My SuperVillain System: Building Legion of SSS-Ranked SuperHeroines
Chapter 104 - Love... Is it truly that sacred?

Chapter 104: Chapter 104 - Love... Is it truly that sacred?

His arms closed around her like a cage. One hand kneading her breast in slow, deliberate squeezes, the other anchoring her waist as if she might run—which she wouldn’t.

She never really could.

He leaned down, brushing her hair aside like he cared, lips pressing against the curve of her nape—soft, almost tender, and somehow that broke her more.

Another kiss followed, lower this time, warm breath fanning against her skin.

"So you accept it," he murmured, voice honey-drenched and dangerous. "You fell for me, huh?"

Tears slid down her cheeks again, hot and silent. This time she didn’t bother wiping them. "...Yes," she whispered. And then the confession came like a crack in her chest. "I hate this... I hate this so much..."

But even as the words left her lips, her body betrayed her—trembling, leaning back against him, her breathing shallow.

His fingers curled beneath her blouse, sliding under her bra like he knew she wouldn’t stop him—not anymore. Warm skin to soft skin. Palm molding around her bare breast. Thumb grazing the edge of her nipple.

She didn’t pull away.

How could she?

No one ever touched her like that. No one ever dared.

And perhaps that was the beginning of it. Not love. Recognition.

She wasn’t the kind of woman men pursued. Too sharp, too composed. She’d spent her whole life hiding behind routines, behind medicine and data and white coats.

People respected her—never wanted her. Her value had always been in her mind, never in the soft curves beneath her clothes.

But him?

Cruxius made her feel wanted in the cruelest way possible.

He looked at her like he could rip her open and find poetry in the wreckage.

It wasn’t just his touch—it was the violence of attention.

She’d heard it said somewhere—Some women don’t fall for love; they fall for the first man who makes them feel something they never dared admit they craved.

And this? This wasn’t love.

But it was attention that burned. It was obsession in a form she didn’t know how to fight.

Was it manipulation? Maybe.

But when you’ve never been touched, never been told you were beautiful without makeup, never been kissed like your body was a religion, how do you even tell the difference between lust and love?

She didn’t fall because she was naive.

She fell because Cruxius made her feel seen in a language she’d never been taught.

To be manhandled.

Desired.

Controlled.

Broken—but gently.

Her logical brain screamed that this wasn’t right.

That no sane man says "I’ll ruin you for anyone else" and means love.

But another part—deeper, more silent—ached for someone to choose her.

Not for her degrees or her polished smile.

But for the way she gasped under his touch. For the way she shattered when he said her name like it belonged to him.

Behind her, he grinned.

"You nod," he murmured, still kneading her breast, his voice velvet. "But do you mean it?"

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Her head tilted, offering her neck again.

That was answer enough.

"So you fell for an evil man," he murmured, voice soaked in silk and mischief.

She nodded again. She hated herself for it.

Hated how her body still reacted—how her breast ached under his palm as he molded it slowly, with purpose, like it was his to learn by memory.

His fingers spread wide, curling upward beneath the swell, thumb teasing her nipple through the thin cloth.

It hardened almost instantly, betraying her.

She could feel him.

The bulge.

Thick, warm—pressing into the curve of her ass under the skirt she wore.

Her thighs tensed, hips twitching, memories bubbling up like a cruel tide.

That veiny cock—God, how did she even forget the feel of it stretching her open just two nights ago? Her breath hitched.

And he saw it. The daze in her eyes. The flush spreading down her throat.

"You see," he whispered, grin widening against her nape, "I’m a bad boy. And a little injured too." He exhaled a mock sigh, tongue grazing her skin. "Can you give me healing... Doctor?"

She shook her head fast, trembling, lips parting to protest—but his hand didn’t stop.

His fingers danced over her breast with a rhythm too cruelly slow to be innocent.

A light graze of his palm against her underboob, lifting it just to let it fall into his grip again, like he was savoring weight and warmth and shape all at once.

She whimpered softly.

Every movement of his fingers sent a heat crawling beneath her skin.

When he pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger—barely, teasingly—her back arched slightly. The shiver that crawled down her spine was shameful.

"Cruxius..." she whispered, her voice hoarse.

And then—like something in her snapped—she grabbed the hem of her blouse with shaking hands, bunching it upward in one swift tug.

Her breasts bounced free, full and flushed, nipples already stiff and exposed to the air. Her body moved before her shame could catch up.

He paused.

Just for a breath.

Eyes fixed on her—those proud, unmarked breasts that still bore faint imprints from two nights ago.

Bruises soft and violet, half-faded near the underside where his mouth had marked her once before.

A few were shaped like teeth. He loved that.

She stood there, half-sitting on his lap, blouse wrinkled above her chest, her breath hitching—

"Cruxius, I—"

But he silenced her. Not with force. With precision.

A smile tugging as he saw how her walls had crumbled finally.

He caught her jaw in one firm hand, tilting her face until her lips were close enough to taste—and gave her a kiss. Small. Deliberate. A brush more than a press.

But it melted into something deeper as he moved his other hand up again, between her bare breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinched the same nipple before pulling it cruelly, as he had teased before—harder this time.

Her body jerked. A high gasp tore from her throat, her legs tightening around his thigh as her mouth broke away from his.

That nipple—red and swollen now, stretched between his fingers—throbbed like it had a pulse of its own.

The flesh around it quivered. She winced, her head tipping back, tearful eyes shining. Her breath was shaky.

"Haaah....Haaah..." She was panting now, and she hated it.

He leaned in, kissing the edge of her jaw while his gaze shifted towards the window.

’What a timing.’

The ruckus and fleet of vehicles made it clear that Ermond and Thalia had arrived.

A smile formed as his actor—Seleyena—was prepared; he would definitely reward her.

The biggest proof of her willingness to cross the line of shame for him was her own approach to removing her blouse.

So, for him, can’t she just tell a few lies to Thalia?

"I want you to prove that you love me, Seleyena," he said softly—voice almost a prayer now, but it carried weight. Possession. The kind that wouldn’t be satisfied with words.

He leaned in before biting her earlobe, clearly causing her body to flinch. With one hand cupping her bare breast, which she had offered by taking the initiative to remove her blouse, her eyes were closed and her head tilted, not wanting to look due to embarrassment.

She was just there to hear him, forgetting who she was because of his constant presence in her life.

She would have hated him if it were his fault, but it was she who pounced on him.

As if her body had chosen him.

And her voice confirmed it.

"I...will"