The Seductive Pretty Boy of the Matriarchal World-Chapter 46: Good Boy (R-18)

Serena Blackwood studied Elias Kane, noting the subtle shift in him that made her eyes narrow just a fraction. She paused, piecing it together in an instant. His words were aimed squarely at the gentle mask she wore—the one he had seen through from the very first moment.

The boy’s family had shaped him into someone painfully attuned to authenticity, his sensitivity a sharpened blade that cut through every false emotion directed his way. That was exactly why he had refused to bend to either softness or force, cornering her until she had no choice but to rip away the pretense and show her real face.

Right now, it was obvious he believed she was replaying the same game, which explained the sharp "You can’t fool me" he had thrown at her. But if she truly couldn’t deceive him, why did his posture carry that awkward, almost shy tension?

Serena stayed quiet, her bandaged right hand drifting forward to brush lightly across his skin. Elias’s body gave a faint tremor beneath her touch.

He responded to gentleness, not pressure. She had learned that last night when she had deliberately softened to keep Giselle Frost from claiming him. More crucially, even after everything she had put him through before, once she lowered her tone and spoke to him like this, he had still chosen her over Giselle.

Did that mean, somewhere deep inside the boy, he craved someone who would treat him with care? And that someone could be anyone—but ideally her.

After all, she was the one who had taken his first time. For any man that left an indelible mark, and it was only natural Elias would carry a special thread of feeling toward her because of it.

The corner of her mouth twitched in a private, fleeting curve before she smoothed it away. Her voice came out velvet-soft. "Did you and Giselle really do that kind of thing?"

She asked again, letting the question linger as if it carried the weight of the world to her.

The silence stretched until Serena almost thought the tactic had failed. Then Elias gave a small shake of his head and murmured, "Me and her... we didn’t do anything."

A spark of genuine surprise lit her eyes. She held his gaze deliberately, letting him see the emotion there—like a quiet confession that she cared, truly cared.

Elias nearly laughed aloud. Her performance was indistinguishable from any pretty-boy actor on screen; the only difference was that she was far more breathtaking than any of them.

He didn’t call her bluff. Instead he played along, voice low as if he had sensed her true intent. "The marks on my neck... it wouldn’t look good if anyone else saw them."

So that was the reason Giselle had dragged him to the hotel. Serena understood immediately. She knew Giselle’s feelings toward Elias as well as anyone else who shared the same quiet obsession with Lucien Hart. No wonder the usually untouchable woman had been so attentive, so protective.

Serena exhaled softly, and this time the relief was real. If Elias had actually been with Giselle, she doubted she could have brought herself to touch him again. She refused to claim anything already marked by someone else.

Her gentleness deepened, voice a soothing murmur. "Do you hate me?"

Perfect. The heart-to-heart had begun.

The answer had to be no. Even stepping fully into the real Elias’s shoes, there was no logical reason for real hatred. Serena had erased his parents’ crushing burdens—one by covering the fabricated astronomical medical bills, the other by cutting off his foster mother’s gambling at the root.

Of course, none of that would hold if he ever learned she had orchestrated every detail: his father’s "illness" exaggerated, the costs invented. The only grievance left was how far she had gone in bed the night before. But now she had turned "sincerely" gentle.

All things considered, he didn’t hate her.

Elias shook his head silently.

"Good," Serena breathed, pressing her forehead to his chest and pulling him tighter into her arms. "That’s all I needed to hear."

He felt a flush of warmth against his skin; she seemed feverish.

No way. He hadn’t even done anything yet.

And if they actually went further... cross-infection?

Infection be damned. The one who would suffer later definitely wouldn’t be him.

"From last night until now, I haven’t slept at all," Serena said, her tone suddenly calm and even, as though the woman who had choked him the night before had never existed. "I kept replaying everything between us. I finally understand—I got angry because you wouldn’t obey. But the way I treated you, how could you not push back? It was my fault for ignoring what you needed, and that’s why we ended up like this."

She lifted her head from his chest, tilting it slowly to meet his eyes.

The boy was biting his lower lip, eyes clouded with something complicated, words caught somewhere behind them.

Serena continued, "Luckily I realized it before it was too late. From now on, can we try to get along? I’ll respect you. I’ll be gentle with you. And you’ll listen to me properly. I really don’t want to feel that exhausted again..."

A shadow of genuine weariness crossed her features, as if she had spent the entire night weighing their fractured dynamic.

"I’m sorry..." Elias looked genuinely lost. She had been the one to hurt him, yet here he was apologizing first.

Serena barely contained the smile tugging at her lips. She shook her head and pressed a finger to his mouth. "Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who should be sorry. Let’s just coexist peacefully from now on, all right?"

Elias gave a quiet "Mm..."

Serena finally let the smile bloom. To him it looked like pure joy at the improvement in their relationship. In truth it was the satisfied grin of a hunter watching her prey tumble willingly into the trap she had so carefully set.

She had a feeling she would finally hear the sound she wanted from his lips.

This time they stayed right there on the wide leather sofa of the presidential suite, city lights glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows like distant stars. Serena’s bandaged right hand moved with deliberate care, sliding across the warm plane of his abdomen. Elias’s breath hitched, his golden hair falling across his forehead as he looked up at her with those striking green eyes—still wary, still guarded, but already softening at the edges from the tenderness she was feeding him.

"You don’t know how?" she whispered, voice low and coaxing, the dual nature of her personality flickering just beneath the surface. Public Serena would have sounded supportive; private Serena was already mapping every inch of him like territory she refused to lose. "Then let me show you. Just relax. Let me take care of everything."

She shifted, straddling his lap in one fluid motion, the soft fabric of her dress riding up her thighs. The bandage on her hand was a stark white contrast against his skin as she guided his hands to her waist, pressing his palms flat so he could feel the heat of her through the thin material. Elias’s fingers tensed, uncertain, but his body responded—hips twitching upward instinctively.

Before he could settle them there, Serena caught both his wrists in her left hand and pinned them firmly above his head against the sofa cushions. "Keep them right there," she murmured, the command wrapped in velvet. "Don’t move unless I tell you to."

Serena leaned down, capturing his mouth in a slow, deep kiss that started tender and quickly turned possessive. Her tongue traced his full lower lip before slipping inside, tasting the faint salt of his earlier tension. When she pulled back, his lips were already parted, glistening. "That’s it," she murmured against his ear. "You’re already doing so well. Just follow what feels good."

She reached between them, fingers working the button of his pants open with practiced ease. The sound of the zipper was loud in the quiet suite. Elias’s breath came faster, chest rising and falling as she freed him, her hand wrapping around his length with just enough pressure to make his head fall back against the sofa cushions. A soft, involuntary sound escaped him—half protest, half plea.

"Serena..." he managed, voice already fraying.

"Shh. I’ve got you." She stroked him slowly, thumb circling the sensitive head until he was fully hard and leaking against her palm. His green eyes were half-lidded now, the usual cynical detachment cracking under the building pleasure. She could feel the tremor in his thighs beneath her, the first sheen of sweat making his golden hair cling to his forehead.

She lifted her hips, guiding the blunt head of him against her entrance. She was already slick—had been since the moment he had chosen her over Giselle earlier. With a controlled exhale she sank down, taking him inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside her tight heat. Elias’s entire body jerked, a choked gasp tearing from his throat. His pinned wrists flexed against her grip, but he didn’t fight to free them—he waited, trembling, for her to set the pace.

"Good boy," she praised, the words velvet and steel at once. She rolled her hips experimentally, feeling him throb deep inside her. The stretch was perfect, the drag of him against her walls sending sparks up her spine. "Just like that. Feel how well you fit? Hands stay up."

She began to move—slow, deliberate circles at first, then rising and sinking with measured control. Each downward stroke pulled a new, weaker sound from him. His lips stayed parted, eyes hazy with overwhelming sensation. "Slow... slow down—" he finally managed, the words barely more than a breathy whimper, exactly the sound she had been hunting for.

Serena’s scalp prickled with electric triumph. She didn’t slow. Instead she braced her bandaged hand on his chest and rode him harder, the wet sound of their bodies meeting filling the suite. "You don’t really want me to slow down," she told him, voice husky. "Your body is telling me the truth. Listen to it."

She leaned forward, breasts brushing his chest through her dress, and caught his mouth again while she ground down in tight, relentless circles. Her fingers tightened in his golden hair, tugging his head back just enough to expose the line of his throat. She licked the salt from his skin, tasting the faint trace of the cologne he wore, never hard enough to leave a mark. Elias’s hips bucked up involuntarily, chasing the friction. His gaze was wide and dark now, pupils blown, the jaded operative lost for once in raw sensation. Sweat beaded along his collarbone; she licked that away too.

She kept the rhythm cruelly perfect, hips rolling in tight figure-eights that dragged her clit against the base of his cock on every downstroke. The obscene wet slap of skin on skin echoed louder now, her juices coating his balls and dripping down the cleft of his ass. Elias’s thighs quivered beneath her; his pinned wrists strained against her left hand as he fought the urge to touch her.

"Serena—fuck—please—"

She laughed softly against his mouth, the sound low and predatory. "Please what, Elias? Use your words like a good boy. Hands stay exactly where I put them."

His eyes were glassy, lips parted on a broken whimper as she clenched around him deliberately. "I’m gonna—slow down—I can’t—"

"You can. You will. Hold it for me." She ground down harder, letting her inner walls flutter and milk him while she kept the pace punishingly slow. The head of his cock kissed that sensitive spot inside her over and over until her own thighs started to shake.

When she finally let him tip over the edge, his release hit hard. His whole body locked up, a guttural groan tearing free as he spilled deep inside her, hips stuttering helplessly. Thick ropes of cum flooded her, so much that it immediately started leaking out around his cock and down his balls in messy white streaks. Serena followed seconds later, inner walls clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses that drew out his pleasure until he was shaking, oversensitive, still buried inside her.

She didn’t pull off immediately. Instead she stayed seated on him, rocking gently through the aftershocks, milking every last tremor from his spent body. Elias’s chest heaved, eyes closed now, lashes wet. His hands had loosened in her grip but still rested above his head, as if he didn’t know what else to do with them.

Serena brushed a strand of golden hair from his forehead, the gesture almost loving—until her internal voice reminded her this was still a proxy, a vessel. But right now, in this moment, he was hers completely.

She leaned down and kissed him again, softer this time, while her hips gave one final, possessive roll. "See? You did know how," she whispered against his mouth. "You just needed the right guidance."

Elias’s only response was an exhausted, shaky exhale, his body limp beneath her. The suite smelled of sex and her signature perfume, the city lights still glittering indifferently outside. She stayed wrapped around him, feeling the rapid thud of his heart slow under her palm, the warmth of his release slowly leaking between them.

Only when his breathing evened into something close to sleep did she finally ease off him, careful not to jostle the boy too much. She gathered him close on the wide sofa, pulling a throw blanket over their tangled limbs. His head lolled against her shoulder, golden hair tickling her neck.

Serena smiled into the darkness—one part triumph, one part the quiet, terrifying depth of her obsession. She had him. And she wasn’t letting go.