100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 762: Chapter 761- Serlina got two Babies

Her face flushed deeper. She realized — no other wives were present in this part of the mansion. He was naked. She could feel his cock against her thigh, warm and heavy, twitching as it began to stiffen. She fanned herself with one hand, the gesture small and helpless.

He kissed the top of her head. His lips lingered on her hair. Then he looked at Bella, who was staring at him with the expression of a woman watching her husband walk off with another woman while she held his babies.

"You can help her," he said, nodding toward the mermaid in the basin. "Play with my children, right?"

Bella blinked. "What? Your babies?"

"Yeah. Those little ones." He nodded toward the infants on the couch. "Don’t they look like me?"

Bella looked at the babies. The first — the one who had been pulling her ear — had a dusting of dark hair on its head. Fine. Sparse. Newborn-thin. But the texture, the color, the way it caught light — it was his. The second had violet eyes. Not blue, not gray. Violet. The same amethyst shade that glowed from his horns. The infant was looking directly at the mermaid in the basin, reaching one chubby hand toward the water.

Serelina trembled. Her golden eyes went wide. She stretched her hand toward the baby, her webbed fingers extending, her lips parting. The tears came before she could stop them — golden, luminous, rolling down her blue-green cheeks.

"My daughter," she whispered. Her voice broke. "Wait. Husband, you have to bring my daughter."

She looked up. Viktor was already gone. Walking up the stairs, Clara in tow, his tail swaying behind him. She sighed. The sound carried every ounce of resignation a woman could feel.

"You have to save my daughter," she murmured to no one.

She looked at the baby. The violet eyes looked back. Gold and violet. The colors of her husband and her new family.

Bella spoke from the couch. "You do not have to worry." She laughed — light, knowing, the laugh of a woman who had been through exactly this. "I know, I know. If he has made you his wife, then he already knows everything. It is fine."

Serelina bit her lip. She looked at the baby. At Bella. Back at the baby. She held her arm out, and Bella, understanding, placed the infant in her arms. The transfer was gentle — Bella supporting the head, Serelina receiving with trembling hands.

The baby looked up at her. The violet eyes focused. The tiny mouth opened, closed, opened again.

"So, what is your name, lady?" Serelina asked. Her voice was still shaking.

"Bella," the cat-kin said. She smiled. Warm. Real.

~ Part III: Clara’s Room

Clara walked beside him. Her hand was in his, her fingers small and cold. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. She counted the tiles as they walked. Her free hand was clasped against her stomach, knuckles white.

His hand moved from her hand to her hip. His palm settled over the curve, fingers pressing into the fabric. He squeezed.

"I am not going to serve your husband," he said.

The word hit her like a slap. ’Husband.’ Not master. Not lord. Husband. Her body trembled. She bit her lower lip. She was a maid. A maid who had been fucked by him. A maid who, by the unspoken hierarchy of this mansion, belonged to him. But the word husband was a title she had not expected.

Her hand moved. On its own. Drawn by instinct or desire or the pheromones that radiated from his skin, her fingers found his cock. She wrapped her hand around the shaft. It was warm. Growing. She stroked, her fingers barely closing around the girth, feeling the pulse of blood filling the tissue beneath her palm.

He kissed her head. "Where is your bedroom?"

She trembled. "Here." Her voice was a whisper.

She walked. Down the corridor, past the master bedroom — which she did not enter — to a door on the right. She opened it. The room was large. Cozy. Well-furnished. A small bed sat against one wall, neatly made. The sheets were white. The pillows were soft. The window overlooked the garden.

Viktor smiled. "Mira gave you a very good room."

She trembled. "Yes. Lady Mira said that now I am your wife, so she gave me this."

He looked around. The room was big enough, warm enough. The small bed was deliberate — Mira’s mischief. She knew he would take Clara to the master bedroom when he wanted. But the small bed was a statement: ’you are not the primary wife. You are here when called.’

Then he saw it. Against the far wall. A wave-shaped sofa, curved and padded, designed for positions that a flat bed could not accommodate. The surface was leather, easy to clean. The curve was anatomically precise.

He sighed. Mira. Even in her absence, the woman was impossible.

He turned to Clara. "Bend."

She bent over the wave-shaped sofa. Her body draped across the curve, her hips raised by the angle, her uniform pulling taut across her ass.

"Pull your skirt up."

Her hands found the hem. She pulled. The fabric gathered at her waist. The stockings came into view — white, held by garters, gripping her thick thighs. The panty strips were tied to the stockings, thin bands of fabric that pressed into her pale flesh.

He unclasped the garters. The stockings loosened. He pulled her panties down. The fabric was soaked. Wet. The cotton was dark with arousal, clinging to her lips as he dragged it over her thighs.

He smiled. "Aren’t you a horny woman?"

She trembled. "No, I just..."

He spread her. His thumbs parted her cheeks, revealing the pink beneath. The lips, swollen and flushed, glistened. The hair was trimmed, neat, groomed with care. The color — vivid, raw, the pinkest he had seen on any woman — stood out against her pale skin like a wound.

His middle finger traced the crack. From her clit, down between the lips, across the entrance, to the tight ring of her ass. The pad of his finger pressed against the ring, circling. She flinched. Her hole clenched, then relaxed.

"Hold my cock," he said.

She reached back. Her hand found his shaft, wrapping around it, guiding it toward her. He adjusted — nine inches, a concession, a gentleman’s gesture. The head pressed against her anal. Wet with pre-cum, the tip pushed. The ring resisted. He pushed harder. The head popped in, and she cried out — a sharp, breathless sound that bounced off the walls.

"Ghh—!!"

He moved deeper. Slowly. The shaft sank in, inch by inch, the tight walls gripping him like a fist. Her body flinched with each inch, her back arching, her fingers gripping the leather of the sofa.

"Do you fear me?" he asked. Quiet.

She shook her head. "No. I don’t."

He chuckled. Then he lifted her. One leg. Over his shoulder. Then the other. Both legs in the air, hooked over his shoulders, her body suspended. Her back arched. Her weight was on his hands, which gripped her hips. Her uniform tore at the chest, her breasts swinging free — heavy, pale, nipples stiff and pink.

She looked at him. At his head. At the horns. Two amethyst crystals, curving upward from his temples, glowing faintly. His eyes — the same amethyst, lit from within, casting light across his cheekbones. The combination was monstrous. Beautiful. Terrifying.

"You look too intimidating, lord," she said. Her voice shook.

He lifted her higher, using her hips for support. Her hands scrambled for something to hold. His shoulders were too far. His arms were occupied. Her hands found his horns. She grabbed them — her fingers wrapping around the crystalline surface, gripping for balance.

He chuckled. "Oh, I never thought you could use the horns like that."