Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Sira turned, her movements unhurried, and plucked a small glass vial from the side table. The liquid inside was a soft amber, catching the firelight with a lazy shimmer.

She swirled it once before stepping closer, letting the faint, bittersweet herbal scent drift between them.

Lux's gaze dropped to the vial, then flicked back up to her face. "This is just a low-level potion," he stated.

"At least for you," she agreed, her smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

He tilted his head slightly, reading her. "Why bother?"

"Because…" She let the word roll, slow, like it was tasting him. "…I know you've got that regeneration and that healing trick of yours. This will work well with it." She paused, leaning just close enough for her voice to slide under his guard. "So I don't need to give you more help than this." Her eyes glinted. "Or… do you want to owe me more?"

His lips twitched faintly. "Makes sense."

Without another word, he took the vial from her. His fingers brushed hers—deliberate, not an accident—and the smallest flare of heat curled in her chest.

He tipped it back and drank in one smooth motion, his throat working as the potion slid down. She watched his every movement, the way a predator watches something that might be prey if it would just stop being so damn interesting.

When he lowered the vial, she took it back, setting it aside with a faint clink.

"You could've just tossed that to me," he said.

"Where's the fun in that?" she murmured.

Her hand didn't retreat this time. She let it rest lightly against his bare shoulder, thumb brushing over the faint ridge of muscle. "You're still tense."

"Habit," he said.

"Mmh," she breathed. "I think you'd look better without it."

She didn't wait for permission. Pride never did. Her fingers trailed from his shoulder down to the center of his chest, following the slow rhythm of his breathing. His skin was warm under her touch—warmer than mortals, warmer than most demons. She let her nails graze him lightly, just enough to draw his attention fully to the path they traced.

Lux's eyes locked on hers. "Is this your game?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Her hand flattened against his chest, then slid lower, her touch casual in the way that told him it was anything but. She went closer, close enough that the scent of him—blood, heat, and something that felt like old coin and ink—mixed with her own perfume.

"Let me touch you, Lux…"

His mouth curved, not into a smile, but something darker. "I'm not your toy."

"No," she said softly, "I know you're not." Her grin sharpened. "But I want to play. I'm bored."

Her other hand came up, brushing along his jaw, tilting his face just slightly toward her. The firelight caught in his eyes, making the gold in them burn hotter. 'Hell,' she thought, 'you really don't make this easy.'

He didn't move away. Didn't lean in either. Just watched her with that careful, unreadable expression that made her want to ruin it.

"You know," she murmured, fingers sliding to the back of his neck, "most demons would have already taken advantage of this. You, sitting here, letting me peel your shirt off, letting me clean you up… and doing absolutely nothing to stop me."

"Most demons," he said evenly, "don't get to play twice."

Her laugh was soft, curling in the space between them. "You think you can set the terms?"

"I know I can," he said.

She leaned in until their foreheads almost touched, her lips just a breath from his. "Then I'll make it worth negotiating."

Her hand on his chest pressed lightly, coaxing him back against the sofa cushions. She didn't climb into his lap—that would've been too obvious.

Pride liked to make you think you were still in control until you realized you weren't. Instead, she braced one knee on the cushion beside him, tilting herself over him like a shadow with teeth.

Her fingers traced the line of a fading bruise on his ribs, then followed the curve of muscle along his stomach. Every so often, her nails caught slightly on his skin, sharp enough to remind him she could cut as easily as caress.

"You don't flinch," she said quietly.

"Is that disappointing?" he asked.

Her lips curved. "Tempting."

She let her hand wander higher again, over the steady beat beneath his sternum, then up to his throat. Not squeezing, not threatening—just resting there, feeling the quiet strength in the way he breathed.

'You're dangerous,' she thought, not for the first time. 'But you're also… not mine. That's the problem.'

She tilted her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, strands brushing against his arm. "Say the word, Lux, and I'll stop."

He looked at her for a long moment, and for that moment, she couldn't read him at all.

Then he said, "You don't strike me as the type who stops when told."

Her grin was slow, wicked. "That's why I asked."

Lux's eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to show he knew exactly what she was doing. That only made her want to push further.

Pride wasn't about lunging in like some desperate Lust-caste teenager hopped up on pheromones.

No, Pride was about the build, about dragging someone to the edge until they couldn't tell if they stepped forward willingly or if you pulled them there.

And right now, Lux Vaelthorn—half-incubus, son of Greed and Lust—was sitting here pretending like her hands weren't already mapping out exactly how far she could go before he caved.

She slid her hand up, brushing her fingers lightly over his jawline. The faint rasp of stubble there was delicious, grounding. He didn't move. Just watched her, like she was a puzzle he was debating whether to solve or set on fire.

Her other hand never left his chest, fingertips pressing against the slow, steady drum of his heartbeat.