Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

She leaned in—not to kiss his mouth just yet, oh no, that would give him too much too soon—but to press her lips against the edge of his jaw.

Soft at first. Then firmer. Then lower.

The taste of him was a mix of faint copper from earlier blood, heat, and something richer—like burnt sugar and smoke that clung under the skin.

She breathed him in, tongue barely brushing against him as she reached the spot just beneath his ear. That's when she let her teeth scrape, slow enough to feel his breath hitch.

"Mm," she murmured against his skin, "I could get used to this."

She felt his muscles tighten under her palm, not from fear but from that coiled, patient strength he carried like currency. That patience was a challenge. Pride liked challenges.

Her lips trailed lower, down the side of his neck. She didn't kiss like someone offering affection—she kissed like someone taking territory. When she reached his throat, she didn't hesitate. Her tongue dragged in a slow, deliberate line over the steady beat there, tasting warmth and salt and something intoxicatingly alive.

She felt the faintest rumble in his chest—a warning or an invitation, she couldn't be sure.

Her gaze slid down over him without shame, slow and deliberate, taking in the hard planes of muscle and the faint, battle-earned marks across his skin. Pride didn't need to hide her interest—if she liked what she saw, she owned that truth.

She reached out, her fingers brushing over his chest first, tracing the cut of muscle there as if evaluating the worth of a priceless artifact. The warmth of his skin seeped into her palm instantly, and she let it linger, nails trailing lightly down his ribs.

"Mortals," she murmured, almost in distaste, "don't deserve to even breathe the same air as this."

His lips curved faintly. "You're going to critique me like a piece of art now?"

"If I want you wrapped in silk, you'll wear silk," she replied, her touch moving lower in a lazy, territorial sweep, more like she was mapping out her property than offering comfort. "If I want you bare, you'll stay bare."

The sight was worth it. Even for a Pride demon, who didn't often get impressed. Smooth skin over hard lines of muscle, faint scars that spoke of battles he hadn't lost, the curve of his collarbone down into the flat of his stomach—every inch of him was the kind of wealth you couldn't buy.

She let her palm trail down, over his ribs, lower, her nails teasing the path. Her thumb brushed just above the waist of his pants, and she felt his pulse quicken under her other hand still at his throat.

Pride purred inside her. 'Yes… we can work with this.'

She straightened just enough to look down at him. "You know, Lux… I'm not just playing here."

"You never are," he said.

"I'm a Pride," she said simply, sliding one shoulder strap of her own dress down, letting the fabric slip halfway over her arm. "If I want something, I get it."

He arched a brow. "And right now, you want me?"

Her smirk deepened. "Want? Darling, I'm already deciding what kind of alliance we could build if I keep you."

With that, she let the other strap slide, the bodice loosening and falling enough to reveal the kind of skin that made mortals sell their souls just for the hope of touching it. She didn't break his gaze as she bared herself—slowly, deliberately—because in Pride, stripping wasn't vulnerability, it was a declaration 'Look at what's yours if you earn it.'

Lux's gaze flicked over her once, then back to her face. Controlled. Too controlled.

She leaned closer, closing the already small gap between them. Her fingers found the back of his neck again, nails just grazing his skin, while her other hand finally moved lower—down over the flat of his stomach, tracing the line of muscle until her palm rested over the hard mound pressing against the fabric of his pants.

She applied pressure—firm, slow, a test wrapped in temptation. "Feels like you're not as unaffected as you want me to think," she murmured.

His inhale was subtle but there. "You're assuming I'm not just humoring you."

"Oh, you're humoring me," she said with a grin. "You just also happen to like it."

Her fingers shifted, massaging through the skin, reading every small twitch and pulse like they were told in a game she had already won.

The heat of him was addictive, and knowing that this—this restrained, calculating man—was letting her touch him at all was enough to make her want to push further.

She leaned down again, lips finding his throat, this time letting her teeth close lightly over the skin before soothing the bite with her tongue. His scent flooded her senses—male, demon, danger, and something she wanted to bottle and keep just for herself.

Her own pulse quickened, but she kept her pace measured. Pride didn't rush. She could have pushed him back fully, climbed over him, and taken what she wanted in seconds—but no. This wasn't about release. This was about ownership.

"Half-incubus," she whispered against his skin, "means you can't reject this."

"You'd be surprised," he said, voice lower now.

She smiled against his throat. "Maybe. But I think you'd be more fun to keep than to break."

And that was the thing—Pride wasn't just interested in him for the obvious. Lux Vaelthorn wasn't some nameless conquest. He was an asset, a weapon, a partner in the right game. If she had him in her orbit, half the Court would watch her with envy and the other half with fear.

And if in the meantime she got to enjoy the way his muscles shifted under her touch, the quiet way he let her push boundaries without pulling away… well, that was just good business.

Her hand pressed a little harder between his legs, fingers adjusting to grip him through the fabric, a silent promise of what she could do if she chose. "We could make something… exquisite together, Lux."

His lips curved faintly. "Or something catastrophic."

"Same thing," she said with a low laugh.