularity was protection.

And protection bought time.

Time he desperately needed.

But popularity was also fragile.

One wrong move—one public scandal too juicy, one private truth too explosive—and the tide could turn overnight.

He'd watched from the shadows long enough to know how quickly adoration curdled into scorn when Paradise decided you'd gone too far. But that shit was mostly for celebrities...

He wouldn't give them the excuse.

He knew how to wield attention now.

How to smile just enough. How to accept gifts with quiet gratitude. How to keep his private life locked behind doors no camera, apart from his own and the girls's could breach.

He was ready to climb higher.

But first, a smaller matter.

Delilah.

His step-cousin sat three tables away, pretending to scroll her phone while stealing glances that lasted too long to be accidental.

His other abilities, charm and Daddy's had her lit up like a Christmas tree—eyes confused, body restless, cheeks faintly pink every time he so much as breathed in her direction.

Phei took a slow sip of the terrible coffee.

Glanced left: Sierra, cool and possessive, fingers still laced secretly with his.

Right: Maddie, chaos barely leashed, thigh pressed against his under the table.

Just next: Maya, watching everything with that sharp, patient gaze—half amused, half calculating, entirely aware of what was coming.

He looked back at Delilah.

Met her eyes across the crowded cafeteria.

Held the gaze.

Watched her breath catch.

Watched her phone slip forgotten into her lap.

Time to add yet another princess.

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