My Xianxia Harem Life

"Hmm..." Clara didn't know where her sudden boldness came from.

Maybe it had been building inside her for days, or maybe it was simply the pull of fate—but right now, with Riley so close, she couldn't restrain herself any longer.

Her heart was racing, and desire pulsed hot beneath her skin. She wanted him—badly. More than any man she'd ever met in her life.

She reached up and kissed him and she had no regrets whatsoever.

It was impulsive, reckless even, but she didn't care. Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She poured everything into that kiss—her yearning, her hopes, the ache she'd been carrying. She gambled everything on this one chance.

And she didn't feel guilty. Not one bit.

Powerful men like Riley were never bound by the same rules as ordinary folk. They were allowed to take many wives. It was tradition—almost an expectation.

Her father, a formidable cultivator in his own right, had 169 women to his name. Clara had grown up around that kind of power, that kind of freedom. So why should she feel shame for wanting Riley?

For wanting to be his?

Riley didn't pull away. In fact, he responded with a fire that matched hers. His lips pressed back firmly, hungrily, as his arms slipped around her waist and held her close.

There was no hesitation in his movements—just raw, focused intensity. Like a man who had been waiting for her to make the first move.

Clara gasped softly as his grip tightened around her, pressing her against the hard lines of his body. Her breath caught when she felt something firm and unmistakable against her lower belly.

Her heart skipped. She knew exactly what that was—and the thought sent heat surging through her.

Her knees weakened. Her fingers trembled slightly as they curled around the collar of his robe.

The kiss lingered, deepening, drawing her in.

She felt like she was melting into him, as though the world had fallen away and nothing existed beyond their shared breath, their tangled heat, their silent understanding.

When they finally pulled apart, Clara's cheeks were burning. She was panting softly, her chest rising and falling with every breath. Her face was crimson, as red as a ripe tomato.

"I'm real, aren't I?" Riley teased her, his voice low and slightly rough, laced with amusement and something darker—desire.

Clara stared into his eyes, her lips parted, trembling with the aftermath of the kiss. "I know you are," she whispered. "And I want more."

His gaze sharpened. "Are you sure?"

Clara nodded without hesitation. "I am. Please, Riley… take me."

For a moment, there was stillness.

Then Riley moved.

In one swift, effortless motion, he lifted her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. Clara let out a soft gasp, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

He carried her through the corridor of his estate, his steps unhurried but full of purpose. The halls were silent. The doors were closed. This part of his residence was private—hidden from the eyes of others.

No servants, no distractions.

Only the two of them. It was the perfect training ground where opportunities abound.

Riley pushed open the door to one of the side rooms and stepped inside. It was warm and softly lit, with a bed carved from fragrant wood and covered in silken sheets.

He set her down gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

He looked at her—really looked—and for a moment, his eyes softened.

"You came to me," he murmured.

"I've wanted to," Clara said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers again, this time slower, more deliberate. "Then I won't hold back."

Clara closed her eyes as he kissed her once more—deeper, hotter. And in that moment, she knew she had chosen this.

Not because of any other thing, not because of the rules of their world, but because she wanted him.

Riley was just one man. But when something as tempting as Clara willingly threw herself into his arms, how could he ever turn her away?

Riley gently laid Clara down on the bed, his eyes locked with hers. For a brief moment, time seemed to pause. The air between them was charged with heat, with hunger, with the raw electricity of desire long held back.

His fingers found the knot of her robe, and with practiced ease, he untied it. The fabric slid off her body like water, pooling silently around her on the silk sheets. Her bare skin caught the soft glow of the room's lanterns, smooth and luminous, as if carved from moonlight.

He drank her in.

Clara lay before him—voluptuous, full of life and fire. Her curves were lush, her form like something from a dream. He took in everything: the swell of her breasts, the delicate dip of her waist, the soft rise of her hips.

Just like her sister Veronica, she was stunning—but Clara had something more. A vulnerability. A spark in her eyes that made Riley's pulse quicken.

He didn't wait.

Lowering himself over her, he captured one of her flushed pink nipples between his lips, his tongue flicking and swirling with slow intent. Clara gasped, her back arching into him as her fingers instinctively tangled in his hair.

His hand claimed the other breast, kneading it gently, then with more purpose, molding it like clay in his palm. Her soft flesh yielded beneath his touch, warm and pliant.

He alternated between mouth and hand, lavishing both of her breasts with attention, until she was whimpering, her breathing ragged and shallow.

"Ahhh… Riley..." she moaned, her voice laced with need.

"Mmm… right there…"

"Uhhh… don't stop..."

He didn't. He wanted to memorize every sound she made, wanted to draw out each gasp, each tremble. Her moans were intoxicating—music to his ears.

Once he was sure both of her breasts had received equal adoration, he kissed his way lower. Softly at first, with feather-light touches down her abdomen. His lips brushed the sensitive skin of her stomach, then her navel. Clara squirmed beneath him, breath hitching as anticipation tightened in her chest.

And then he reached the apex of her thighs.

Riley paused, just for a heartbeat, admiring the sight before him. She was already glistening, her arousal clear as dew between the petals of her pink slit. Her lips were smooth, delicate, untouched—a virgin, without question—and the soft, flushed hue of her womanhood only made his desire throb harder.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, voice low and reverent.

Clara blushed, eyes fluttering shut as her body responded to the heat of his breath against her core. She was already trembling, overwhelmed by sensation, by the feeling of being seen, touched, and wanted with such focus.

Then Riley lowered his head—and tasted her.

His tongue made a slow, deliberate stroke, parting her folds and teasing her sensitive bud. Clara cried out, her hips lifting off the bed in a reflexive jolt of pleasure.

He licked again, then again, his mouth moving with growing intensity as he explored her most intimate places with hungry precision.

Clara's fingers gripped his hair, her thighs quivering around his shoulders.

"R-Riley... oh gods..." she moaned, unable to stop the waves of pleasure that crashed over her.

He groaned against her, the vibrations making her body buck beneath him. He worked her expertly, flicking, circling, and dipping in rhythm, learning what made her gasp, what made her tremble, what made her fall apart.

Clara was wet, so wet—and getting wetter with each second.

He could feel her nearing the edge, her moans more frantic now, her thighs squeezing tighter. But Riley didn't stop. He devoured her like a man starved, savoring every sweet drop, every breathless cry she gave him.

She was perfect.

And with the way Riley pleasured her—with his mouth, his tongue, his every movement—Clara had no choice. Her body responded on its own, unable to resist the overwhelming sensation building inside her.

He was relentless, precise, and utterly devoted in the way he worshipped her. His tongue moved with slow, deep strokes one moment, then flicked and circled her most sensitive spot the next. He teased, tasted, and explored until Clara was trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

The pressure inside her climbed higher and higher, coiling like a spring, until it finally snapped.

"Rileyyyyyyyy!" she cried out, her voice breaking as her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave. She didn't care who heard her. In that moment, there was no room for shame, no space for hesitation—only bliss.

Her hips lifted off the bed, legs tightening around his shoulders as she shattered beneath the force of her orgasm. Pleasure pulsed through her in waves, raw and electric.

She gasped as her release poured out of her, a flood of hot, clear essence that Riley welcomed eagerly.

But he didn't stop.

Even as her body convulsed, even as her inner walls clenched and fluttered with aftershocks, Riley continued to drink her in. His tongue plunged deeper, drawing more of her, tasting her fully.

He was greedy—shamelessly so. And Clara's sweet nectar, warm and intoxicating, only spurred him on.

To him, she tasted divine—like something sacred, something forbidden and irresistible. The essence of her virgin desire was unlike anything he'd known.

Clara could barely breathe. Her vision blurred, and all she could do was whimper and cling to the sheets as Riley drew every last drop of pleasure from her trembling body.

He finally pulled back, his lips glistening, eyes burning with satisfaction. And as Clara lay there—spent, flushed, glowing—she knew she had just given herself to him in the most complete and intimate way.