CHAPTER 393: THE CURSED PROTECTOR (R-18)

The credits of the movie rolled, casting the room in a silent, blueish light. Linda’s breathing had evened out into the soft, deep rhythms of sleep, her body a warm, trusting weight against his chest. The war she’d been waging within herself had finally been lost to exhaustion.

Peter moved with a predator’s silence, shifting her carefully. He lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

She was all silk and softness, her head lolling trustingly against his shoulder. A scent of shampoo and her own unique, sleep-warmed skin filled his senses—a fragrance of home, and now, of something infinitely more tantalizing.

He carried her up the grand staircase to the master suite, her room a mirror of his own in size and luxury. The moon cast pale stripes across the vast bed. He laid her down with a reverence that felt both sacred and profane, pulling the duvet over her.

He leaned down, and his lips brushed her forehead in a kiss that lingered—a gesture of pure, devoted care, yet laden with the unspoken hunger that thrummed through his veins.

He turned, a predator slipping from the lamb’s pen, ready for the sanctuary of his own room. Then—tug.

A touch. So, light it was almost imperceptible. But to his heightened senses, it was a bolt of lightning.

He froze, every muscle locking. Slowly, he turned his head.

Linda’s small, delicate fingers were wrapped around his index finger, holding him with a strength that belied her sleep. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips parted, and a whisper, soft as a sigh, escaped into the moonlit room.

"Stay... Peter. Sleep here. Like you used to... when you were scared."

The words hit him with the force of a physical blow. A pang seized his chest, so sharp and tight he thought his heart might stop. It was a direct line to the past, to the boy who would creep into her room, seeking refuge from thunderstorms or the shadows of nightmares.

She had been his sanctuary. The woman who had sung him back to sleep, who had made him feel safe in a world that felt too big.

The vulnerability was a physical blow.

And now, that same woman, her fingers curled around his, was asking him to be her sanctuary. The inversion of roles was dizzying.

The boy

who sought protection was now the man being asked to provide it. And he wanted to provide so much more. He wanted to protect her, to cherish her, to worship her with his body until the memory of every lonely night was erased from her soul.

And now? Now he wanted her with a primal, devouring hunger that defied every law of blood and bone. He wanted to bury his aching cock deep in the pussy that had sheltered the twins and sweated while she ran around the hospital to provide for the.

Guilt? The Taboo System scorched the thought to ash. Where it should have been, there was only fire. A roaring conflagration of love, desire, and a protective fury so intense it felt like his soul was boiling.

Protect her. Love her. Possess her. More than anything. More than life itself.

He should have felt a tsunami of guilt. Guilt for the images flashing in his mind: of his hands not tucking her in, but peeling away the silk; of his body not lying chastely beside her, but covering hers, filling the emptiness that had haunted her for years. He should have felt monstrous.

He felt only a love so fierce it burned away all else. It was a conflagration in his soul, hotter than any hellfire, a need to protect and possess that were now one and the same.

Before the fully formed thought even registered, Peter was moving. He shed his clothes with efficient haste, the fabric whispering against the floor. Seconds later, he slid into the cool space behind her, bare skin against silk pajamas—the thinnest armor imaginable.

The world shifted, then narrowed, to that single, searing point of contact. He moved behind her, and the rigid, heavy length of his cock slid home, settling perfectly into the channel between her ass cheeks like it was forged for that space alone.

A violent shudder ripped through her, sharp and utterly electric. It had nothing to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with a profound, bone-melting rightness. A soft, broken sigh escaped her—the sound of a string finally cut, of every muscle in her body going liquid and loose against him. This wasn’t submission; it was a homecoming. His heat was a brand, his solid weight an anchor in the storm of her life.

She knew with breathtaking clarity that this was where she was meant to be. Not a mother, not a nurse, but a yielding, open vessel for his desire. His.

Linda snuggled back deeper into his embrace, a seamless fit.

She arched back subtly, pressing the curve of her ass against his groin—a gesture of utter submission, of profound relief. It was the movement of a mortal finding sanctuary in their god.

He shifted behind her, and the world shrank to that single point of contact. The hard, thick length of his cock settled into the dip between her ass cheeks, a perfect, weighted fit. A violent shudder, sharp and electric, tore through her. It had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with a profound, bone-melting rightness.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, the sound of a string being cut, of every muscle in her body going liquid and loose.

This wasn’t submission; it was a homecoming. His heat was a shield against the world, his rigid presence an anchor in a storm, and as he settled more firmly against her, she knew with breathtaking clarity that this was where she was meant to be. Yielding. Open. His.

"He’s here. He’s safe. He’s mine."

She whispered in her sleep. The air crackled with her desperate, silent worship.

Then she shifted, a restless, unconscious seeking. In one fluid, boneless motion, she turned into him, burrowing her face into the warm, solid hollow of his throat. Her leg hooked over his hip, a primal lock, and pulled him flush against her.

And then the barrier between them wasn’t a barrier at all.

The hard, aching ridge of his cock, trapped behind frustratingly thin cotton, met the molten, soaking heat of her core through the delicate silk of her pants. The contact was a jolt, a chemical explosion that short-circuited his brain.

Her tight nipples, stiff with sleep and something more, scraped against his chest with every shallow breath she took.

A sharp, guttural hiss tore from between his teeth. His entire body went rigid, a coiled spring of agonizing willpower. It was a war, declared in a single, skin-to-skin touch. Every primal instinct in his blood roared to life, screaming at him to rock his hips, to grind against that perfect, yielding heat, to let her feel the full, demanding proof of his desire.

To claim the devastating gift she was offering, so completely unknowing. To just... take.

But he held still. A statue of restraint.

He was rock-hard, throbbing with a force that bordered on pain. The instinct to roll her over, to tear the flimsy silk away and sink into that welcoming heat, was a tidal wave. Take her. Claim her. [Now, Master.] Taboo whispered in approval, a dark current surged in his blood. [Protect her by owning her. Protect her by making her yours in every way, Master, I can tell she loves you.]

Peter held still. His arms wrapped around her, one strong hand splayed possessively across the small of her back, the other cradling her head against him. He held her. Not as the scared boy she’d comforted, but as the man he was now. A warrior claiming his queen, his fortress, his sacred ground.

Linda sighed, a sound of utter contentment, melting deeper into his embrace. Her body relaxed into him, trusting, surrendered. The heat of her pussy pulsed against his trapped cock, a silent, rhythmic plea. Her nipples branded his skin. It was exquisite torture. A divine agony.

Pride swelled in his chest, fierce and possessive, dwarfing the lust.

’Yes. This. This was power.’ This was conquest. Not of gold or influence, but of hearts, of trust, of breaking the most sacred taboo to forge something new, something theirs. He held the woman who had given him everything, now offering herself in return, knowingly or not. He held his future. His Empress.

A slow, dark smile touched his lips in the darkness. ’Soon,’ the love, the will to protect and possessiveness sang in his veins, a promise laced with fire. ’Very soon, Linda Carter. This sanctuary will become my throne. And you... you will rule beside me.’ He held her tighter, the battle of willpower a glowing ember in the inferno of his purpose.

He was Peter Carter. And he would have his mother... as his woman. Forever. The night was just beginning.

And in that stillness, a profound pride bloomed within him. The mansion, the money, the security—they were symbols. But this... this embrace was the substance. She wasn’t protecting him anymore. He was protecting her. He was her guardian, her fortress.

And very, very soon, he would be her man.