My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 805: His Perfection (r-18)

Her breasts were encased in the same white lace—

But where the lace below had managed, however improbably, to contain its charge, the bra was fighting a war it had already lost.

Her breasts were simply too much for it to try to cage.

Too full, too heavy, too gloriously, unrepentantly present — the upper crescents swelling above the cups in twin declarations of mutiny, soft flesh pushed upward and outward until the dark, pebbled shadow of her areolae was visible through the translucent weave at the edges, her nipples already stiff and straining against the lace like two aching points begging to be freed, sucked, and marked.

The underwire dug faintly into the flesh beneath each breast, creating a deep crease of compressed softness that spoke to sheer, unreasonable volume — the kind of tits that reshaped the architecture of any garment unfortunate enough to be tasked with containing them.

’Stupid little things. Thinking they could do that.’

The flat, toned plane of her stomach descended from beneath her ribs in a gentle slope — not the hard, carved abdomen of a girl in her twenties but something better like a fucking becoming-goddess that made her body tempting to touch.

Her waist nipped inward and then flared — dramatically, sinfully — into hips wide enough to make his hands ache with the need to grip them.

The white lace of her panties sat low on those hips, the waistband tracing a line from hip bone to hip bone across the softest part of her lower belly, and below it the fabric gathered into a modest triangle that was neither modest nor triangular enough to conceal the fact that between Melissa Ryujin Tiamat’s thighs existed something that had haunted his adolescent fantasies and now for a while in the present tense, belonged exclusively and irrevocably to him.

The matching white lace panties clung to the soft mound of her pussy, the delicate fabric had been darkened at the center where her love juice had soaked through, outlining the plump lips and the subtle cleft between them.

A thin, glistening strand of wetness had already begun to slip down the inside of one thigh, catching the moonlight like a secret she could no longer hide.

"You’re my perfection, Aunt Me," he murmured, his gaze travelling her body with the slow, undisguised hunger; he had been granted permission to covet and intended to exercise that permission thoroughly.

"These hips. These tits. This body that shouldn’t be legal on a woman your age and yet here you are — making every twenty-year-old on this island look like a rough draft."

The reverence in his voice was so unguarded that it made her breath hitch and her eyes grow wet.

Not sadness. Something far more dangerous; the vertigo of being beheld — truly, completely, without a single reservation — by her man whose gaze carried the weight of absolute, irrevocable devotion.

Phei lowered his mouth to her chest and kissed the valley between her breasts — slow, open-mouthed, reverent — his lips pressing into the warm, compressed softness where the two heavy mounds met each other, his tongue tracing the faint salt of perspiration that had gathered in that sacred cleft.

"Ahhh..."

She moaned low, guttural from the lowest of her voice like something exhumed.

Her head fell back in pleasure.

Melissa’s hands flew to his shoulders and her fingers dug into the muscle there with a ferocity that would leave bruises by morning, nails bit crescents into his skin as her body arched toward his mouth, offering itself, begging without language for him to continue.

"Don’t stop," she whispered. Broken. Breathless. Then softer, a moan threaded through the consonants: "Mmm — please don’t stop." The executive composure of Melissa Ryujin Tiamat reduced to fragments and a trembling lower lip.

Phei did not intended to stop; his lips traced the upper swell of her left breast — the warm, pillowy rise of flesh that crested above the lace like something too generous to be contained — and kissed it slowly and open-mouthed.

His tongue grazed the border where lace met skin, tasting the warmth of her, feeling the weight of her breast shift against his jaw as she arched into him. Then, with deliberate mastery, he closed his lips over the stiff peak of her nipple through the lace and sucked — slow, firm, rhythmic pulls that drew the sensitive bud deeper into his mouth while his tongue circled and flicked against the lace-covered tip, soaking the delicate fabric with his saliva until it clung transparently to her swollen nipple.

"Oh... oh..." She whimpered, barely whispered. Eyes closed. Lost.

He dragged his mouth across her chest to bestow the same slow, devastating attention upon its twin.

His lips closed over the upper curve of her right breast, sucking the lace-covered nipple into his mouth with the same unhurried, masterful rhythm while his hand rose to cup the heavy, neglected breast he had just abandoned, thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles over the stiff, lace-coveredpeak before he pinched it gently between his fingers, rolling the aching bud until she whimpered.

She writhed against him — her whole body a single, continuous shiver, her hips rolling forward to press against his.

Melissa’s fingers raked upward from his shoulders into his hair where they fisted and held on as though he were the only fixed point in a world that had begun, quietly and beautifully, to come apart.

He swept her off her feet, lifting her with one arm beneath her knees, the other cradling her back — and laid her upon the bed with the tenderness like he was placing something irreplaceable upon an altar he had built with his own hands.

Her hair fanned across the pillows in a dark halo as her body settled into the sheets — white lace against white linen, skin flushed warm against cool bed, the rise and fall of her chest casting slow shadows in the ambient glow.

A soft, keening "Mmm... mmm..." left her as her back met the mattress — not protest, but the involuntary vocalization of a woman whose body had been brought to such a pitch of arousal that even the friction of Egyptian cotton against her bare skin registered as stimulation.

And the moonlight — patient, silvered, faithful — was finally granted permission to marvel at her front.

It accepted the invitation without hesitation as it’s pale light traced the architecture of her collarbones — sharp, elegant, framing the hollow of her throat where a bead of perspiration had gathered and now caught the light like a gemstone set in warm skin.

It gilded the generous swell of her breasts where they strained against their insufficient lace prison, the cups riding lower now that gravity had reshaped their burden against the mattress, each breast spreading slightly to the side under its own magnificent weight, the valley between them deeper, the shadow richer, the dark circles of her areolae pressing visibly against the translucent fabric.

Her nipples stood erect hard, defiant and tenting the lace into two sharp peaks that rose and fell with each heaving breath.

Phei did not step back to admire.

He followed her down onto the bed, his one knee sinking into the mattress between her thighs as he lowered his mouth once more to her chest.

His hand slid beneath the lace cup of her left breast, lifting the heavy, warm flesh free of its confinement so he could take her bare nipple into his mouth — slow, deep, and utterly masterful.

Phei then sucked with long, rhythmic pulls, tongue circling the stiff peak before flicking it sharply, then soothing it with slow, wet strokes while his teeth grazed the sensitive bud just enough to make her gasp.

His free hand moved lower, palm gliding down the taut plane of her stomach until his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties.

He did not rush.

Two fingers traced the soft, bare skin of her pussy mound before descending further, parting the slick, swollen folds of her pussy with deliberate, unhurried grace.

He found her clit with the pad of his middle finger and began to stroke it again in slow languid circles — never too fast, never too hard — while his mouth continued its slow, devastating worship of her breast.

Melissa’s hips rolled upward into his touch, a broken, helpless moan spilling from her lips as her cunt clenched around nothing and fresh, hot wetness coated his fingers, making the lace between her thighs visibly darker and more translucent.

The moonlight followed the taut plane of her stomach, lingered on the soft dip of her navel, descended to the dramatic flare of her hips where the lace waistband cut across the yielding flesh of her lower belly.

Her thighs were pressed together — thick, smooth, faintly trembling — and between them, his hand moved with slow, masterful purpose beneath the lace, stroking her clit in patient, devastating circles while she trembled and gasped beneath him.

He could feel how wet she was, how her slick wet folds parted so easily for his fingers, how her clit throbbed against his touch every time he circled it with that same unhurried, relentless pressure.

Phei was above her now, one hand working between her thighs with slow, graceful precision, the other cradling her breast as his mouth moved from one stiff, glistening nipple to the other, sucking and licking with unhurried devotion.

She looked back at him — flushed, trembling, lips parted and swollen from his kisses, chest heaving, eyes carrying that dark and luminous hunger that belonged to him and him alone — and whispered his name one more time.

Not as a plea. Not as a question; as a consecration and the single word that, spoken in the right tone at the right moment by the right woman, could unmake a man and rebuild him in the same breath.

And he understood — with the serene, marrow-deep clarity that he had been given everything more than she did most times —

...The moonlight could look all it wanted.

But she was his.