Evil Monarch: The Psycho's Harem

Narrator's POV

Anos lay sprawled across Iris's beautiful thighs, his head resting against the soft warmth of her lap.

His breathing was steady, yet the subtle rise and fall of his chest hinted at the lingering remnants of his transformation.

With delicate fingers, Iris caressed his ears, her touch tender, almost reverent.

A satisfied smile graced her lips.

Her master… her King… had finally returned to his true form.

Before, he had been trapped in a human shell—a form she had tolerated but never truly accepted. To her, a demon should never bear the wretched image of those who had sealed him away.

But now?

Now, that weakness had been erased.

Lying atop her was a demon of unrivaled beauty.

His obsidian-black horns curved magnificently, exuding an aura of raw dominance. His skin, a breathtaking blend of mortal flesh and marvelous onyx, shimmered under the dim glow of the chamber, the dark hue stopping just at his neck—an exquisite contrast that commanded attention.

And then, there were his eyes.

As Anos stirred, his lashes fluttered, revealing a pair of ruby irises, glowing with an otherworldly fire—the very flames of terror itself.

The moment he sat upright, his smoldering gaze shifted toward her, piercing through her with an intensity that sent a shiver racing down her spine.

Iris's breath hitched.

Her cheeks flushed a deep cherry red, the warmth of his gaze igniting a fire within her that no magic could quell.

And then, he spoke.

His voice—deeper, richer, more commanding than before—was laced with a hypnotic allure that wrapped around her like a spell.

"Iris…" His lips curled into a smirk, "why is it that you look more beautiful now—than ever?"

A gasp slipped past her lips, but before she could utter a response—

Anos closed the distance between them.

His hand tilted her chin upward, and in one swift, possessive motion, his lips claimed hers.

The kiss was not gentle.

It was raw, dominant, filled with a passion that sent jolts of electricity through her body.

His lips moved with perfect precision, molding against hers with intoxicating ease. His tongue traced along the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance—an order she could never refuse.

The moment she parted her lips, he delved inside, his tongue tangling with hers in an intricate dance, as if they had always known each other—as if they had been made for each other.

Iris melted against him, her body surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure of his touch, of his kiss—of his presence.

She was his.

And with every second that passed, she could feel him reclaiming her—piece by piece.

As their passionate embrace deepened, Anos and Iris tumbled onto the luxurious bed, the silk sheets cool against their fevered skin.

The remnants of his obsidian defensive skin shimmered before gradually receding, revealing a side of him that had never been seen before—raw, vulnerable, yet no less dominant.

He was bare, exposed to the world, yet his presence alone made it clear—he belonged to no one. But she—

She was his.

The moment his lips left hers, a needy whimper escaped Iris's lips, her body instinctively chasing the intoxicating heat of his kiss. But that fleeting moment of loss was short-lived, for his mouth had already found a new target—

Her neck.

His lips moved ruthlessly against her delicate skin, nipping, biting, claiming, until a dark crimson mark blossomed beneath his touch—an undeniable symbol of possession.

His.

Only his.

The thin fabric of her gown was no match for his strength. With a single flick of his wrist, the cloth was torn away, pooling around them like discarded silk, leaving her bare beauty exposed beneath him.

A goddess in the flesh.

His gaze devoured her, drinking in the sight of her curves, her flushed skin, the heaving rise and fall of her chest.

And then, his lips descended—this time, upon the peaks of her soft breasts.

A sharp gasp escaped Iris as his mouth latched onto her nipple, his tongue flicking, teasing, suckling as though expecting sweet milk to spill forth.

When none came, he did not stop—no, if anything, he grew more relentless, finding pleasure in the way she writhed beneath him, the way her body arched into his touch, begging for more.

"Ahn… Ahhh…"

The shameless melody of her pleasure filled the chamber, her voice trembling, breaking beneath the sheer ecstasy of his worship.

His free hand traced along the curve of her waist, traveling upward until it cupped her neglected breast, fingers rolling and teasing her sensitive bud.

Her body responded beautifully, her hips subtly shifting, her breathing growing uneven.

Every inch of her, every sound, every tremble—all of it belonged to him.

Anos watched Iris's body tremble, her skin flushed with heat, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. The sight of her—utterly lost in pleasure, vulnerable yet yearning—was nothing short of intoxicating.

His lips left the swell of her nipples, trailing lower—a slow, torturous descent.

His mouth explored every inch of her, worshipping the curves of her body. His tongue left a searing path from the valley of her breasts, down the dip of her stomach, tracing over her quivering form until he reached the apex of her desire—her pussy.

A sinful temptation. A forbidden fruit, glistening, awaiting him.

The intoxicating scent of her arousal filled the air, a heady fragrance that awakened something dark and primal inside him. He breathed her in, savoring the moment, then surrendered himself to the temptation that lay before him.

His lips brushed against her, teasing, coaxing, demanding entrance.

"Ahh… Ahhh—!"

Her voice shattered into blissful cries as his tongue finally claimed her insides, delving deep, exploring, devouring. He was relentless, greedy, consuming her pleasure as if it were the only thing in existence.

The way her body arched, how she clenched around nothing, how her hands desperately gripped the sheets, all of it was proof that she had completely unraveled beneath him.

Then, without warning—

A sudden flood of sweet juice spilled forth, drenching his lips, his tongue, his face.

Anos smirked.

Perfect.

Without a word, he lifted her, adjusting her trembling form into the perfect position—a position that would ensure she could take all of him.

Tonight, there would be no escape.

Tonight, she would know who she belonged to... Not the old Anos but the new one.

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