I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

Once seated, Julian didn’t even pretend to look away.

His eyes wandered over her, slow and shameless, devouring her like she was a forbidden delicacy he had craved for too long. She was his grandmother, a line that should have stopped him, but it only fueled the fire rushing through his veins.

All he could see was the woman beneath the crown, beneath the tough mask—a woman so ripe, so shamelessly alluring that it made the girls his age look like children. He wanted her, bad, and he didn’t care to hide it.

Sat in his chair, legs spread wide, his eyes roamed, starting with her face—those plump lips, flushed and glistening from the ale, parted just enough to tease him with the thought of their heat against his.

He lingered for a moment, imagining their softness, before sliding down to her neck. Her red hair cascaded around it like a curtain, silently begging for his teeth and his tongue to worship them.

Then her chest—fuck, those massive breasts, too big for that thin nightgown to hide. The neckline dipped just enough to tease what lay behind them, as if daring him to lunge forward and bury himself in it. He could see the faint shadow of her nipples hardening under his stare, and his mouth watered, his fingers twitching to rip the gown away and claim them.

The Queen felt it all—his eyes, his heat, and her flush deepened. Her grip tightened on the mug, her thighs squeezing together as heat pooled low in her belly.

“Eyes up, Julian,” she said, her voice sharp but trembling with desire she couldn’t bury, not with him looking at her like that.

His stare didn’t stop, only grew bolder—trailing her waist, the soft curve that led to her wide hips, begging to be marked by his hands, his mouth… Then her thighs—goddess, those thighs. Thick. Smooth. Exposed just enough to tempt. Just enough to imagine what they would feel like parting for him, wrapped around him.

Every inch of her screamed allure and power, a queen stripped bare, and he felt a jolt shoot straight to his crotch.

She sat still, but her chest rose faster now. The nightgown had shifted again, higher, revealing more than it should have. However, she didn’t fix it.

Julian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re fucking stunning, Grandma,” he murmured. “Ripe and ready, more than I dreamed.”

She slammed the mug down, her hand shaking as she leaned forward, her breasts swaying slightly, drawing his eyes again.

“You’ve seen enough,” she hissed, but her voice cracked, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she glared at him.

She hated it, hated him, but God, the way he looked at her lit something long dead, an ache she had come here to chase.

Julian’s robe slipped further open as he shifted. His erection pressed tightly against the fabric, and he didn’t even bother to hide it. Not from her.

“I haven’t even started,” he said, dragging his over her one more time. “You walked in here like this—don’t pretend you didn’t want me looking.” His tongue wet his lower lip, mirroring hers, claiming her without any touch.

Her breath hitched, but she remained silent.

His words—”Don’t pretend you didn’t want me looking”—hit too close to home. She flinched inward, the truth breaking her carefully maintained walls. It wasn’t just his stare that undressed her. It was his voice, the low, smug confidence laced with lust. The kind that reached directly into her core.

Her eyes dipped low, drawn to the bulge straining against his pants. And there he was.

Thick, hard, and shameless, like he had meant to put himself on display.

It was impossible to miss, and she stared—too long, too hungrily. Her breathing quickened, her blush deepening as the heat pooled strongly between her legs.

She tried to look away. She couldn’t.

Julian saw it all.

His eyes tracked her every twitch—every stolen glance, every tiny tremor. His smirk stretched, slow and dangerous.

Leaning back in his chair, he spread his legs wider, the motion making his bulge even more visible. The robe parted further, and the thin fabric of his dress did little to hide the hard length beneath.

His blue eyes glinted with triumph as he watched her reaction, savoring the way her flush darkened, the way her lips parted just a fraction more. He didn’t say a word—didn’t need to—his body spoke for him, daring her to look away, daring her to deny the pull tightening between them.

Her thighs clenched under the table.

The nightgown clung to her now—damp with sweat and something more. Her nipples were tight under the thin fabric, hardened by the intensity of the moment. Her fingers curled in her lap, the urge to squeeze her legs together stronger with every second. She felt the wetness between her thighs. Soaked. Wrong.

But her eyes never left his cock.

Her breath came faster, and the room reeked of lust now—ale, sweat, and desire.

Julian’s tongue dragged slowly over his bottom lip, eyes locked on her face. “You came in that little thing,” he said, eyes dipping to her breast, lingering there, “with nothing underneath, didn’t you?”

She still didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Her silence gave him everything.

He tilted his hips slightly, just enough to make the fabric stretch over his cock again. Bigger now. Thicker. Throbbing. He saw her eyes flick to it—quick. But not fast enough to hide it.

“Do you want to see it?” he asked, chuckling in amusement.

She gasped—but didn’t say no. Her fingers lowered to her thigh, slowly grazing the bare skin just beneath the edge of her nightgown.

She wasn’t touching herself—but she was tempting him.

Julian’s eyes dropped instantly, catching the flash of bare skin, and his cock throbbed, straining harder against the fabric.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Then louder, bolder, “You’re not going to tease me and stop there, are you?”

His tongue wet his lips as he leaned forward, his eyes glued to the smooth skin of her thighs. His hands gripped the edge of the table now, his control slipping with every second she stayed still.