My eyes opened to golden morning light filtering through heavy curtains. The vast chamber was warm with amber, but the real heat came from the woman lying naked against my side.
Lady Seraphina. My stepmother.
At forty she remained the most striking woman in the ducal household—ripe, elegant, and completely mine. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with each slow breath. Dark nipples, still sensitive from the night before, brushed my skin. The soft hourglass of her body curved against me: narrow waist, full hips, powerful thighs. Between them her sex was swollen and glossy, the delicate folds still parted. Slow, pearly trails of my seed continued to slip from her, sliding down the inner skin of her thighs and darkening the silk sheets.
My cock stirred at the sight.
She shifted. Sea-blue eyes opened, hazy with sleep and residual pleasure. A soft murmur left her kiss-swollen lips.
"Morning, baby…"
Without another word she moved onto all fours, back arched. Fresh seed leaked from her and ran in thin, shining lines down her thighs. Her hand closed around my morning hardness. She lowered her head; warm breath ghosted over the head of my cock, then her tongue began a slow, deliberate circle.
Pleasure climbed my spine.
While her mouth worked—soft, skilled, taking me deeper in lazy strokes—my thoughts drifted. I was Elias von Arcturus, twenty-two, fifth son of Duke Regulus von Arcturus. Reincarnated into this world two decades earlier. My birth mother had earned her place through martial achievement; the other four wives, including the woman currently worshipping my cock, had been married for politics.
Father and Mother were almost never home, consumed by border campaigns and court maneuvering. That left the remaining wives with too much idle time… and I had put every one of them to thorough use.
I had claimed them all.
Even as Seraphina's throat tightened around me, my mind moved to the other three, and beyond them to their younger sisters, their mothers, the elegant older women of the bloodline. The thought alone made my cock throb hard against her tongue. A small, needy sound escaped her.
She was about to take me to the root when I tangled my fingers in her golden hair and eased her back.
"Mom," I said, voice low. "Stand up."
She blinked, lips shiny, my cock still resting against her tongue. I stroked her cheek with my thumb.
"Just stand for me."
Lady Seraphina rose. Pearly strands continued to slip from her, tracking down her thighs. I took her hand and led her across the room until we stood together in front of the massive full-length mirror.
Both of us naked. Morning light across our skin.
I looked at myself first—lean muscle, fair skin, dark eyes that already knew what they wanted. Then I looked at her.
Long golden-blonde hair fell down her back like poured sunlight. Deep sea-blue eyes, high cheekbones, full mouth. Her body was pure, deliberate temptation: heavy breasts, slim waist, wide hips, strong thighs, a soft, full ass that moved with every shift of weight.
She nudged me gently. "What are we doing in front of the mirror this time?"
I pulled her closer.
"Last night, when I had you under me, you kept asking for kisses. But you're taller. On flat ground I can only reach these." My hands rose and cupped the heavy weight of her breasts.
Her cheeks colored. "I didn't mean—"
I stepped in, wrapped my arms around her waist, and drew her flush against me. Because of the difference in height, my cock slid perfectly between her thighs. The swollen head nestled against her soaked folds; her heat parted around the shaft, coating me at once.
My face was level with her breasts.
I lifted one full breast with both hands and took the stiff nipple into my mouth. Deep, rhythmic pulls. My tongue flicked and circled the sensitive peak. Seraphina gasped. One hand cradled the back of my head; the other slid down to grip my ass, nails pressing in.
She began to roll her hips.
Slow, filthy circles. Wet sounds filled the quiet room as her arousal mixed with the precum already leaking from me. Her swollen clit dragged along the underside of my shaft with every pass. Thin, shining strings of fluid stretched and broke between us each time she lifted her hips.
In the mirror I watched everything: my face buried between her breasts, her golden hair cascading, her back arched, that soft ass flexing every time she dragged herself along my length. The sight of Lady Seraphina—elegant political wife of the Duke—reduced to grinding against her stepson's cock made me throb hard between her thighs.
She felt it. A broken sound vibrated through her chest.
"That's it," she whispered, voice husky. "Just like that… use me."
I sucked harder, teeth grazing just enough to make her hips jerk. Her movements grew longer, slower, the head of my cock catching at her entrance before sliding forward again. The wet sounds grew louder. Her thighs began to tremble. The rich, musky scent of her filled the air between us.
We stayed like that for long minutes—no penetration, only the raw, deliberate friction of her body against mine while I worshipped her breasts. Her legs shook. Her breathing turned short and desperate.
Eventually I couldn't wait any longer.
I turned her, guided her onto the ruined bed, and spread her thighs. Then I took her—deep, steady, possessive strokes that drew sharp cries from her throat. She came hard around me, again and again, until the sheets were soaked and her voice was broken. I filled her repeatedly, holding her through every pulse, until her belly felt soft and full with it.
Hours later the chamber reeked of sex.
Lady Seraphina lay sprawled across the destroyed bed, thoroughly spent. Her legs remained open. Her sex was swollen and glossy, soft pulses of seed still slipping from her in slow, heavy trails that mixed with the wetness already darkening the silk. Marks from my mouth circled both breasts. Her eyes were half-lidded, mouth parted, golden hair stuck to her damp face.
The bed was a wreck. The floor bore the evidence of everything we had done. The air itself felt heavy with it.
I stood looking at the scene and let out a long breath.
The maids were going to have a difficult morning.
I could already picture their carefully blank faces when they walked into the room.