10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 131 - Leaving Trails of Marks

Hot tears slid rapidly down her cheeks again, entirely silent. This time she absolutely didn’t even bother wiping them away. "...Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking. And then the painful confession tore from her throat exactly like a literal crack in her chest. "I absolutely hate this... I hate feeling like this so much..."

But even as the desperate words left her swollen lips, her traitorous body completely betrayed her—trembling violently, leaning heavily back against his solid chest, her breathing going incredibly shallow and fast.

His rough fingers curled smoothly beneath the tucked hem of her silk blouse, sliding effortlessly under the tight wire of her bra exactly like he fully knew she absolutely wouldn’t stop him—not anymore. Warm, rough skin to soft, bare skin. His large palm fully molding around the heavy, bare weight of her breast. His calloused thumb grazing the incredibly sensitive, pebbled edge of her nipple.

She definitely didn’t pull away.

How could she?

Absolutely no one had ever touched her like that before. No one had ever even dared.

And perhaps that was the dark, twisted beginning of it all. Not pure love. But raw, intoxicating recognition.

She absolutely wasn’t the kind of approachable woman men actively pursued. Too sharp, too deeply composed, too intimidating. She’d spent her entire life hiding safely behind strict routines, behind complex medicine and cold data and sterile white coats.

People highly respected her—but they never intensely wanted her. Her total value had always been placed purely in her brilliant mind, absolutely never in the soft, hidden curves beneath her modest clothes.

But him?

Cruxius made her feel violently wanted in the absolute cruelest way possible.

He looked at her exactly like he could violently rip her open and find beautiful poetry in the messy wreckage.

It wasn’t just his highly skilled touch—it was the sheer, overwhelming violence of his absolute attention.

She’d heard a quote said somewhere once—Some women absolutely don’t fall for sweet love; they fall completely for the very first man who makes them violently feel something they never even dared admit they desperately craved.

And this? This absolutely wasn’t sweet love.

But it was a dark, obsessive attention that burned her to her core. It was a heavy, suffocating obsession in a physical form she completely didn’t know how to fight.

Was it highly calculated manipulation? Probably.

But when you’ve absolutely never been intimately touched, never been told you were breathtakingly beautiful without a drop of makeup, never been kissed exactly like your bare body was a holy religion, how do you even begin to tell the difference between raw, dirty lust and genuine love?

She definitely didn’t fall because she was simply naive.

She fell extremely hard because Cruxius deliberately made her feel completely seen in a dark, physical language she’d absolutely never been taught to speak.

To be totally manhandled.

Intensely desired.

Absolutely controlled.

Broken—but beautifully, gently broken.

Her highly logical brain screamed desperately that this was completely wrong.

That absolutely no sane, good man says "I’ll completely ruin you for anyone else" and genuinely means sweet love.

But another hidden part of her—deeper, much more silent, and desperately lonely—ached violently for someone to finally choose her.

Not for her impressive medical degrees or her polished, professional smile.

But for the exact, breathless way she violently gasped under his rough touch. For the incredibly messy way she completely shattered when he commanded her name exactly like it legally belonged to him.

Directly behind her, he grinned darkly in the shadows.

"You nod," he murmured into her neck, still heavily kneading the bare, soft flesh of her breast, his voice thick velvet. "But do you actually mean it, Doctor?"

She didn’t speak.

She absolutely didn’t need to.

Her head tilted heavily back against his shoulder, openly offering her exposed neck to his mouth again in total submission.

That was answer enough.

"So you completely fell for a very evil man," he murmured, his voice entirely soaked in dark silk and deep mischief.

She nodded again, a pathetic, jerky movement. She absolutely hated herself for it.

Hated incredibly how her flushed body still violently reacted—how her heavy breast physically ached with need under his rough palm as he molded the soft flesh very slowly, with intense purpose, exactly like it was entirely his to learn by memory.

His long fingers spread wide, curling upward firmly beneath the heavy under-swell, his thumb relentlessly teasing her painfully stiff nipple right through the thin cloth of her bra.

It hardened even further almost instantly, completely betraying her restraint.

She could vividly feel him beneath her.

The massive, hard bulge.

Incredibly thick, radiating heat—pressing urgently into the soft curve of her ass right under the thin pencil skirt she wore.

Her bare thighs tensed violently, her hips twitching entirely involuntarily, dirty memories bubbling up rapidly like a cruel, hot tide.

That incredibly thick, veiny cock—God, how did she even possibly forget the exact, stretching feel of it completely splitting her open just two feverish nights ago? Her breath hitched painfully in her throat.

And he absolutely saw it. The hazy, lustful daze in her dark eyes. The deep, heavy flush spreading rapidly down her exposed throat to her chest.

"You see," he whispered, his dark grin widening significantly against her nape, "I’m a very bad boy. And currently, a little injured too." He exhaled a highly exaggerated, mock sigh, his hot, wet tongue grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. "Can you please give me some much-needed healing... Doctor?"

She shook her head very fast, trembling violently, her swollen lips parting to weakly protest—but his large hand absolutely didn’t stop moving.

His rough fingers literally danced over the bare flesh of her breast with a steady rhythm far too cruelly slow to be considered innocent.

A very light, tantalizing graze of his palm heavily against her underboob, lifting the heavy weight of it just to let it fall completely into his possessive grip again, exactly like he was deeply savoring the weight and the heat and the perfect shape all at once.

She whimpered incredibly softly, the sound pathetic and needy.

Every single movement of his skilled fingers sent a heavy, liquid heat crawling rapidly beneath her flushed skin.

When he suddenly pinched her stiff nipple sharply between his rough thumb and forefinger—barely, highly teasingly—her entire back arched slightly off his chest. The heavy, electric shiver that crawled violently down her spine was deeply shameful.

"Cruxius..." she whispered, her voice entirely hoarse and broken.

And then—exactly like something vital in her finally snapped completely—she grabbed the silk hem of her blouse with violently shaking hands, bunching the fabric upward in one swift, desperate tug.

Her heavy breasts bounced completely free of the bra, incredibly full and deeply flushed, the tight, pink nipples already painfully stiff and entirely exposed to the cool air. Her desperate body had moved far before her professional shame could even catch up.

He paused completely.

Just for a single, heavy breath.

His golden eyes fixed intensely on her—those incredibly proud, gorgeous, unmarked breasts that still visibly bore faint, dirty imprints from his rough handling two nights ago.

Bruises, very soft and faded violet, half-faded near the sensitive underside where his hungry mouth had marked her aggressively once before.

A few were distinctly shaped like his teeth. He absolutely loved seeing that.

She stood there frozen, half-sitting heavily on his lap, her ruined blouse wrinkled high above her bare chest, her breath hitching rapidly—

"Cruxius, I—"