Selene drifted up from dreams tangled with sex and silk, soreness blooming in every muscle, her body heavy and loose. She blinked, sunlight pouring across the room, golden and merciless, painting the aftermath of last night in unflinching detail. Damon was wrapped around her, one heavy arm thrown across her waist, his breath warm on the back of her neck. His skin was hot against hers, his chest rising and falling in a slow, predatory rhythm, even at rest never fully harmless.
Her body ached—waist, hips, thighs, everywhere he'd claimed her. Between her legs, soreness throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She squeezed her thighs together, a lazy smile ghosting her lips. She could still feel him inside her, thick and merciless, making her cry and moan and beg for more. She'd surrendered every scrap of pride last night, lost herself in him, and she didn't regret a single moment.
She rolled over, burying her face in the hollow of his throat, letting herself sink into his scent—sweat, sex, a hint of something wild and otherworldly. She remembered the stories from the married women at tea: how a woman's happiness depended on finding a man with the right cock and the right technique. The clever ones always found a way to keep a lover on the side, someone who could make them scream when their husbands failed. Selene had always pretended to be shocked by those confessions, but now she understood. It was all true. Last night had been proof.
Her hand drifted up, fingers brushing the leather choker Damon had locked around her throat. She traced the buckle, the little metal tag that read Obedience in vulgar script, and a strange, giddy thrill bubbled in her chest. She'd blushed, called him "master" without thinking, and the word alone sent a pulse of heat straight to her core. She squeezed her thighs together again, felt her pussy ache with need, even though her body was still raw from the night before.
She whispered it to herself, breathless and half-asleep. "Master…"
The word was a spark. Her nipples stiffened, tingling, goosebumps chasing across her skin. She shuddered, the pleasure filthy and addictive. Every time she said it, it got easier—and harder to imagine not saying it. The choker was more than jewelry. It was a reminder, a brand, a promise that she belonged to him now, and her body loved it.
Damon stirred beside her, eyes opening, red and hungry even in the gentle light. He grinned, mouth crooked and wolfish. "Morning, princess."
She blushed, ducking her head, but his hand caught her chin, turning her to face him. He kissed her, slow and deep, his tongue teasing her lips open. She whimpered into his mouth, body responding before her mind could catch up. His hand slid over her breast, kneading, thumb rolling over her nipple until it peaked hard against his palm.
She gasped, arching into his touch. "Ah—Damon, I'm still—"
He squeezed her nipple, pinched just enough to make her moan, hips pressing against her thigh. She felt his cock hardening, thick and eager, rubbing against her belly.
"Still what?" he taunted, voice low and dangerous. "Still hungry for more?"
She couldn't help herself—her body answered for her. Her pussy clenched, slicking with fresh arousal. She moaned, biting her lip, heat flooding her cheeks.
Damon grinned, rolling her onto her back, his mouth closing over her nipple, sucking hard. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, hips lifting off the mattress. Every touch made her shiver, pleasure sharpening the lingering ache into something electric.
He trailed kisses down her body, teeth scraping over her skin. She writhed, gasping, desperate for more, even as her body protested. He slid two fingers between her thighs, stroking her folds, finding her already wet.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice thick with pride. "Still dripping for me."
She whimpered, legs spreading wider, surrendering all over again.
He didn't fuck her—not fully. He teased her, brought her to the edge with fingers and tongue, made her cum hard and messy, made her say "please, master" until the words were burned into her bones. He left her trembling, shuddering, body limp and ruined, but smiling—sated and safe.
Eventually, her mind returned to reality. She remembered her duties—the reason she was even in Desire's Dock, the reason she'd risked her reputation to follow Lucien into the Wet Deck's den of sin.
She pushed herself up, chest heaving, hair wild. "I have to go," she said, reluctant, glancing at the door. "If my brother wakes up and finds me gone—"
Damon rolled onto his side, watching her with lazy satisfaction. "He's not waking up anytime soon. Trust me."
Selene pulled on her ruined dress, fixing the straps, wincing as the fabric caught on a fresh bruise. She peeked out the door, tiptoed down the stairs, scanning the chaos of the main hall.
Lucien was sprawled across a velvet couch, shirt unbuttoned, mouth open, drooling, surrounded by his snoring entourage. A few of the Wet Deck's working girls were curled up naked or half-dressed, sleeping off the night's excess. The room was a disaster—clothes and gold scattered everywhere, the unmistakable stench of sex and liquor heavy in the air. Lucien's purse was missing, his pockets turned inside out.
Selene snorted, shaking her head. "Idiot."
She checked for Xinyi and the other girls—no sign of them. No doubt they'd either made a smarter exit, or had been swept up in Fizz's quiet efficiency. The Wet Deck never let anything valuable—coin, customer, or secret—slip away unclaimed.
She felt a wave of relief. If Lucien was out cold and his friends stripped bare, she had a few more hours of freedom. Enough time to slip back to the mansion, bathe, and put herself back together before anyone noticed.
She padded back upstairs, careful not to disturb the bodies strewn across the floor. Damon was waiting for her at the door, naked, cock hanging heavy between his thighs. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close. His lips found the nape of her neck, sucking hard, leaving a fresh bruise just above the choker.
She shivered, giggling, squirming in his grip. "Stop, Damon—I need to leave…"
He just tightened his hold, voice rumbling in her ear. "Lucien never wakes up before noon. Wet Deck crew will charge him double for hangover food, and his friends will pay extra to keep their dignity. You've got time."
Selene laughed, the sound bubbling out of her before she could stop it. She hated her brother—hated how he wasted everything she worked for, hated how the world kept handing him what she'd earned, just because he was born with the right cock. But with Damon's arms around her, it all felt so distant, so stupid.
He noticed her expression, nuzzling her hair. "You don't like him much, do you?"
She stiffened, surprise giving way to a grimace. "He's… he's my brother. But he's useless. Our father sent me to manage the city, to do the real work, and all Lucien does is spend money and call it 'building connections.' If he wasn't my brother, I'd have thrown him out already."
Damon grinned, hands sliding down to cup her ass, squeezing. "Maybe you should."
She shook her head, eyes clouding. "I can't. I'm not allowed. The laws… the inheritance rules… it doesn't matter what I do. I'll never be more than the woman behind the scenes."
Damon spun her around, hands on her waist. "Bullshit. You run this place better than anyone I've met."
Selene's eyes shone, a mixture of gratitude and anger bubbling up. She pressed her face into his chest, letting herself be held. For the first time in weeks, she let the mask slip.
Damon nudged her toward the door at the end of the hall—a rare luxury, the Wet Deck's private bath, hidden behind gilded screens. He turned the taps, hot water rushing in, steam filling the air with the scent of herbs and some expensive oil. He slipped in behind her, pulling her into the water, letting her melt in his arms.
She leaned back against his chest, letting the heat loosen her muscles, her head falling back onto his shoulder. His hands wandered, but not just for sex—gentle, steady, tracing patterns on her belly, her thighs, her collarbone.
"I shouldn't be telling you any of this," she murmured, staring at the flickering candlelight.
He kissed her shoulder. "You should. You deserve someone who actually listens."
The words broke her open. She started talking, voice soft but intense, every confession tumbling out with the heat.
"My father's the real lord. He loves this city, loves our people, but he's old. He sent me here because I'm the only one he trusts. I rebuilt the guilds, balanced the ledgers, kept the nobles in line. All Lucien does is spend, gamble, drink, and chase whores. He says he's making connections, but everyone just laughs at him. No one respects us. Not really. Not when the real heir is a woman."
She hugged her knees to her chest, water lapping around her. "Sometimes I hate him. Sometimes I hate all of them. I work twice as hard, and I still have to bow to idiots like my brother, or their fathers, or some fat lord who's never done a real day's work."
Damon listened, arms circling her, chin resting on her wet hair. He let her talk, never judging, never interrupting.
"I just… I want to be more. I want to make a difference. I want to matter. But all anyone sees is a woman—someone to marry off, to use, to keep hidden behind the curtains."
Her voice cracked. "It's not fair."
He squeezed her tight, kissing the top of her head. "It's not. But you're stronger than any of them."
She laughed bitterly. "I don't feel strong. I feel… tired. Angry. And last night, for the first time, I felt free."
She twisted to face him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "You make me feel like I could be anything. Like I could take what I want, instead of waiting for someone to give it to me."
Damon cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheek. "You can. You just have to be willing to break a few rules."
She grinned through her tears, biting her lip. "You're a bad influence, Damon."
He smirked. "The worst."
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the splash of water, the slow thud of his heart under her ear.
Suddenly, the Dickcord system flashed in Damon's mind, sharp and urgent.
[System Notification: Quest Available — "Queen Maker"]
He blinked, the world tilting for a moment as new text scrolled across his vision.
[Queen Maker:She's ready for more.Take your noble toy and mold her into a queen—not just in name, but in power, presence, and depravity.Complete public acts that shatter her old image, dominate the city's politics, and leave no one in doubt that Selene is yours—body, mind, and legacy.Reward: SuccuBucks, System Upgrade, Political Power.Bonus: Corrupt the city itself.Progress: 0%]
Damon grinned, a dark hunger rising in his chest. He could see the path opening up before him—corrupt Selene, push her to take what she deserved, break her old life and rebuild her as something greater, filthier, untouchable. The system thrummed, power humming through his veins.
Selene noticed his expression, brow furrowing. "What is it?"
He kissed her, slow and deep, tongue tangling with hers. "Just thinking about all the ways I'm going to make you queen, princess."
She laughed, the sound low and wicked. "Queen, huh? Maybe I'll make you kneel for me."
He smirked, hand slipping between her thighs, making her gasp. "You can try. But we both know who owns who."
She melted into him, body relaxing, letting herself float in the hot water, in his arms, in the promise of something new.
As the sun climbed higher, as the city stirred and the Wet Deck's staff began cleaning up the sins of the night, Damon and Selene plotted the first steps on their new path—toward power, toward corruption, toward a future neither of them could have imagined.
And deep in the system, the woman corrupted soul shivered with anticipation and fear.