The Incubus System Chapter 1167. Tiffany's First III

The Incubus System Chapter 1167. Tiffany's First III

Tiffany’s PoV

“I don’t care what you were taught,” he snarled against her skin, his rhythm steady and possessive now. “I don’t care about titles, step-this, demon-hunter-that. You want me. You’ve always wanted me.”

And she had. God, she had.

His thrusts deepened, slower and crueler with each pass, like he was forcing her to feel everything—every inch of him, every slick, obscene sound their bodies made as they moved together. Her flesh clung to him greedily, her body traitorous, craving more.

“Still feel wrong?” he asked, breathless and watching her with dark, unreadable eyes.

She couldn’t answer. All she could do was moan—high and broken—her lips parted, her eyes glassy and full of confusion and pleasure and fire.

His mouth crashed into hers, rough and claiming, while his hips picked up speed. His fingers stayed at her clit, rubbing harsh circles that made her cry out into his mouth. He swallowed every sound like he couldn’t get enough of her.

“You’re mine,” he groaned. “Say it.”

She shook her head—but only because she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak through the waves of heat building in her again.

So he said it for her.

“You’re fucking mine.”

He slammed into her, and her vision went white.

Her toes curled, her body trembling as another climax took her over, more violent than before. It was her first. Her cunt spasmed around him, fluttering wildly, milking him, and Ethan hissed through his teeth, gripping her hips like he was trying to ground himself.

Her voice cracked on a sob. “I hate you…”

He chuckled darkly, thrusting harder. “Liar.”

And then he took her completely—the rhythm turning savage, relentless, making the bed shake beneath them, the headboard knocking against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts. She couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop feeling him, filling her, breaking her down piece by piece.

He kissed her throat. Bit it. Groaned against her skin like a beast. And then, with a final brutal thrust, he came inside her, spilling into her with a growl that made her whole body clench again in response.

And then—

Silence.

Heavy breathing. Shaky limbs. Skin slick and glowing with sweat.

Ethan collapsed over her, still inside, still connected. His weight grounded her, kept her real, but her mind was a spinning mess of everything she wasn’t ready to deal with.

Tiffany stared up at the ceiling, heart racing.

She could still feel the way he pulsed inside her, the heat of his cum, the soreness blooming low in her body. It felt too intimate. Too much.

Still confused. Still conflicted.

But she didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to let go.

Didn’t want him to pull out just yet.

Ethan rolled to his side, slow and deliberate, his movements careful—too careful. He kept her close, one arm firm around her waist, as if he didn’t want to leave her empty just yet. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe some part of him understood what just happened wasn’t casual. Wasn’t meaningless.

He kissed the top of her head, lips warm and lingering, exhaling softly like he was grounding her… or maybe himself.

But even as she lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling in ragged little gasps, her body told a truth she couldn’t ignore.

The dull, pulsing ache between her legs.

The stickiness slicking her thighs.

And the faint, unmistakable sting.

She shifted just slightly—and that’s when she felt it.

A slow, wet slide.

A trickle of warmth trailing down her inner thigh.

Her breath caught.

And then she saw it.

Red.

Staining the pale sheets.

Not just lust. Not just need.

Blood.

Her blood.

He had taken her virginity—completely, irreversibly—and she’d let him. Wanted him to. Even now, her body trembled, but not from fear.

From the sheer aftermath of it all.

She was marked now—in ways that went deeper than skin.

Ethan hadn’t even broken a sweat.

His breathing was steady, only slightly winded. Not glowing or flushed like her. Not panting like he’d lost control. No, he was as composed as ever—calm, but unmistakably dominant, his presence still curling around her like smoke in her lungs.

Meanwhile, she was a mess.

Her skin was damp and sticky, strands of hair plastered to her face and neck. Her chest heaved with every breath. She could feel the sweat cooling on her skin, mixing with his cum and her own blood. Her thighs were slick. Her whole body ached in that sweet, unbearable way.

She blinked up at him, dazed and a little annoyed by how effortless he looked.

“…Why aren’t you sweating?” she finally asked, voice soft and a little hoarse, her brow furrowing. “Seriously. I’m dying over here and you look like you just got out of a meeting.”

He smirked, the kind of grin that curled at one side of his mouth and made her want to hit him and kiss him at the same time.

“I’m an incubus,” he said simply, like it explained everything. “I don’t sweat from sex.”

Tiffany stared at him, incredulous. “That’s—bullshit.”

“Mm, no,” he murmured, dipping down to kiss her jaw. “That’s biology.”

She scoffed, but the sound melted into a breathy moan as his mouth brushed along her throat again, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along her hip. He was still inside her warmth a moment ago, still the reason she felt ruined and raw and absolutely alive.

And he was acting like he barely noticed.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he murmured next, brushing a few sticky strands of her hair away from her flushed face. His touch was strangely gentle for someone who had just wrecked her, but it didn’t feel like softness.

It felt like possession.

“Don’t run from this,” he said.

She swallowed. Hard. Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say refused to come out. All she could do was look at him and feel the way his fingers lingered on her skin, the way his scent clung to the air, musky and dark and intoxicating. The way her body still pulsed around the memory of him.

The way her heart—the one she tried so hard to protect—was already his.