"You're dangerous," Velara whispered, her lips brushing his ear now. "You command shadows that don't exist for anyone else. Embrace corruption while others run from it. You're becoming something dark and powerful and utterly fascinating."
Her hand slid down his neck to his chest.
"I want you," Velara said bluntly, her voice dropping even lower. "I want you in my bed. Want to trace every inch of this corrupted body with my tongue."
Elena's hand was still moving between Max's legs, stroking him through his pants. Now Velara's hand joined.
"Can we share him?" Velara asked Elena, her hand covering the other woman's, both of them now gripping Max together.
"God, yes," Elena moaned. "I don't care. I just need—"
"I know what you need," Velara purred. Her hand moved with Elena's, both women now stroking Max in synchronized movements that made his head spin. "I need it too."
Max looked down and saw both women staring up at him. Their hands moved together on him, and the dual sensation was overwhelming.
There hands were moving faster now and Max's hips jerked involuntarily, thrusting into their combined grip.
"I've touched myself thinking about you," Velara said bluntly. "Imagining what your hands would feel like on my body. What sounds you'd make when I wrapped my lips around your cock and sucked until you couldn't think straight."
The crude language from the refined minister's daughter was jarring, shocking and incredibly arousing.
"I imagine you bending me over my father's desk," Velara continued, her voice thick with want. "Right in his office, surrounded by all that political power. And you fucking me there, making me scream your name where all those important people make their important decisions."
Her hand left his cock briefly—making him groan at the loss—and grabbed his wrist. She guided his hand under her vest, under her open blouse, and pressed his palm against her breast through the lace bra.
"Feel that," Velara gasped. "Feel how hard my nipples are. How fast my heart is beating."
Max's fingers moved instinctively, squeezing, and Velara's back arched, pressing herself more firmly into his hand.
Elena's voice joined from his other side, breathless and needy: "Make us both yours. We'll share you. Serve you together."
"We can take turns," Velara added, her hand returning to join Elena's on his cock. "Or you can have us both at once. Whatever you want. However you want it."
The dual stimulation was too much. Max felt his control slipping, felt the corruption singing in his veins that yes, yes, he could have all of this.
Then a third voice cut through the haze, and Max's stomach dropped with dread.
"Don't forget about me, nephew."
Keiko emerged from the corrupted shadows.
She wore a dress Max had never seen her in—designer, obviously expensive, but scandalously revealing. It was blood-red. The neckline plunged almost to her navel, held together by a single small strap that looked like it could come undone with the slightest touch. The dress had no back at all—just two strips of fabric running over her shoulders, leaving her entire back bare down to the curve of her ass.
Each step made her hips sway hypnotically, made her breasts move beneath the barely-there dress.
Her makeup was heavy but expertly applied—dark smoky eyes that made her look both elegant and dangerous. Deep red lips that matched the dress. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that somehow made everything more sensual, exposing her throat, her shoulders, her back.
But it was her expression that made Max's skin crawl beneath the corruption.
Gone was the dismissive aunt who'd never helped, who'd looked down on him and his mother for years. Gone was the wealthy woman too absorbed in her own comfortable life to care about struggling family.
In its place was something predatory.
She looked at Max the way a starving person looks at food. The way an addict looks at their drug.
"My dear, pathetic nephew," Keiko purred, but the word 'pathetic' dripped with irony now. "I was so wrong about you. So blind. So foolish."
She moved closer. Where Elena and Velara flanked him, Keiko positioned herself directly in front, forcing him to look at her.
And god, there was so much to see.
The dress revealed more than it covered. The plunging neckline showed not just cleavage but the inner curves of her breasts, the valley between them, the beginning of her nipples. Max could see she wore nothing underneath—no bra could possibly work with that neckline.
The barely-there skirt showed the full length of her legs, the muscle tone maintained through expensive personal trainers.
"I spent years thinking you were a failure," Keiko said, her voice rich and sultry.
She stopped directly in front of him, so close that if Elena wasn't pressed against him from behind, Keiko would be touching him.
"But you weren't a loser," she continued, one finger reaching out to trail down his corrupted chest.
"My husband," Keiko said with utter contempt, her finger continuing its path down toward his stomach, "is weak. He's rich, yes. Successful by conventional standards."
Her finger reached his waistband, played with the edge of his pants.
"But he's never made me feel anything," Keiko whispered. "Not real desire. Not real passion. We fuck out of obligation. To maintain appearances. To satisfy basic needs. But I've never wanted him. Not the way I want you right now."
She leaned in closer, and Max could see down the plunging neckline of her dress.
"I'm over 50," Keiko breathed, her face now inches from his. "Old enough to know exactly what I want."
Her hand flattened on his stomach and Max could feel her wedding ring.
"Touch me," Keiko demanded, her voice husky. "Forget I'm your aunt. Forget I'm married. Forget I'm supposed to be family. Look at me and see a woman offering herself to power."
She grabbed his hand—the one on Elena's breast and brought it to her mouth. Max watched in horrified fascination as she licked his fingers clean, tasting Elena's fragrance on them, moaning at the flavor.
"Mmm," Keiko hummed. "She tastes desperate. But I bet I taste better. Want to find out?"
She guided his hand down, down past her waist, past her hip, to the barely-there skirt. Then under it.