George's technique was impeccable, his skill with lips and tongue nothing short of masterful. Arabella was not particularly ascetic; her attitude toward desire was one of indulgence, allowing it to flow freely. When the conditions were right, she would indulge, but when they were not, she would not suffer for it. The man in bed was like a dessert after a meal; she didn't mind whether the dessert was sweet or not. A man's skill could add a finishing touch, but even if his technique were lacking, he could still serve as a human massager. Arabella was not particular.
Compared to George, all those previous desserts seemed far inferior, even Taras, whose prowess in bed was considerable, would have to concede defeat. His skills in oral sex were exceptionally skilled, with his tongue and lips moving in a way that almost seemed to be suctioning on every sensitive spot of the clitoris, especially when he caught hold of the sensitive area. The combination of their lips and tongue was excellent, providing a more varied range of vibrations than a vibrator, with the softness and inclusiveness of a tongue that made the sexual desire surge like waves.
Arabella lay back comfortably on the rear seat of the car, her legs spread wide, her movements bold. She allowed George to bury his head between her legs and lick her, closing her eyes to enjoy it. The skills of his mouth and tongue pleased her, and the sincere start to their lovemaking left Arabella sighing.
The competition between these two siblings was unequal from the start. Even though the sister was delicate and alluring, with a charm all her own, her gender was simply out of sync with hers. Although she was not particular about how good the dessert was, it didn't mean she was willing to try other varieties.
George buried himself under Arabella's body, sucking on her clitoris, his eyes flashed a dark, appraising look. At this moment, Arabella, who was lying with her legs spread wide and closed her eyes to enjoy herself, seemed to have no resistance at all. She had completely fair skin, bathed in the dim light of the street, exuded a lustrous, exotic beauty that was quite different from her usual image as a ruthless and unbeatable figure.
Perhaps this was the moment to strike? After all, women, when lost in desire, are at their most vulnerable, easily shattered.
The thought was fleeting, quickly dismissed. He dared not take the risk. After all, with so many men before her, had none of them ever thought to make a move? The fact that Arabella had remained unscathed in bed for so long clearly indicated that she was far from as simple as she appeared on the surface. He suppressed his restless desires and extended his tongue to mimic the frequency of intercourse. He also rubbed his hands over Arabella's butt, providing deeper stimulation.
When passion took hold, Arabella didn't deliberately suppress herself, but her long-term training in self-control meant that she remained fully conscious even during the most intense moments of pleasure. Alcohol, drugs, desire, and hatred—pressed down repeatedly within her, all of it transformed into a perpetual, unchanging smile.
She accepted the pleasure that coursed through her body with ease, moaning softly with a husky voice that seemed to give George even more energy. His hands and tongue worked together, trying to push Arabella into an even more ecstatic state.
"Master Unknown, you're so horny that you're foaming," George whispered hoarsely, trying to tease and arouse Arabella as he fingered her. He had a bulging crotch, his penis almost bursting the seams of his pants, and his eyes were dark and bright, with a desire and wildness hidden within, as if there was an endless fire burning within him.
Arabella was completely indifferent to such crude words, humiliating language, or rough actions. They were nothing but surface gestures, hardly worth mentioning in her presence. Her heart was ruthless, as hard as iron. On the shallow, sensory level of the body, neither shame nor embarrassment existed for her.
Seeing that Arabella did not resist his insults, George's lips curled into a cold, cruel smile. Taking advantage of the situation, he pressed on, "Master Unknown, how about we try something... different?"
Arabella lay with her eyes closed, sprawled in a way that invited disregard, her voice lazy as she asked, "What's different?"
"Something more exciting. I like it when there's a stronger need for control." His hoarse voice carried a seductive allure, his fingers teasing under Arabella's body as if testing the boundaries of her disordered desires.
"SM?"
"It's not all that. I particularly enjoy forced, restrictive sex, I like profanity, and do you play, Master Unknown? It's no fun staying aloof all the time."
Arabella naturally sensed the provocation in George's tone. She maintained her usual air of being in control, her expression one of both invitation and command. "Then it must be more... entertaining."
"We should find a more suitable place to spread out. Hmm?" George spoke, his voice betraying the intensity of his desires, though his mind harbored greater schemes. He forced himself to suppress his impulses, calculating his next move carefully.
"Alright." Arabella agreed, but only shifted her position, placing her legs on the backrest of the driver's seat, her lower body entirely exposed, pale enough to reflect light. George, focused on driving ahead, did not notice the subtle tension in her lips. The moment she opened her eyes, the scattered streetlights fell across her dark, piercing gaze—silent as the night, tranquil as water.
The place George referred to, where they could truly unleash, was clearly his private estate. The winding paths within led to a secluded two-story villa at the very end. The area was open and barren, offering no place for an ambush. It was indeed an ideal place for one to fully exert themselves, a place perfect for disposing of bodies if one so wished.
They bypassed the living room on the first floor and headed upstairs. A room at the end of the hallway opened, revealing an array of tools, arranged in a stunningly organized fashion.
Arabella casually moved around the assorted items such as collars, mouth gags, and nipple clamps, then turned to ask with a wry smile, "Isn't it just SM?"
"No, I prefer verbal humiliation, psychological conditioning—physical tools are merely supplementary. Whipping is just violence, and what's the difference between that and domestic abuse?"
"Oh—" Arabella said with little further comment. After scanning the room's layout, she continued, "Very interesting. It should be quite fun."
George had been quietly watching Arabella's expression, hoping to catch a hint of resistance so he could continue to seduce her. However, aside from the lively smile on her face, there was nothing else.
Could it be that Arabella had been playing this kind of game all along?
Priscilla's knowledge of her was limited. Her previous activities had mainly centered around the region of Utschs. Even when dealing with goods, she rarely ventured into his country—at most, she would establish a trade route. He had always looked down on such underground smuggling networks. Had the situation not suddenly shifted, and had Arabella not entered the country, he could have easily turned a blind eye, allowing her to set up camp and build power in his domain.
As a dark ruler, as long as he stayed away from the political game, he could still be a formidable force in the country. He had built his empire on military conquests, not the game of politics. When he first met her, her calm and formidable presence truly stirred something in him. Had it not been for Priscilla's sudden interference, he might have had the chance to slowly cultivate a relationship with Arabella, joining forces. But now, the timing was wrong. He had to secure her—control her—before anything else.
Arabella was strong, but in the end, she was still a woman. Women, after all, are vulnerable both physically and emotionally. As long as he took her first, all the powerful forces behind her would be his. By then, how could he fear that vile woman, Priscilla?
His mind was made up, his gaze darkened, and desire surged violently within him. Even though it's just a bedroom role-playing game right now, just thinking about it is enough to arouse him. The scene of humiliating Arabella was a real challenge to a man's innate desire for domination and conquest. However, he was confident. He was skilled in psychological manipulation, and he was certain he would make Arabella unable to resist, eventually bringing her to her knees in complete submission.
"Now, strip off your clothes and kneel."
*
Nicholas looked at the information in his hand and raised an eyebrow with interest. He asked, "Has the background of the siblings been thoroughly checked?"
His trusted subordinate bowed respectfully and reported, "Everything has been checked without omission."
"Such critical intelligence, and you missed it?" Nicholas, dressed in a white shirt, had a few buttons casually undone. Beneath his collarbone, his muscles were firm and defined. His eyes were nothing short of captivating; even in anger, they shone brilliantly. His gaze swept over the room, and the slight arch at the corners of his eyes carried an air of wickedness, making him all the more alluring.
The subordinate, not daring to relax because of his handsome gaze, immediately dropped to his knees and begged for mercy, "Master, it's our fault. We failed to verify the information in time."
Nicholas let out a cold snort. He knew that he had been preoccupied with devising plans for Arabella, and then there was the injury he had sustained. With such a large volume of intelligence to handle, some details were inevitably missed. However, without clear rewards and punishments, it was hard to command respect. If something wasn't done right, it simply wasn't done right. The largest intelligence organization in the world, and yet they had failed to acquire such crucial information in time—how could they talk about credibility?
"Go to the execution hall and be punished yourself."
"Thank you, master."
After handling his subordinate, Nicholas was left alone and continued to review the information in his hand, becoming more intrigued by it. He then made a call.
"It's me," came the magnetic voice on the other end of the line—it was Julius.
"So, how is it? Ready to discuss a partnership?"
A burst of laughter came from the other side, followed by a cold tone: "Nicholas, what makes you think you're in a position to discuss cooperation with me?"
"We people are simple: if there's mutual benefit, we cooperate; if not, we part ways. Isn't that normal?"
"Oh? So last time, you stabbed me in the back over Arabella. What interest is it this time that makes you want to cooperate with me?"
"Still because of Arabella."
This time, Julius scoffed. His tone was mocking as he said, "I got bored with Arabella last time. I'm no longer interested in her."
Nicholas didn't lose his temper at the insult toward Arabella. Instead, after slowly lifting his cup and taking a sip of hot tea, he said leisurely, "Julius, I work in intelligence. I know about your attempt to make a deal with George."
Caught red-handed, Julius didn't bother to hide it anymore. "So what? If I want to control Arabella, do you really think you can stop me?"
"Can you even handle it? Last time, you practically blew up your own base," Nicholas responded with a calm, detached tone. He was a master of strategy, always composed and calculating—unless, of course, it was in the presence of Arabella. For everyone else, he had more than enough cool-headed tactics.
Julius, ever so clever, took a step back after Nicholas's two rebuttals. After mentally calculating his next move, he asked the key question: "You and I have both crossed her. Do you still have any tricks up your sleeve? Schemes don't work with Arabella."
"I know, and you know. So, you originally wanted to make a deal with George, hoping to use that opportunity to infiltrate Doma and get closer to Arabella, but George rejected you."
"That fool. I made the deal to give him face. Since he doesn't want it, I'll just take matters into my own hands."
"Do you know why he refused? If I told you the reason, and then showed you how to openly approach Arabella again, would you still want to cooperate with me?"
"Since you have a method, why bother bringing me into this?"
"Because—" Nicholas paused, a trace of coldness flickering in his captivating eyes. After a brief moment of restraint, he continued, "To approach Arabella again with legitimacy, you need to have absolute value. Only by joining forces with me can you offer that kind of value in her eyes."
Julius remained silent on the other end, and after a long pause, he muttered, "Fine."
Satisfied with the answer, Nicholas extended the invitation: "How about we leave now? Meet at the border of Doma? The earlier we get there, the more lively the scene might be."
"Three days from now, at the border town."
