QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 48: Average sized

Han Li’s POV

I can’t believe this is the same person who was once hesitant to go down on me.

Now?

Now, she devours me like it’s her last meal.

Her movements are clumsy, still lacking that perfect finesse, but she makes up for it in sheer enthusiasm—in the way she moves against me, in the way she moans softly as if she’s the one being touched, in the way her hands grip my thighs like she never wants to let go.

I thread my fingers through her hair, tugging slightly, guiding her.

Her breath is warm, wet against me, her tongue hesitant at first, then bolder, more confident.

A sharp inhale escapes me when she circles her tongue just right, sending a shiver down my spine.

"That’s perfect." My voice comes out lower than I expected, rough, unsteady.

She merely murmurs in response, her lips vibrating against me, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my entire body.

Fuck.

I sink further into the couch, my thighs twitching slightly as she presses closer.

I can feel the warmth of her breath, the wet slide of her tongue, the eager, desperate way she moves against me like she can’t get enough.

I tug her hair again, just enough to make her whimper, just enough to remind her that I’m still in control.

I should take my time, should draw this out, should punish her for thinking she ever had control.

But then—

She does something unexpected.

She moans against me.

A soft, wrecked little sound, almost as if she’s the one being touched.

A strangled groan rips from my throat, my head falling back against the couch.

She notices.

Of course, she does.

She presses deeper, sliding her tongue lower, pulling another sharp gasp from me.

Her hands tighten on my thighs, nails digging into my flesh.

The tension in my stomach coils tighter, hotter.

I try to keep my breathing even, try to stay composed—but it’s getting harder.

She’s learning.

She’s getting better.

And worse?

She’s enjoying this.

I look down again, watching as she moves against me, the way her lips part around me, the way she sucks softly, teasingly, drawing me deeper into that dangerous spiral.

Fuck.

I’m not supposed to be the one falling apart.

But I am.

My chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, a sheen of sweat clinging to my skin as I stare at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, limbs loose and heavy with satisfaction.

My thighs still tremble faintly from the way she wrecked me with nothing but her mouth and desperation, and for a moment, I simply bask in the silence.

Until—

She moves again.

The slightest shift. The way her fingers trail up my thigh, lips brushing my skin, eager, insatiable.

This girl—this dangerous little thing—actually tries to keep going.

I blink, turn my head just enough to catch the glint of mischief in her half-lidded eyes.

She’s smiling.

Smiling like she didn’t just pull the soul out of me with her mouth.

No.

Absolutely not.

"Behave."

My voice is hoarse, worn down from the moans I never intended to let escape.

And then, still sprawled on the couch, still catching my breath, I lift the remote and press the button.

Immediately, the vibrations inside her intensify, the low hum swelling into a deep, throbbing rhythm that cuts through the air.

She gasps—violently.

Her whole body jerks, her knees buckling slightly where she kneels beside the couch. Her hands grip the cushions for balance, her mouth falling open in a silent moan.

Beautiful.

She’s too sensitive.

She’s already wrung out, trembling, flushed, but the moment the vibrations pick up, she goes soft in the knees again, her eyes rolling just a little, her thighs pressing together instinctively.

I watch her struggle.

I watch her lose that edge she thought she had over me.

"Thought you were in smart didn’t you?" I murmur, the words lazily drawn out as I sit up, brushing hair away from my face.

She doesn’t answer.

She can’t.

Her mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, like she’s trying to say something but the sensation won’t let her.

My smile turns predatory.

"Use your words, baby. Or is that mouth only useful when it’s on me?"

She whimpers.

I lean in, sliding a hand down her spine, feeling the way she arches into the touch despite herself.

Her breath hitches.

I bring my lips to her ear.

"Try anything else without permission," I whisper, "and I’ll set it to max."

She stiffens.

She believes me.

As she should.

Because I don’t make idle threats. Not with her.

The toy still hums inside her, pulsing softly now, just enough to keep her hovering, just enough to make her aware of who she belongs to.

And the night?

The night is still young.

I push up from the couch, my body still tingling from the high she gave me, but already recovering—because when it comes to her, I never stay down for long.

She looks up at me with wide, glassy eyes, still kneeling, her cheeks flushed and hair slightly messy, a sheen of sweat across her collarbone.

So pretty like this.

Too pretty to leave untouched.

I don’t say a word.

I simply scoop her into my arms, and she lets out a soft gasp, her arms instinctively wrapping around my shoulders.

Her legs are trembling, thighs sticky and trembling from the overstimulation.

I feel everything—her heat, her heartbeat, the way she shudders when my fingers brush her bare thigh.

I carry her across the room, and when I reach the edge of the bed, I toss her onto it.

Not gently.

Deliberately.

She bounces once, sprawling out across the sheets, hair fanning against the pillows, eyes dazed as she looks up at me.

I don’t give her time to recover.

I walk toward the wardrobe, sliding the doors open to reveal the neatly arranged collection inside.

Everything has its place.

Silk restraints.

A row of leather cuffs.

Collars in various shades.

Toys arranged in descending size and color.

Glass. Steel. Silicone.

My arsenal.

I run my fingers across the top row slowly, feeling the cool metal, the soft leather, the power in every item.

Behind me, I hear her shift on the bed, the sheets rustling, the faint hitch in her breath when she realizes what I’m doing.

She knows this part.

She loves this part.

So do I.

She knows what’s coming.

She just doesn’t know what.

That’s the beauty of it.

I run my fingers along the selection again, letting the anticipation build in the room.

One of the things I love most about this—about her—is the power to shift the tone. To adapt. To test.

To ruin.

I pause, pick up a strap-on that’s more modest in size—but where’s the fun in modesty tonight?

My hand drifts to a larger one, smooth, curved just enough to tease every sensitive place, thicker than what she’s used to.

Too big?

I raise a brow at it.

Nah.

She can handle it.

I grab the harness and attach it with practiced ease, adjusting the straps snugly against my hips. The weight is familiar. Powerful.

When I turn around, she’s still on the bed, watching me with those wide, apprehensive eyes that make her look so fucking pretty.

I lift the toy in my hand and give it a lazy little wave, amusement dancing across my face.

"No—Han Li, no."

She backs up slightly on the bed, voice catching, her eyes tracking the imposing size of the toy.

God, she’s adorable.

"It’s just seven inches, baby." I grin as I start walking toward her.

"What type of men have you been with if this scares you?"

She scrambles further back on the bed, clutching the sheets like they’re going to save her.

"Normal ones!" she blurts out, panicking, half-laughing. "Average-sized!"

I laugh—loud and full-bodied.

God, I love her.