Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1851: Coming Apart

His free hand came up, closed around Ayame’s slender throat from behind, and drew her up and out of her sister’s arms in one long, liquid pull, her head tipping back against his chest, her spine bending into a drawn-bow arch that presented every inch of her to her witness.

Her body’s answer was immediate. She came right there, mid-motion, pussy clamping down and spasming around him in open view, a fresh rush of wetness sheeting down her trembling thighs.

*SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!*

He didn’t so much as slow for it.

And her face. Head back, eyes rolled up under fluttering lashes, painted mouth open around a moan with no strength left in it, tongue loose against her lower lip, wearing an expression no clan portrait of the Fujimori heir would ever be allowed to reference.

For the first time, Black Fang’s eyes went wide.

The poker face that had survived wars did not survive her little sister’s face, utterly and catastrophically perverted, hanging in the moonlight a hand-span from her own.

”No, it’s not,” Black Fang finally replied.

”What if every single woman was yours?” The question left her while she was still staring.

”I’m a hopeless romantic who can only fall for the greatest women ever. Women like you, my dearest Black Fang, are a truly finite resource, so such a thing would never happen.” A thrust landed mid-sentence that folded Ayame’s moan into a squeal, and Quinlan’s eyes found the windowsill over her arched body and stayed there. ”But if it did... Then I’d make the impossible happen.”

The words, the impossible claim spoken with utmost self-belief, crossed the hand-span between them, and Black Fang’s pulse, level through every war she had ever fought, went off-count by half a beat.

Quinlan eased Ayame back down into her sister’s arms, where she landed purring.

”...Knowing one’s limits is important,” said Black Fang, and the auditor in her wrote something down.

Ayame, once her vision finished refocusing, set herself a project.

Her lover’s reactions were currency, rare as primordial relics, and she had spent enough nights losing gracefully to know the exchange rate.

So she went to work.

She timed her hips against his tempo instead of surrendering to it, clenched on the withdrawal the way Lucille had taught the whole family, arched her spine to steal the angle he wanted for himself, and put every drop of her remaining discipline into one sustained counter-offensive.

Quinlan’s breath caught, and a low groan rolled out of him, short and involuntary and real.

The effect on Ayame was instantaneous and deranged. Her whole body lit like a lantern.

”Heard that~?” she gasped at her sister, eyes shining with unholy triumph even as he punished the insurrection with interest. ”That sound... hah... four hundred years... won’t be enough... for you to earn... one of those~”

Black Fang said nothing.

But she looked, for a long, level moment, at the man in question, and the ledger gained another line.

The insurrection was answered as insurrections are. Quinlan pulled her up off the floor entirely, back against his chest, knees hooked over his forearms, wide open and helpless with her whole weight riding gravity down onto him, and a sound rolled out of his chest against her spine, low and long, the growl of the man who had decided to stop being polite.

”Wait... this pose, in front of my sister, I’m... on full display!!”

”After the display you put on today, you don’t get to play the innocent little sister role.”

”Noooo❤️!! Black Fang, look away!!” Ayame begged with hot breath.

Black Fang did not look away.

*Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!*

Gravity did half the work and he did the rest, bouncing her on himself at a pace her legs could neither assist nor escape, every impact punching the air out of her in fogged bursts, her body presented to the windowsill in full moonlight with nothing anywhere to hide behind.

The dawn dojo filled with sounds its ancestors had definitely never been consulted about.

It was in the middle of that demonstration that the biggest orgasm of the night began building.

He denied it to her for a long while, edging her again and again, easing off each time her pussy clenched up to finish it, and when the big one finally arrived anyway, rolling up from her curling toes, he leaned forward and lowered her, still impaled and already twitching, straight back into her sister’s arms.

”Sis... sis... it’s... a big one is... hold me, hold me hold me hol...”

Black Fang’s arms were already there.

Ayame came inside them, harder than she had come all night.

The orgasm ripped through her while she clung to her sister with everything left in her, nails buried in dark cloth, spine rippling under Black Fang’s palms, screams pouring into her sister’s neck while her lover fucked her straight through it from behind and her whole small body tried to wring itself inside out.

It went on and on, spasm after spasm, squirting down her shaking thighs, soaking the boards and Black Fang’s lap wrappings both, and her sister held her through every second of it, one hand splayed between the jolting shoulder blades, the other buried in her soaked hair, holding on tighter than any witness needed to.

The convulsions finally let her go a long minute later.

Ayame stayed exactly where she had landed, boneless against her sister, purring on every exhale, the crimson mark pulsing faintly low on her belly, and nobody in the dawn dojo moved for a while.

Then Black Fang took stock of herself.

Her collar was soaked through where the screaming had happened, loose black hairs glued across it. There was drool on her shoulder. Nail-runs had dragged the weave of her sleeve out of true, and across her lap wrappings, cooling on the dark cloth, sat the plain evidence of exactly how hard her little sister had just come on her.

She had walked out of entire wars without carrying a single stain home. One naked little sister had undone that record in a night.

Ayame, still draped over her and following her sister’s eyes down to the mess, chose that moment to nuzzle deeper into the ruined collar and purr.

”Best... sister... ever...”

The purr landed on total stillness.

Behind those flat violet eyes, the night’s ledger opened, and the audit ran back through it page by page.

She had been called out of her concealment and threatened.

She had been accused of sulking, out loud.

She had been deduced at, three smug fingers’ worth, by a woman pinned under a mounted primordial.

Newlyweds.

She had been made a hair clasp, a water station, and a gripping post, in that order.

She had been informed that four hundred years would not earn her a single one of his groans.

She had been called secretly sentimental.

Her professional critique had been coached back at her between moans, her lap had been signed by the guilty party in person, and every line of it had been entered without protest, because the accountant had been too busy holding the criminal’s hair.

The interest had been compounding all night.

The audit closed.

”Quinlan Elysiar.” It was the first time all night she had addressed him by name. ”Bratty girl correction, was it...?”

Quinlan’s eyes widened, before his lips, slowly, dangerously, began crawling up until they formed a truly unhinged grin.

”Yes.”

”I will assist,” Black Fang decreed. ”For such a disrespect cannot go unpunished.”

Ayame, boneless and hazy, was slow to parse the exchange.

With a lagging, overworked brain, she watched. The last of her working braincells was only now recognizing what her eyes were looking at.

Her sister’s expression was moving. The flat mouth curved at one corner, small and colder than the snow garden behind her, and the eyes above it went from sheathed knife to drawn, and what filled them was cruelty.

Plain old sadistic cruelty.

’Ah,’ reported the last sober piece of Ayame’s mind. ’I overdid it.’

A small black vial appeared in Black Fang’s hand out of nowhere.

Ayame saw it and grinned through her gasping, hubris arriving right on schedule.

”Hah... I already know... I can take those...” She tossed her sweat-dark hair. ”I bathed in your poison, remember... your blend was like... warm milk~”

Black Fang’s eyes began shining with the promise of pure terror.

”This...” she twirled the vial between her fingers. ”Is not the rookie blend.”

”...Mercy.” The bratty cockiness left the girl as if such things had never existed in her to begin with.

”No,” Black Fang smiled.

”I refuse.”