CHAPTER 401: THE GATHERING

Then, the mall rose before us, a city of glass and steel. The parking structure was a cavernous hive of luxury vehicles.

But the true destination was inside, where the rest of them waited. Emma and Sarah practically glowed with excitement, not just for the shopping, but for the meeting—the tangible manifestation of the constellation of women that now orbited my life.

This was more than a shopping trip; it was a gathering of the court.

And I, in my godly skin, was ready to hold court.

*

The VIP lounge at La Cherry Mall was a temple of hushed luxury like I remembered it the first time I was here with Madison and my family when I signed the deal with Charlotte. Plush velvet, panoramic city views, the quiet clink of champagne flutes—but the true opulence was the electric silence that fell as we entered.

Every woman in the room turned, and the very air thickened under the weight of their collective gaze, all fixed on my transformed state.

Luna, the shy nurse, was the first to move. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her throat. "You’re... here." All clinical detachment vanished as she drifted forward, guided by a reverent curiosity.

Her trembling fingers brushed my jawline, leaving trails of heat like static electricity. Her kiss was a whisper, a gentle, almost sacred question against lips she deemed divine. She lingered just a fraction too long, her breath hitching audibly.

"My divine, babe," she breathed, retreating with a profound, burning blush spreading down her neck, instantly shrinking back into her observant shell.

Janet, the hostess, moved next with the innate confidence of someone who commands spaces for a living. A glint of playful challenge lit her eyes. "My turn, you baddie," she declared, not requested.

Her body molded against mine with deliberate intent, breasts flattening against the hard planes of my chest, hips rolling in a slow, suggestive grind.

Her kiss was a masterful blend of polished allure and untamed hunger—tangling hungrily, teeth scraping lightly, a low hum vibrating deep in her throat. She broke away with a smirk that promised delightful chaos, her outwardly humble demeanor a thin veil for the fiercely wild spirit vibrating beneath.

Isabella, the AP Biology teacher, stood frozen, her analytical mind grappling with the impossible. "Peter? Eros? Godly as I remember..." she whispered, lips parting slightly in stunned disbelief. Her professional facade shattering into pure wonder.

She stepped close, hesitantly reaching out to trace the impossible planes of my chest, fingertips exploring the sculpted muscle as if mapping a miracle. Her kiss began as a hesitant investigation, then deepened into a stunned, passionate discovery—lips parting wider, tongue seeking blindly.

She pulled back, fingertips touching her kiss-swollen lips, as if verifying data from an unprecedented experiment.

The wellness center trio presented a perfect spectrum. Victoria, ever reserved, bit her lip until it turned white. "E-Eros," she stammered, voice barely audible. Her touch was feather-light, palms flattening against the rigid ridges of my abdomen, nipples hardening visibly beneath the thin silk of her top.

Her kiss was a chaste, grateful press—just a whisper of contact—before she quickly hid her flaming face with both hands.

Anya, true to her profoundly lustful nature, offered no such hesitation. "Finally!" she snarled, grabbing my collar with enough force to strain the fabric, yanking me down.

Her kiss was an immediate conquest of fire and teeth—tangue fucking my mouth with raw, wet heat, teeth scraping, one hand fisting my hair near-violently while the other cupped my ass, grinding her heat against my rigid length.

"Missed you, honey," she growled, the vibration resonating against my lips.

Ortega, the calm doc, watched with amused patience before her turn. Her approach was fluid, economical. Cupping my jaw, thumbs stroking the sharp angles of my cheekbones with practiced intimacy.

"Command suits you," she murmured. Her kiss was deep and knowing—a silent vow of steady devotion. Her tongue delved with controlled, smoldering fire, a deliberate counterpoint to Anya’s blaze, promising depth over frenzy.

The room buzzed with the aftermath—the scent of arousal thickening the air, mingling with champagne and expensive perfume. Emma and Sarah stood rooted by the entrance, Emma’s hand flying to her mouth, Sarah’s eyes wide and dark, the abstract concept of my harem suddenly breathtakingly, intimidatingly real.

Then, the door burst open with explosive force. "EROS!"

It was Sofia, but not the withdrawn shadow of late. This was her old, vibrant self, unleashed in a single, explosive return. She practically flew across the room, heels pounding the marble, launching herself into my arms with a piercing cry of pure joy.

"YOU CAME!" Her kiss was messy, passionate, and wonderfully clumsy—lips crashing, teeth clicking, tongues tangling with desperate, returning happiness. I held her tight, spinning her in a circle, feet momentarily leaving the floor, golden hair fanning out, pouring reassurance into the embrace until her giggles softened into contented sighs.

It was the real Sofia, finally breaking free.

And then, Madison entered.

Her presence didn’t interrupt; it commanded. She glided in, her eyes—sharp with the gravity of her family’s crisis—swept over the scene. She bypassed the champagne and opulence entirely, moving directly to the central couch.

"Scoot, Anya," she said, her voice soft yet absolute. Anya complied without a word, melting away instantly.

Madison sat, the queen reclaiming her throne. The faint smile on her lips did little to mask the deep fatigue etched around her eyes, the weight of silent pressure. I gently disentangled from Sofia’s limbs and went to her, not with a kiss, but by kneeling before her on the plush carpet.

The room watched, the hierarchy becoming unmistakable, a silent understanding rippling through the assembled women.

I gathered her into my arms as I sat beside her. She melted against my chest, a long, shuddering sigh escaping her as her head found its familiar, sacred place on my shoulder. This wasn’t about passion; it was about sanctuary.

My hand rose to her hair, fingers combing through the silken strands in a gentle, rhythmic motion, each stroke a silent vow of protection. The message to every woman in the room was unequivocal: amidst the kisses and the chaos, Madison was the center. The anchor. She was home.

And her burdens—the crushing weight visible in the tense lines of her shoulders even now—were now mine to bear.

***

A/N: Guys, new volume is here. 400 Chapters and you guys are still here with me. I am so grateful.