10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 22- Thalia’s Protest against a Pervert
The word "bastard" hung in the cool hallway air, hoarse, wet, barely more than a rasp.
Thalia’s hands shook against his thighs. Her cheeks were ruined—streaked with mascara, shining with tears, lips swollen and smeared with white that she couldn’t even pretend wasn’t there. She was on her knees. Still trembling. Still trying to drag breath into lungs that hadn’t caught up yet.
He looked down at her.
Not with guilt. Not with satisfaction, exactly.
Just... want. The same want that had been simmering in him since the moment she’d given him that perfectly hollow ’okay’ and thought she’d fooled him.
"...Bastard?" He tilted his head.
One corner of his lips moved. Just barely.
"You waited until after you swallowed to say that."
"I—" Thalia’s face snapped up, fury blazing hot enough to cut through the mess on it. "I did ’not’—"
"Darithi."
The single word was quiet. Not raised. Not sharpened. Just dropped into the hall like a stone into still water.
Darithi, who had been standing four feet behind them the whole time with the posture of someone waiting for a bus, moved.
No hesitation. No expression change. She crossed the distance in two strides, reached down, and grabbed Thalia under the arms from behind.
"W—’what’—" Thalia barely got the words out before she was lifted. Just ’lifted’. Like she weighed nothing. Her feet left the marble floor and her stomach lurched, and then Darithi’s arms locked around her from behind—one forearm banded across her chest just below her breasts, and her other hand caught the back of Thalia’s knee and ’pulled’.
Her legs spread.
"’LET GO OF ME’—"
"Hold still," Darithi said.
That was it. That was the entire instruction. ’Hold still.’ Delivered in the same tone someone might use to tell a child to stop fidgeting in a chair.
Thalia thrashed. She grabbed at Darithi’s forearm with both hands, nails digging in—found nothing but fabric and the dense, unmovable muscle beneath it. Her other foot kicked out, heel slamming back, and caught nothing but air because Darithi had already shifted her grip, pressing Thalia’s thigh outward with her palm until the stretch burned at the inside of her hip.
"’You—’ you ’psycho—’" Thalia twisted her neck back, glaring at the side of Darithi’s face. "Are you ’insane?’ Put me—"
Darithi adjusted her grip slightly so Thalia’s weight was better distributed.
That was her only response.
Her glasses reflected the hallway light. Her expression was the same it always was—focused, neutral, present. Like she was carrying groceries.
Like she had done this before.
’She has,’ something in the back of Thalia’s mind whispered.
’She has done this before.’
The realization landed cold and wrong in her stomach.
"Darithi." Cruxius’s voice again, low. He was crouching down, gathering the torn hem of her dress in one hand, shoving what little remained of it up over her hips. His fingers found the waistband of her panties.
One pull.
The thin cotton tore.
"—’Don’t’—" Thalia’s voice cracked straight down the middle.
"You’re already wet," he said.
Not to wound her. Not to humiliate her. Just a fact, stated the way he stated everything—like he was reading it off a screen.
And she was. ’God’, she was. Thighs slick, pussy still swollen and leaking from the six rounds before this one, body too thoroughly mapped by his hands to pretend otherwise. She could feel the cool air of the hallway touching her now-exposed core and hated herself for the clench that followed.
"’Shut up—’"
"Darithi. Wider."
Darithi’s palm pressed further into the inside of Thalia’s thigh.
"’Ow’—stop, she’s going to ’dislocate’ something—"
"She won’t," Darithi said, and widened the angle two more degrees with clinical precision.
"’I HATE YOU’—" Thalia turned her fury back to Darithi, whose face remained exactly the same. "’I hate you so much’, you—you robot—"
The head of his cock pressed against her entrance.
Every word Thalia had been forming dissolved.
Her breath stuttered out of her—not a scream, not a moan. Just a wet, cracked exhale as the pressure built, hot and blunt and ’too much’, stretching her open from zero with nothing but how wrecked she already was to ease the way.
"S-slow—wait—I’m still—"
He pushed.
’AHHH—’
The sound that tore out of her was too loud for the hallway, bouncing off marble and high ceilings and coming back at her from all sides. Her spine arched hard against Darithi’s chest, back bowing, head dropping back onto Darithi’s shoulder as he buried himself to the root in one brutal, unbroken stroke.
Her womb kissed the tip of him.
Her legs, spread wide by Darithi’s grip, trembled so hard she felt it in her teeth.
"—’deep’—" she gasped. "’Too—too deep—you’re—’"
"Mmh." He exhaled through his nose. Buried to the hilt inside her, not moving yet, just feeling. His hands found her waist. Her hips. He gripped them like handles. "You say that every time."
"’There is no every time—’"
He pulled back.
Drove forward.
’PAH.’
"’Ngh—!!’"
PAH.
"’A—Ahhh—’"
The marble wall opposite was cold. The hallway light above was warm. These were the only two neutral facts Thalia could locate in her brain because everything else was ’him’—the stretch and the slam and the way Darithi’s grip kept her ’open’, kept her ’steady’, kept her from curling into herself the way every instinct screamed at her to do.
PAH. PAH. ’PAH.’
"’Hhnn—Nghh~!! A—AHNN~!!’"
Her breast bounced with every thrust—both of them, full and heavy, the cold air of the hallway doing nothing to soften how hard her nipples had gone. They swayed with the motion, jostling together when Darithi shifted her grip slightly, and Cruxius’s eyes tracked the movement.
He let go of her hip with one hand.
His palm came up and caught her left breast mid-swing.
Fingers wrapped around it and ’squeezed’.
"’—Hnn!’"
He wasn’t gentle about it. He kneaded the soft flesh with his thumb pressed hard against the nipple, rolling it in slow circles even as his hips kept their rhythm, and Thalia’s breath fractured into something she couldn’t control.
"’Don’t—don’t touch—’"
His mouth found the side of her neck instead.
Teeth. Not hard enough to break. Just hard enough that she ’felt’ it—felt the scrape, the bite, the suction that followed as he worked a mark into skin that already had three others from last night. Her head turned instinctively, tilting away from the sensation even as her body ’leaned into it.’
’PAH PAH PAH—’
"’Aahngh~!! Haah—! Mnh~!!’"
"You’re clenching," he muttered against her throat.
"’I’m not—’"
"You are." His lips curved against her skin. "Every time I go deep."
She was. She ’knew’ she was. Couldn’t stop it. Her walls kept tightening around him like her body had its own agenda completely separate from her brain, and the sound he made every time it happened—low and rough and satisfied—was not ’helping.’
"’Darithi’—" Thalia’s voice cracked. "Put me ’down’—tell him to—"
"No." Darithi adjusted the angle of Thalia’s thigh upward by about fifteen degrees.
The new position changed the angle of his thrust and Thalia’s vision ’whited.’
"’AAAHH—’"
’PAAAH.’
"’NGHH~!! HH—AANHH~!!’"
Her toes curled.
Every single one.
Her fingers, which had been gripping Darithi’s forearm this whole time, tightened until her knuckles went pale and her nails went through fabric entirely. The orgasm was building—she could ’feel’ it, that hot coiling tension low in her belly that she didn’t want and couldn’t stop—
"You ’bastard—’" she bit out, voice wrecked. "Both of you—she’s ’helping’ you—"
"Mm."
