Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion-Chapter 188- A Beast or a Monster

"Stop saying—"

"I know."

He leaned.

Her leg, hooked in his arm, her thigh angled up toward her own chest, her knee finding the outside of her breast, the specific, cramped, exposed geometry of the position — her body folded into the frog position, opened fully, nowhere to go.

"Let’s start," he said.

The word carried.

From the tree line, she heard Aisha make a small, involuntary sound.

He pulled out.

Slow.

To the tip.

Then drove back in.

Full.

One stroke. The specific, immediate, full-length penetration of a cock that had just been resting against a cervix and had pulled to the entrance and returned — the distance of it, the length of it inside her, the specific, total sensation of being filled from entrance to the deepest interior.

"AHHH—"

Not quiet.

The sound came out full. Open. The specific, unmanaged sound of a body that had received something large and was reporting on it without any filter.

He did it again.

PAH.

"HNGH~♡—"

The pain was — still there. But underneath it, or around it, or threaded through it the way one thread ran through a fabric — something else. The specific, warm, involuntary something else of a body that had been aroused for three hours and was now receiving what it had been building toward.

PAH. PAH.

"AAHNGH~♡♡—"

He was not being gentle.

She understood this. She had felt gentle — the hugging in the ocean, the careful slow entry. That was not what this was. This was the specific, committed fucking of a man who had stopped waiting and started doing, his hips rolling back and driving forward with the specific, rhythmic force of someone who has fully committed to a pace.

PAH! PAH! PAH!

"AHN~♡—HNGH~♡—wait—wait I’m still—"

He didn’t wait.

PAH! PAH!

The sound of his hips against her was — loud. In the quiet of the island night, on the open beach, with the ocean behind him and four women in the treeline — loud in the specific, honest way of bodies doing what bodies did.

Her boobs.

With each thrust — the jiggle, the specific heavy bounce of them, her full breasts moving with the force of his pace, her nipples catching the moonlight on the upswing. The specific, impossible warmth of being watched while this happened. The four women in the trees seeing her boobs bounce with each thrust of his hips.

She looked at them.

Her head tilted back, the tears on her face, the specific angle of a woman on her back with a man above her — she looked at the treeline and she saw them.

’They’re seeing this.’

’They’re seeing me like this.’

Something ignited.

Not logic. Not thought. The specific, deep, animal something that had been activated the first time she’d seen them watching and had made her squirt from being looked at. The same thing, bigger now.

PAH! PAH! PAH!

"AAHNGH~♡♡—"

At the treeline—

Nara.

She could see Nara’s face. Had been able to distinguish her from the others since the moonlight had found a gap in the canopy and lit the four of them more clearly.

Nara’s face was doing something.

Not the composed, calculating face. Not the face of a woman who had appointed herself manager of the situation. Something else — the specific, involuntary expression of a woman watching a man she knows fuck a woman she knows with a specific, particular intensity. The intensity that Nara had not — that Nara had not experienced from him.

He had been careful with Nara.

Behind the boulder, he had been — not gentle, exactly, but ’contained.’ The pheromones, the encounter, the standing position, the pee — it had been overwhelming, but it had been ’his terms with a plan already in place.’

This was different.

This was the specific, committed, driving fuck of a man who had decided he liked something and was expressing that.

PAH! PAAAH! PAH!

"HNMGH~♡♡—AHN~♡—"

Nara’s arms crossed over her chest.

The specific, involuntary protective gesture of someone who is feeling something they don’t want to feel and has not yet managed to reclassify it.

Celia, beside her, noticed.

She could not look at Celia right now. Her head was back in the sand and her thighs were framing his hips and the pain had traveled through several stages and was now — now it was something else, something she did not have the vocabulary for, something that was being generated by the specific combination of fullness and friction and the pace of his hips and the fact that four women were watching.

"AAAHN~♡♡—RAVEN—"

His name.

Loud. Open. Aimed at the sky and the stars and the watching women and the island that did not care.

PAH! PAH! PAH! PAAAH!

He leaned.

Down. The specific, sudden change in the geometry of it — his body coming over hers, her leg still hooked in his arm, her thigh pressing hard against the side of her own breast, his face above her for the first time since they’d been on the sand.

He looked at her.

The purple eyes.

Then his mouth found her breast.

Both of them.

The impossible, biologically incorrect fact of it — both nipples, both brown peaks, found by his mouth simultaneously in the specific, ruthless way of someone who has decided on a thing and has the anatomy to accomplish it.

His teeth.

She didn’t have time to form a thought.

PAH!

One thrust.

The deepest one. The specific, total depth of a cock that has found the furthest point and pressed past it.

"ANNGHHHHHHH~~~!!!"

The scream went everywhere.

It hit the ocean and the island and the treeline and the stars. It was not the scream of pain and not the scream of pleasure. It was the scream of a body that had reached every limit simultaneously and had produced the only sound that covered all of it at once.

The four women in the treeline went rigid.

They saw her body jiggle — the full, heavy shudder of it, the bounce of what was visible of her chest above his body, the tremor of her thighs against his hips, the upward arch of her spine lifting her from the sand.

They saw his body.

The specific, total commitment of it. Not contained. Not managed. The specific, unself-conscious expression of a man who had found something he wanted and was taking it fully.

From the treeline, in the silence after the scream:

Gia.

Gia, who had said zero around the fire, who had gone through one boyfriend in three years of university who had lasted exactly four months and whose presence had been adequate and whose absence had been — fine, actually, if she was being specific about it.

Who had done the thing once, in the dark, in a dorm room, with the adequate boyfriend, in the adequate four-month relationship.

Whose understanding of what it was supposed to look like had been built from that single reference point plus several hours of videos watched on a phone at night with the brightness turned all the way down.

Gia looked at the beach.

At the man.

At her friend’s body, visible around the angle of him, the evidence of what was happening visible in every shaking line of it.

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

"He is a monster," she said.

Not loudly.

The specific, quiet, involuntary statement of someone who has arrived at a conclusion and has not been able to keep it internal.

Nobody disagreed.

But they looked towards her.