Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

Madam Serenova had always prided herself on maintaining an air of unshakable control, but Pyris—this bold, unpredictable young man—was testing the limits of that control. He was dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with presence. And she was intrigued.

She leaned slightly forward, just enough to close the space between them, her voice as smooth as the finest silk. "You speak as if you've already unraveled all my secrets, Pyris. Tell me, what else have you deduced?"

A hint of amusement danced in her eyes, but there was something else there too—curiosity.

Pyris smirked, knowing he had her attention now. "That you enjoy the game more than you let on. That despite your reputation, there's a part of you that craves something... unexpected. Something thrilling."

Madam Serenova chuckled, a low, melodic sound that sent a ripple of unease through the men watching. "Oh? And are you offering to be my thrill, Pyris?"

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "I'm offering to be exactly what you need—if you dare."

A challenge. One that no one had ever thrown her way so brazenly.

Around them, the atmosphere had thickened, eyes darting nervously between the two of them. The other women at the table watched with veiled interest, some amused, others envious. Their spouses, however, barely masked their irritation.

She tapped a single, manicured finger against the table. "Very well, Pyris. Let's see if you're not just all talk. I look forward to... testing your words."

A spark flashed in his gaze. "Then I'll make sure not to disappoint."

In the audience, Selene's fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails pressing into her palms.

The light-hearted joke from days ago replayed in her mind, but now it felt like a cruel premonition rather than harmless teasing. She had scoffed at the idea back then, rolling her eyes at her mother's words.

"One of us has to get him, right?" It had been meant to fluster her, to push her into action. But now, watching the scene before her unfold, Selene felt something tight coil in her chest—something that burned.

Pyris was smooth, confident, completely unbothered by the watching eyes of powerful men and women alike and he seemed to like mature women so much. He had a way of speaking that made it seem as if the entire room had faded away, as if only he and her mother existed in this stolen moment. And worst of all? "Mother plays along. Like she like it?"

Selene saw it in the way her mother's lips curved just slightly, the way her lashes lowered when she regarded Pyris, the way she let his presence linger just a little too close. Pyris' voice dipped lower, his words threaded with that dangerous charm of his, and Madam Serenova—her own mother—met him stride for stride.

Heat flared up Selene's neck. A mix of frustration, disbelief, and something deeper—something uglier—rose inside her. She had known Pyris was bold.

She had known he flirted without shame. But this? This was beyond anything she had prepared for.

Her jaw tightened. Her chest ached. "Was this how it felt? To watch the man you wanted smile at someone else like that? To hear him speak in that honeyed tone, not to you, but to someone else—someone who shouldn't even be an option?"

She wanted to look away, to pretend she didn't care, but she couldn't. Every stolen glance, every word exchanged, every flicker of intrigue in her mother's gaze felt like a dagger twisting in her stomach.

Pyris was teasing, playing a game. He had to be. He had to be. But that didn't stop the feeling that crawled up Selene's spine, the raw and unwelcome jealousy that burned through her veins.

And worst of all?

She didn't know who she was angrier at—Pyris, for being exactly who he had always been.

Or her mother, for not stopping him.

Ambrosia arched a brow, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Well, well. This just got interesting."

Madam Serenova leaned back, sipping her wine, her eyes never leaving Pyris. "Indeed. The night is still young, after all."

And for the first time in a very long time, she felt genuinely intrigued by what would happen next.

Pyris chuckled, his gaze sweeping over both women with that effortless, devil-may-care confidence.

He leaned back in, fingers lightly tracing the rim of the glass before lifting it in a casual toast. "Interesting? Oh, ladies, you have no idea," he murmured, the promise laced in his voice like silk and steel.

Madam Serenova's eyes gleamed with intrigue, while Ambrosia merely tilted her head, amusement playing at the corner of her lips.

Pyris took a slow sip before setting the glass down, his fingers tapping against the table in a lazy rhythm. "By the time this night is over, I guarantee you both will be wondering what exactly you've gotten yourselves into." His smirk deepened, something wicked in his expression.

"And by the end of this ends, well… let's just say, you won't just be intrigued—you'll be consumed by it."

Ambrosia let out a soft laugh, her amusement unshaken. "Bold words, Pyris."

Madame Serenova, however, merely studied him, the way a seasoned queen might regard a knight making his first daring move on the board. "And yet, you sound so certain," she mused.

Pyris leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something just above a whisper, though the weight of it carried through the space between them. "That's because I never make promises I don't intend to keep." His eyes flicked between them, his smirk turning into something slower, more deliberate. "And this? This is only the beginning."

He let those words settle, let them soak into the air between them, and then—just for good measure—he took one last sip of the drink, as if sealing the promise with the taste of victory already on his tongue.

Pyris's voice dropped, low and intimate, yet laced with something deeper—something raw. His usual confidence was there, but beneath it, a quiet challenge, a confession wrapped in defiance.

"I hope you don't think this is as a game," he murmured, gaze flickering between Madam Serenova and Ambrosia, "and I tell you—I have never played lightly."

Then, just barely, his fingers ghosted over her wrist, a fleeting touch that sent an almost imperceptible tremor through her frame. Pyris smiled, slow and knowing, before shifting his attention to Ambrosia, whose smirk hadn't faltered, but whose eyes held a different kind of interest now.

"You will look for me when this night ends," he continued, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. "Both of you. And you will wonder if I was all talk, or if I am everything you suspect me to be."

Madam Serenova's lips parted slightly, but no words came. She had ruled over empires, commanded legions, made kings and gods alike bow before her—and yet, in this moment, she found herself... intrigued.

A rare thing.

A dangerous thing.

Ambrosia, ever the observer, exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting her head. "Oh? And what exactly should we be expecting, Pyris?"

He took his time answering, reaching for the glass again as though this conversation meant nothing to him. As though he hadn't just set the entire atmosphere aflame.

"The night is still young," Madam Serenova finally mused, sipping her wine, but Pyris saw the slight shift in her breathing, the way her fingers lingered just a moment too long on the stem of her glass.

His smirk deepened. "Then I suggest you hold on tight," he said, voice rich with promise. "Because I do not give a taste without promising the whole feast."

And as he turned away, deliberately, leaving them to stew in his words, he knew one thing for certain—neither of them would be able to look away.