Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation
Chapter 68: Touch Me

Chapter 68: Touch Me

Chapter 68 – Touch Me

Rava didn’t think.

Didn’t plan. Didn’t hesitate.

Her body moved before her mind caught up. Her tentacles—slick, warm, coiled with heat—wrapped tighter around him. Something primal had taken over. Something old. Ancient. Deep as the abyss. It roared inside her bloodstream, drowning everything in its path.

One of her tentacles slipped under Lux’s clothes again, trailing along his shirt’s hem—then up. Her suction pads grazed over the thin fabric, clinging slightly, teasing.

Lux raised an eyebrow.

Another tentacle coiled behind his neck, tugging him closer—not asking. Demanding.

And then a third tentacle snapped his shirt open, buttons popping loose with a soft tck-tck-tck as if the fabric itself surrendered to her touch.

The shirt parted, falling open.

Lux didn’t stop her. He just stood there, smirking, red eyes lit with amusement and something darker—hotter.

"I like bold women," he murmured, voice low, amused. He chuckled. "Really saves me the time."

Her tentacles weren’t done. Another curled down, slithered with deliberate slowness toward his belt. It undid the buckle with practiced ease, slipping through loops like it belonged there. His pants loosened, sliding an inch down his hips, exposing more warm skin underneath.

He looked down briefly, as if mildly impressed by her multitasking.

Then back at her.

Still smirking. Still composed.

But now—there was something else in his gaze. A flicker of hunger.

He reached out.

Not quickly. Not harshly.

Slow. Confident. As if he were tracing the outline of a painting only he understood.

His fingertips touched her jaw first. Then her cheek. Lightly. Just enough pressure to remind her he could take control, but wasn’t... yet.

Her skin flared under the contact, every nerve lighting up like submerged lightning. She was trembling—but not from fear. From the sheer electricity of it. The heat between them was thick now, oppressive, intoxicating.

Then his hand slid down—tracing the line of her throat. Her collarbone. Lower. His palm splayed across her ribs, then curved around her waist, drawing her closer with ease.

"Come," he whispered, voice like sin wrapped in silk. "Touch me."

And that voice—that voice—rumbled through her chest like a second heartbeat.

"Come on," he said again, deep and slow. "Don’t be shy now."

His chuckle was darker this time. Lower. Like thunder caught inside velvet.

Their eyes locked.

And in that moment—Rava wasn’t Rava. Not just a girl. Not just a kraken. Not just some wealthy heiress with an overactive imagination.

She was heat and instinct and need.

Her tentacles wrapped around his bare torso now, pressing close, pressing in, exploring muscle and skin and the warmth radiating off him like infernal gold.

He was hot. Literally. His skin wasn’t normal—it radiated a low, consistent heat, like the afterglow of molten stone just beneath the surface. She could feel the demonic energy humming under his skin, thick and steady. His heartbeat was slow. Powerful.

Her fingers finally moved again—tracing up his chest. Her palms flattened against him, feeling the taut muscle, the ancient sigils etched along his sternum that pulsed faintly with light. The taste of infernal magic was thick in the air—like the smell of spice and gold and cracked obsidian. Her lips parted, breath shallow.

Lux leaned closer, pressing his forehead against hers now.

"You’ve been holding back," he whispered.

She couldn’t speak. Her throat was dry, her body liquid fire.

He smiled faintly.

And then he let his hand drift lower. Slowly. Over her hips. Her thighs. One finger tracing lines along her skin with maddening precision, as if he were drawing maps with intent.

"I wonder," he said, the words brushing her lips like a promise. "Do you always lose control when you fall for someone? Or am I just... lucky?"

Rava’s tentacles reacted instantly, defensively, possessively. One wrapped around his thigh. Another coiled at the base of his spine.

"You’re not just lucky," she whispered, barely audible.

He chuckled again.

Gods, that sound.

It wasn’t fair how his laughter could sound like dominance and seduction and comfort at the same time.

He pulled her closer still, his body now fully pressed to hers. Warm. Solid. Real.

"You want me to stop?" he asked.

"No."

"Say it," he said softly. "Say what you want."

She hesitated. "I want you."

He kissed her again.

This time it was rougher. Hotter. Less polite.

His mouth crashed against hers with zero pretense. No masks. No teasing. Just want. His teeth caught her bottom lip. His tongue demanded entrance. Her body melted into his like they were puzzle pieces that finally remembered how they fit.

The room spun.

Reality bent.

Every part of her was reacting—heart, skin, power, instinct. She wasn’t thinking anymore. She was feeling. Every kiss. Every breath. Every graze of his fingers and press of his voice sent another ripple through her nerves.

Her tentacles moved again. Not gently. Not teasing.

They ripped the rest of his clothes down with primal insistence, tossing his shirt onto the couch, his pants halfway undone. They didn’t care about patience anymore.

Neither did she.

Lux didn’t flinch. He just laughed again, breath hot against her cheek.

"Finally," he growled, voice laced in wicked praise. "A woman who doesn’t waste time."

She gasped as his hands slid under her top—trailing her curves like he had all eternity and full permission.

"Goddess..." she whispered.

"I’m not a god," he said, fangs brushing her throat.

"I noticed," she managed. "You’re worse."

He kissed her neck. Slow. Deliberate.

"You say that like it’s a bad thing."

Her tentacles curled tight now. Around his waist. Around his chest. Around his neck. She didn’t even realize it, but she was pulling him closer. Closer. Until there was no room left between their bodies, no space to breathe except in the heat of each other.

Lux’s system pinged.

[Warning: Arousal Level Exceeding Combat Threshold]

[Recalculating: Emotional overload imminent]

He ignored it.

For once.

Because the way she was looking at him—eyes wide, heart on fire, body arching into his with abandon—was worth every ounce of lost composure.

She wanted him.

Not for his money. Not for power. Not because he was the CFO of Hell or the son of a thousand contracts.

But because right now?

He made her feel alive.

Made her feel seen.

And something in him cracked.

Just a little.

Enough for truth to slip out.

"I want you too," he whispered.

And this time—it wasn’t a line.

It wasn’t strategy.

It was true.

And she believed him.

Because his eyes weren’t glowing with power anymore.

They were soft.

Soft, and burning with something even more terrifying than desire.

Something close to... hope.

And maybe—just maybe—she was falling for a demon who might not destroy her heart.

But teach her how to use it.