Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 515: Fall of Diana Beaumont

Diana Beaumont watched Isabella stumble from the dance floor, cheeks flushed, lips parted, legs weak like she’d just barely survived something intimate.

And maybe she had.

That was all the invitation Diana needed.

She rose from her seat like thunder made flesh—tall, dangerous, and laced in black satin that clung like a second skin. Two high slits carved up her thighs like sin had tailored them personally. With every step, her muscles rippled beneath gold-kissed skin—controlled violence wrapped in elegance.

Her back was bare, save for a single gold-chain harness that hugged her spine, glinting under the chandelier’s molten light. Each clink with her stride whispered promises no man had earned—except one.

Parker.

She didn’t look at the crowd. She didn’t need to. The entire ballroom had already turned toward her.

But she wasn’t here for them.

She was here for him.

And the moment she stepped into his airspace, his gaze locked on her—dark, patient, and devastating. The same eyes that had just destroyed Isabella without even unbuttoning a collar.

She didn’t speak.

Just reached for his hand—not to hold it, but to claim it.

She brought it up and placed it flat against her bare ribcage, just beneath the dip of the chain harness. Her skin was hot. Her breath already shallow. His fingers spread instinctively, thumb grazing the underside of her breast.

A flicker of heat passed through her, visible in the way her lashes fluttered—just once.

He leaned in. Brushed her lips across the corner of his mouth. A whisper of a kiss. A dare.

Then it was gone.

The music shifted.

Drums slow. Bass thick and low, like the air was breathing with them.

Without asking, she guided his other hand down—lower, until it rested on the silk curve of her hip. Her thigh rose between his legs, pressing into the warmth of his inner thigh. She rocked her hips once, just slightly. Testing.

He inhaled—sharp, quiet.

Her mouth curled. "Move me," she said, voice wrecked from wanting.

And he did.

He stepped into her until they were chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, her thigh pinned between his. Every motion from that moment on was a tease toward collapse.

Parker didn’t rush.

He glided.

Their bodies swayed together, slow and tight. Her breasts grazed his chest with every roll. She felt the texture of his shirt, the faint bite of buttons against her nipples. Her breath hitched. Satin clung to her, every inch of fabric turning traitor with the sweat rising under her skin.

His hand shifted.

Lower.

From hip to thigh, gripping her there. His thumb stroked the sensitive crease where her thigh met her pelvis. She gasped quietly against his neck, and her body betrayed her—arching into him.

She tilted her head up, lips grazing the stubble on his jawline. Not kissing. Just dragging heat across heat.

"You feel like lightning," she whispered. "One touch and I’m fried."

His palm slid up—slow, tracing the shape of her ass, firm and claiming. He squeezed, and she twitched against him, nearly gasping again. Her leg flexed harder between his, grinding her hips just enough to feel the outline of his belt buckle press against the aching center of her.

He didn’t stop her.

He let her move.

Let her grind—barely. Teasing friction. Dry heat.

Every slow rotation was one step closer to public insanity.

The crowd still watched, frozen. No one dared speak.

She leaned in—forehead pressed to his. Their lips barely touched. One twitch and they’d kiss. One sigh too deep and she’d fall apart in his arms.

Her fingers clawed into the back of his shirt.

"I don’t beg," she breathed, breath trembling. "But for you... I’d kneel."

His hands gripped her tighter.

Then he spun her out—one long arm extended, chains snapping, gown flaring, her entire leg revealed as if sculpted by flame.

He yanked her back.

Hard.

She slammed into his chest—breast pressed flat against him, her heartbeat slamming through shared fabric. Her lungs stuttered.

And then he leaned to her ear, voice so low it practically vibrated between her legs.

"Not yet," he growled. "But when I do... you’ll forget your name."

She whimpered.

Whimpered.

The sound was quiet, but it shattered her composure. Her hips rolled into his. Her leg slipped higher. Every nerve ending in her core begged for more contact, for skin, for him. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

Each sway now dragged satin over her soaked panties. She didn’t care. She wanted to ride the music through him.

Her nails dug into his chest.

"Parker—" she gasped.

He didn’t answer.

Just pressed his thigh harder between her legs, grinding just once—slow, deep.

Her breath choked. Her forehead collapsed into his shoulder.

The music held its final note.

He dipped her back—hair spilling like molten black silk, chains catching the light. Her body arched. Her lips hovered over his, so close she could taste the breath between them.

But he didn’t kiss her.

He lifted her.

Set her upright.

And let go.

Diana staggered. Her legs didn’t quite work. Her entire body screamed for more—more touch, more pressure, more of him.

She felt wetness soak the satin between her thighs.

Felt the tremble in her own knees.

Felt what it meant to be denied by a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

She stepped back. Her pulse wrecked. Her hands shaking.

The ballroom didn’t matter.

Nothing did.

Only him.

Only the promise of what hadn’t happened.

Yet.

This was the start of Diana’s fall—a dance so close to making out she might never forget how she wasn’t kissed.

Parker exhaled, pulse steady, but behind his calm mask—fire. He turned and found Tessa waiting. Her lips curved into a sly smile; jealousy never touched her eyes—only amusement and maybe a spark of challenge.

"You collect admirers like cosmic dust," she teased, handing him a fresh flute.

He took it, brushed a kiss to her knuckles. "Just making sure they know the sun has a queen."

Across the ballroom, Isabella pressed a hand to her lips—still tasting him. Diana, breathing hard, dragged gold chains through trembling fingers.

Two dynasties had come to seduce a god... and walked away seduced themselves.

The night hummed with possibility. Somewhere far off, thunder rolled—maybe real, maybe memory of Parker’s storm-scent still clinging to two hungry, reckless hearts.