Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World

Chapter 680: Chapter 680- Jade Beauty is good at Stroking

"Where is your bedroom?" Tianlong said. His lips — still against her neck — formed the words. The breath was warm on her skin.

She trembled. Her hands — gripping the crimson rope at his waist — tightened. Her knuckles were white.

"The — the inner chambers," she whispered. Her refined voice was barely a breath. "Past the garden. The — the jade door."

He lifted her. His arms — large, strong, the muscles defined beneath the golden skin — scooped her slender body from the floor. Her legs — long, pale, the silk robes bunched at her hips — dangled over his arm. Her obsidian hair hung. Her torn robes — the outer layer gone, the inner layers hanging from her shoulders — exposed her right breast, the pink nipple raw and bitten.

He carried her. Through the hall, through the corridor, through the garden. Past the spirit-plum trees, past the stream, past the jade-grass. The sect — the disciples, the elders, the servants — watched. They stood in the corridors, in the courtyards, on the paths. Their heads were bowed. Their eyes were lowered. Their faces were carefully blank.

No formalities. No wedding ceremony. No betrothal gifts. No ancestral hall announcement. No sect proclamation. Just — a god, carrying a princess through her own sect, her breast bare, her tears falling, her body in his arms.

He found the jade door. He opened it. He carried her inside.

The chamber was as he had seen it before — silk hangings, jade-inlaid desk, carved bed frame, jasmine-scented air. The gauze curtains filtered the mountain light into soft, diffused patterns. The spirit-plum blossoms outside the window scattered petals that drifted past the glass.

Tianlong set her on the bed. Her slender body sank into the silk sheets — the fabric cool against her flushed skin. Her obsidian hair spread across the pillow. Her torn robes — the remnants of her formal attire — hung from her shoulders, the layers bunched at her waist. Her right breast was bare — the pink nipple raw, the bite marks visible, the areola swollen. Her left breast was covered by the thin inner layer, the shape visible, the nipple stiff through the fabric.

Her dark eyes — wet, red-rimmed — looked up at him. Her coral lips were parted. Her porcelain face was flushed — shame, fear, arousal, the emotions warring across her features.

He sat beside her. His large hand — the one that had been on her ass — moved to her chest. His pale fingers found the inner layer of her robes — the thin white fabric covering her left breast. He gripped. Pulled. The fabric tore.

Her left breast was bare.

It matched the right — round, firm, moderate, the mound perfectly proportioned to her slender frame. The nipple was pink — small, stiff, the areola pale and circular. The skin was porcelain — pale, smooth, without blemish.

Both breasts — bare, heaving with her rapid breathing, the pink nipples stiff and raw. The right one — bitten, swollen, the teeth marks visible. The left one — untouched, the nipple pink and perfect.

He leaned down. His mouth found the left breast. His lips closed around the pink nipple. He licked — his tongue swirling across the stiff nub, the divine qi in his saliva seeping through her skin.

She trembled. Her back arched. Her hands — small, pale — gripped the silk sheets. Her dark eyes widened.

"Ah —" The sound escaped her. Not a moan — not yet. A gasp. The involuntary vocalization of a woman whose body was responding to stimulation that her mind hadn’t sanctioned.

He kissed her face. His lips — warm, soft, the lips of a god — found her forehead. Her cheek. Her temple. The corner of her mouth. Her chin. Each kiss was gentle. Deliberate. The mouth of a man who was taking his time.

He found her lips. His mouth pressed against hers. She resisted — her coral lips pressed shut, her teeth clenched, her jaw tight. His tongue — warm, wet, persistent — traced the seam of her lips. The divine qi — in his saliva, on his tongue — seeped through the barrier. Her lips parted. Not willingly — chemically. The pheromones, the qi, the overwhelming biological imperative of the Horny God Physique, forced her mouth open.

His tongue entered. It found hers. The kiss deepened — his mouth working hers, his tongue exploring, his lips pulling. She tasted — green tea, salt, the faint sweetness of her spiritual constitution. He tasted — divine. The qi in his saliva hit her system and her body — her Core Formation cultivation base, her Azure Dragon Marrow, her virgin flesh — responded.

Her nipples — both of them — hardened further. Her pussy — virgin, untouched — gushed. The arousal — involuntary, chemical, overwhelming — soaked through her silk undergarment. Her thighs pressed together. Her hips shifted. Her back arched.

’No — I — my body — it’s — I can’t — the qi — it’s making me —’

He snapped his fingers.

His clothes vanished. The dark silk robe, the crimson rope, the jade band — all dissolved into golden qi particles that scattered in the air. His body was revealed — golden-skinned, muscular, the broad chest, the defined abdominals, the sculpted arms. And his cock — twelve inches, hard, the shaft pale and thick, the head dark crimson — stood upright between his thighs.

She saw it. Her dark eyes — already wide — went wider. Her coral lips parted. Her slender body — already trembling — went rigid.

"It’s — it’s big," she whispered. Her refined voice was barely audible. The words — the first words she had spoken that were not a protest or a plea — carried the genuine shock of a woman seeing a divine cock for the first time. "It will not — it cannot — that will not fit —"

’Lin Feng — his — it was — seven inches? Maybe? And thinner — much thinner — I saw it — when I — when I helped him —’

The memory surfaced. In her chamber — weeks ago. Lin Feng sitting on her bed, his blue robe open, his cock — seven inches, thin, the shaft pale, the head pink — exposed. She had been sitting beside him, her small hand wrapped around the shaft, stroking. He had taught her — guided her hand, showed her the pace, the pressure. She had stroked him until he came, the semen spurting across his own stomach. She had wiped it with a silk cloth. He had kissed her forehead.

That cock — Lin Feng’s cock — was a child’s toy compared to the thing jutting from Tianlong’s pelvis.

"Lin Feng taught you?" Tianlong said. His gold-crimson eyes — looking down at her, at her dark eyes fixed on his cock — held amusement. "To use your hand?"

She flinched. Her dark eyes — wet, embarrassed — lifted from his cock to his face. "I — I helped him — once — he — he asked me to —"

"Show me," Tianlong said. "Please me with your hand."

She trembled. Her small, pale hand — the fingers slender, the nails jade-lacquered — reached out. The movement was slow. Hesitant. The hand of a woman who had only touched one cock in her life and was now being asked to touch another.

Her fingers touched his shaft. The contact was electric — the divine qi in his cock, the Horny God Physique’s energy, jumped to her skin. Her fingers — cool, small, the touch tentative — wrapped around the shaft. Her hand couldn’t close around the girth. Her fingers — the same fingers that had easily encircled Lin Feng’s thinner shaft — barely reached.

She stroked. The motion was mechanical — the pace, the pressure, the technique that Lin Feng had taught her. Her hand moved up and down, the pale fingers sliding along the thick shaft, the divine qi tingling against her palm.

"It’s — so thick," she whispered. Her dark eyes were fixed on the cock — on the pale shaft, the crimson head, the veins visible beneath the skin. "Lin Feng’s was — it was — I could hold it — this — I can’t even —"

"You’re good at it," Tianlong said. His voice carried a teasing edge. The amusement of a man who found her inexperience charming. "Lin Feng taught you well."