Apocalypse King: Recruiting S-Tier Beauties With My Ruler System
Chapter 117: Making Love With the Ice Queen [R18]

Chapter 117: Making Love With the Ice Queen [R18]

John (POV)

March 18th, 20xx — 3:35 PM

Zone 3A-Δ – Tenth Floor — Jiang Roulan’s Apartment

———

I snapped my fingers.

The cold metal chair vanished in a shimmer of digital dust, collapsing into raw code — a system command I’d been saving.

And in its place, the floor pulsed once.

Then reshaped.

With a hiss and low hum, polished blackwood rose from beneath the cement. Sliding panels of obsidian and gold trimmed the walls.

Warm ambient lights dimmed the raw edges of the space.

Then, in the centre, a wide black-and-cream king-sized bed bloomed into existence — high-thread sheets, deep pillows, heavy quilt, and velvet curtain rails for when I wanted silence.

Luxury, summoned in a breath.

Even our clothes vanished with the dismantling.

Mu Qinglan yelped as her body dropped back into the bed, bouncing lightly on the thick mattress, arms flailing before she caught herself.

"W-What?!"

She sat up slightly, breathless, eyes wide.

"I thought we could... do it properly this time, Lan’er."

Her cheeks darkened fast — a slow flush creeping up her bare chest. "Eh...? D-Do what?"

My hands found her hips.

Then slid lower over her outer thighs, the soft curve of her buttocks, the warm, glossy skin still flushed from the aftermath of her climax.

She didn’t pull away.

Her breath hitched.

Then, slowly, her eyes dropped down.

She saw what was waiting for her.

And made a sound.

Somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

Her gaze flicked back up, confused, vulnerable, but undeniably wanting.

"Here... now? But what about the meeting?"

"Who cares about a meeting?" I said, voice low, hand tracing the soft indent of her waist. "Right now, I only care about you."

"Ack—!" she squeaked, backing further into the bed.

Then stopped.

Her eyes softened.

"...It’s still a little sore," she said quietly, voice small. "But..."

I leaned back on the bed, as we cuddled, she didn’t act the same as before, her warm lips pecked my chest, arms, neck... before she rolled on top of me and gazed own with brilliant eyes that narrowed.

"I am a jealous woman..."

"I know."

"I want you to do me if you do them..."

"Ah, that’s fine."

"Don’t... get bored with me."

"I promise."

"...I want you so badly, John."

Her words weren’t loud, but trembled with her heat and desire.

Qinglan shifted her hips, the soft sensation of her ass squeezing my shaft as she positioned herself above my length. A warm, sticky heat pressed against my tip.

My fingertips brushed through her hair as I grabbed her face and swept my fingers along her cheek, feeling her soft entrance spreading over my tip.

This time I had more composure, the soft folds, her bumpy textures and the sticky lubricant smearing over my cock.

All of it was vivid thanks to my predator’s sensation skill.

"You sure?"

She leaned down.

Pressed her lips to mine — slowly.

Then nodded.

"I’m yours, remember?"

And then she lowered herself.

A wet pop echoed, as Qinglan’s warmth wrapped around me inch by inch — wet, slow, careful — the slippery feel of her arousal easing the stretch.

She gasped when I entered her halfway, my curved cock pushing against her upper walls.

Not in pain.

Just intensity and pleasure.

Her fingers clutched my shoulders.

Her hips rested against mine.

And we stayed like that.

Joined.

Still.

Eyes locked.

Her insides clenched tightly around me, her body slowly adjusting, soft, welcoming, snug in a way that felt like she wanted to stay filled like this. Warm. Wet. Slimy.

I ran my hands up her thighs, over her hips.

Then held her there.

"You feel incredible," I whispered.

She trembled.

Then she moved.

Her hips rocked once — a shy bounce. Her skin slapped lightly against my thighs. The sound was soft, wet, quiet.

She bit her lip.

Then did it again.

And again.

Her rhythm was slow at first — a steady grind, her hips rolling in lazy, sensual waves. Her chest rose and fell, small moans escaping as she lifted herself halfway and slid back down, my cock dragging against her walls with every motion.

Her body gripped me.

Welcomed me.

Milked me.

All of her focus poured into that rhythm.

Her forehead leaned into mine.

Her hands cupped my face.

She kissed me again — longer this time — and her moan melted into my mouth.

"J-John..."

Qinglan kept saying my name, kissing me... sucking on my neck as I could only focus on the hot, slimy sensation of my cock pushing into her depths... the tight yet soft folds wrapping, coiling and squeezing my shaft.

A warm pulsation, flowing with her heartbeat.

I ran my hands along her body, feeling the trembling of her muscles and body each time my cock reached the base, penetrating her fully.

My thumbs caressed her waist, tracing her curves as I looked down at the space between us.

Her hips met mine again — harder this time — her thighs quivering.

The sounds were different now.

Wet. Intimate.

The slap of her ass against my skin echoed softly in the room. The air smelled of sex — her scent clinging to my lips, to my tongue.

She broke the kiss and leaned back slightly, eyes lidded.

Then she moved, started to bounce properly now.

Small, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper.

Faster.

The sound of her hips slapping into me grew louder.

Flesh on flesh.

Her breasts bounced with each impact, her face flushed, hair stuck to her cheek as she rode me. Her walls tightened around me every time she bottomed out, squeezing like she didn’t want to let go.

I slid my thumb up to her clit and rubbed in small, slow circles.

She gasped.

Shuddered.

Her body spasmed.

And she didn’t stop.

She kept riding.

Each grind was deeper than the last.

Qinglan’s thighs quivered while placing both palms on my chest, with a flushed face. Her body was wet with sweat and tears, strands of black hair sticking to her cheeks. Her rhythm grew less precise. Less controlled.

"I love you," I said, voice low, breaking through the haze.

Her eyes flew open.

"I’m not going anywhere, Qinglan. No matter who else comes. You’re mine. And I’ll love you through every second of this hell. I liked you from the moment I first met you... endured, even when you were engaged..."

The words tasted heavier than I expected.

Years of keeping my feelings buried under duty and discipline. Crushing down urges in the name of professionalism. Wishing she’d look at me, not like a loser, not like a subordinate, but like this. Like someone she needed.

And now she was bouncing on my hips, soaked and open and so full of feeling she was shaking.

Tears welled in her eyes.

"Me too..."

Her voice cracked.

Her hands gripped my face.

"Me too... me too... I liked you, I wanted to tell you, but I... needed time."

The instant she spoke, I felt a strange feeling.

My balls throbbed, and the pleasure exploded... Qinglan dropped all the way down — burying my cock to the base — and kissed my lips passionately, her mouth squishing into mine, tongue slipping through, tasting every inch of me.

And then her hips began to move again.

But this time, not gently.

She rode me.

Hard. Messy. Wild.

Her thighs slapped into mine, the sounds wet and frantic as her walls clenched hard and fast. Her eyes locked onto mine — desperate, pleading, full of everything we’d hidden.

Her body spasmed around me once.

Twice.

The pleasure made my cock throb and swell inside her tight walls... She moaned into my mouth as her orgasm tore through her again, and I grabbed her hips and thrust up into her as I exploded.

Hot.

Violent.

Deep.

I came inside her like I’d been waiting my whole life — ropes of heat spilling deep into her body, her cunt milking every pulse of it, like she didn’t just want it...

She needed it.

Our moans tangled, her teeth grazing my lip as she trembled and clenched, her breath shuddering in my mouth.

The world dropped away.

Just us.

Her hips twitched.

My hands loosened.

She slumped forward, sweaty skin sticking to mine, heartbeat racing wild in her chest.

We stayed like that for a while.

Breathing.

Connected.

Her cheek rested on my shoulder.

Her arms curled loosely around my back.

"...I’ve never felt anything like that," she whispered while panting to catch her breath.

Her voice was hoarse. Spent.

"It wasn’t just sex," I said.

"No," she murmured. "It was... amazing."

The bed was warm now, bodies tangled in lazy afterglow.

She didn’t move to clean up.

Didn’t pull away.

Her fingers danced along my chest, drawing cute circles and rabbit shapes, eyes half-closed, and her breathing slowly recovering.

"I want to stay here, just for a bit longer."

"You can stay as long as you want."

Her lips curled against my collar.

"...Then forever, maybe."

We didn’t speak after that.

Not for a long while.

We just lay there — skin to skin, heart to heart — two broken, hardened people who’d finally let themselves be whole.

Together.