Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Lux nuzzled against her throat. "Still think I came for sex?"

She whispered, almost breathless, "I think you came for war."

He smiled against her skin. "Same thing."

And just like that, the switch in him flipped.

Lux moved like he knew her rhythm better than she did. His hand trailed down her side, slow, confident, his fingertips grazing the edge of her top like he was teasing the idea of restraint.

Her breath hitched as his mouth brushed against her collarbone, not kissing—just hovering—like he was worshiping the warmth of her skin with nothing but breath.

"Naomi," he murmured, voice low, velvet and command stitched together, "you smell like patience about to snap."

Her pulse jumped.

He inhaled deeply at her throat, dragging the moment out. "You've been craving this. Haven't you?"

She bit her lip, unsure if it was fear or anticipation—because when Lux was in this mood, the line between the two blurred until it tasted like surrender.

His lips grazed her ear. "Say it."

Her eyes fluttered shut. "Yes," she whispered, barely audible.

He growled softly, pleased.

And then he pressed her back into the bed, body hovering over hers like a shadow with purpose.

She gasped when his weight pinned her gently, not trapping—just reminding her who she'd let in tonight.

Who she wanted to.

"Lux…" she breathed, both a warning and a plea.

He kissed her again. This time rougher. Deeper. Less of a question.

Her hands curled in his shirt. His scent—spiced, smoky, something sinful—wrapped around her like a second atmosphere. He moved slowly, almost cruelly, mapping her body with his palms as if he were measuring every inch for possession.

When his mouth found the edge of her shoulder, Naomi moaned before she could stop herself—soft, trembling.

Lux's eyes flashed gold.

"Louder," he said.

She clamped her hand over her mouth, wide-eyed.

"I can't," she whispered against her own palm. "They'll hear us."

"Let them hear."

"Lux—"

"I said," he growled against her collarbone, "let them."

But she shook her head, face flushed.

That's when his hands moved lower.

Naomi gasped, back arching into him.

"Let's see how far you could hold your moan," he cooed, mock-gentle.

She whimpered again, biting the inside of her lip, trying—failing—not to melt under his fingers.

Lux chuckled darkly.

Then he sat up. Just enough to unbutton his coat with one hand. One smooth motion, and it slid off him like smoke.

He tossed it to the chair without looking.

His eyes never left hers.

And then his fingers found the first button of his shirt.

One pop.

Then another.

Naomi swallowed.

She'd seen him shirtless before. But it never stopped being unfair. All lean lines, sharp edges softened only by the way his skin seemed to glow faintly under moonlight. A demon made of hunger and precision.

He peeled the shirt off slowly, deliberate.

Then came the belt buckle.

The sound of it unfastening was quiet.

But in the stillness of the room, it cracked like a whip.

Naomi's breath hitched again.

Lux smirked, holding the belt loose in one hand. He stretched it once—long, dark leather pulled taut between his fingers.

"I don't wear a tie," he said lazily, "so…" He tilted his head. "Let's play with my belt instead."

Naomi's mouth went dry.

He dropped the belt on the bed beside her with a soft thud. The weight of it on the sheets made her heart thud louder.

Lux leaned down, close enough she could see the devilish glint in his eyes.

"I'll be gentle," he murmured. "Hopefully."

He kissed her again—slow, warm, coaxing.

And her walls—emotional, mental—began to break one by one.

His hands moved again, trailing up her sides. She didn't know when exactly her top ended up halfway off, or how his fingers slid so naturally against her bare skin. But she felt it. Every inch.

Her thoughts blurred into sensation.

"You're trembling," he whispered against her stomach.

She wasn't sure if it was from cold, adrenaline, or something else entirely.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

Naomi opened her eyes, caught his gaze. Steady. Burning.

"…No."

He smiled.

"Good girl."

And something in her broke a little at that.

Because no one ever praised her like that. Not for wanting. Not for being soft. Or human. Or weak. Everyone always expected her to be composed. Elegant. Powerful.

But with him?

She was allowed to be undone.

Lux's hands moved again, this time taking their time. He didn't rush. Didn't need to.

His fingers trailed along her thighs. His mouth followed.

She moaned again—louder this time.

"Don't cover your mouth," he said, voice low and firm.

"I—"

"I want to hear you."

"But they—"

"They don't matter."

Her hands were already gripping the sheets.

And when he touched her again, slower now, firmer—

She gasped.

Louder.

Lux looked up, pleased. "That's better."

Naomi's thoughts scattered. The bed felt too warm. Her skin too sensitive. His voice curled around her like it lived inside her already.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured.

She whimpered.

"Say it," he coaxed, fingers teasing again. "I want to hear you ask."

"…You," she breathed. "I want you."

He smirked. "You already have me."

And then his belt moved.

Not wrapped. Not cruel. Just enough pressure across her wrists as he guided her arms gently above her head. Binding them to the headboard.

Her breath caught.

"You could pull free anytime. I know you have strength for that," he murmured, kissing her wrist. "But you won't."

She didn't respond.

Didn't need to.

Lux lowered himself again, eyes never leaving hers.

And this time—when she moaned—she didn't cover her mouth.

It came out soft. Unsteady. Like a breath that had been held for too long.

Lux's lips curled, slow and wicked. "There you go," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "That's what I wanted to hear."

Naomi flushed, cheeks burning, her wrists still loosely bound by his belt above her head. The leather was warm from his touch, the buckle cool against her skin, and every time she shifted, it reminded her she'd let him tie her like this. Voluntarily.

Worse?

She didn't want him to stop.

Not when he looked at her like this.

Not when his hands moved the way they did—like they owned her.