She led me out of the room and into a hallway that made my jaw drop. This wasn't just expensive – this was obscene wealth. The corridor stretched for what felt like miles, with vaulted ceilings painted with intricate frescoes that would make the Sistine Chapel jealous. Modern LED lighting was seamlessly integrated into classical architecture, creating this perfect blend of ancient grandeur and contemporary luxury.
Crystal chandeliers hung every few feet, casting rainbow patterns on marble floors inlaid with gold. The walls were lined with paintings that looked like they belonged in museums, and there were alcoves with sculptures that probably cost more than most people's houses.
"How big is this place?" I asked as we walked.
"The main house has one hundred and forty-seven rooms," she replied casually. "Not counting the servants' quarters, of course."
One hundred and forty-seven rooms. I tried to wrap my head around that number and failed completely.
We reached a grand staircase that curved down into what looked like a cathedral-sized foyer. The banister was carved from what might have been ivory, inlaid with precious stones that caught the light. Each step was marble, polished to a mirror shine.
As we descended, I could hear voices echoing from somewhere ahead – feminine voices, speaking in tones that ranged from worried to excited to something that sounded almost... possessive?
The dining room we entered was larger than my old high school cafeteria. A table that could seat twenty people dominated the center, but only one end was set for breakfast. And sitting around it were three women who made my brain immediately short-circuit.
The woman at the head of the table had to be my mother – Duchess Selena. She was maybe in her early forties, but she looked like she'd stepped out of some fantasy about what the perfect MILF should look like. Platinum blonde hair like mine, but longer and styled in an elegant updo that showed off a neck that belonged in poetry. Her dress was conservative but couldn't hide curves that were absolutely devastating. When she saw me, her face lit up with such pure joy that it made my chest tight.
"Marcus!" She was on her feet and rushing toward me before I could blink. "Oh, my darling boy, you're awake!"
She pulled me into a hug that was warm and overwhelming—an embrace that drowned out the world. Her scent hit me first: luxurious perfume layered with something older, deeper... something that reminded me of comfort, of being protected, of home. It made my head spin. But then—
Then I felt her.
Her breasts—soft, massive, impossibly plush—pressed firmly against my bare chest, molding against me with unfiltered intimacy. The sensation hit like a surge of electricity. I'd never felt anything like it before. The incredible softness, the warmth, the sheer weight of her against me—it short-circuited my thoughts.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Her body enveloped me in ways my imagination had never dared approach. I could feel every rise and fall of her chest, every tremble in her arms as she held me like I was something sacred. And I was frozen—not out of fear, but out of awe. This was my first real contact. My first time feeling a woman—feeling her, in every sense—and my body responded with a blend of confusion, wonder, and raw, unfiltered need.
She cupped my face then, gentle as silk, her violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Three days, my precious boy," she whispered. "Three days of fever, and we couldn't wake you."
Her voice trembled—but it was her body I couldn't stop noticing. Every shift of her weight sent a new wave of soft pressure against my chest, and I could hardly believe I was really touching her like this. My heart thundered. My skin felt like it was burning where she touched me. And somewhere beneath the emotion, the concern, and the longing...
I knew this moment would stay with me forever.
Before I could respond, another voice cut in. "Mother, you're going to smother him."
I turned—and everything slowed.
Rising from her chair was a woman who could only be Cassandra. If the duchess was devastating, then Cassandra was something else entirely.
She wasn't just beautiful—she was the shape of every Big sister forbidden dream I'd ever had but never dared voice. Twenty-one, with the kind of body sculpted by divine hands and framed in flame-red hair that spilled down her back in loose waves, catching the light like molten copper.
She moved like she knew exactly what she did to people.
Her dress hugged her figure like a secret barely contained. Medium cleavage teased the eye—just enough to draw focus, not enough to grant mercy. Her breasts were full, lifted, and proud beneath the silk, but it was the sway of her hips, the perfect curve of her ass as she stepped closer, that rooted me in place like I'd been struck. God. That ass—round, high, and lethal—moved like it had gravity of its own.
And I felt myself drawn, helpless, to it.
And then there were her eyes. Emerald, glowing with mischief and hunger, locking onto me like a predator who'd just found the softest spot in its prey. Her gaze didn't just look at me—it unwrapped me.
Stripped me down to every raw nerve and virgin thought I'd ever had.
She was the older sister from every fantasy—the one who laughs as she pulls you deeper, the one you swear you're ready for, until she proves you aren't.
And right then, standing in her presence, flushed and wide-eyed—I realized I wasn't.
"Let me see him," she said, approaching with movements that were both graceful and predatory. When she reached me, her hands immediately went to my shoulders, then my face, checking me over like I was a doll that might have been damaged.
"Perfect as always," she murmured, and there was something in her voice that made my skin tingle. "Not a mark on him. How are you feeling, little brother?"
Little brother. The way she said it, combined with the way she was touching my face, was... intense.
"I'm... fine?" I managed.
"He looks confused," came a third voice, this one with a slight accent I couldn't place. She was really something else too.
****
Paradise! Do you agree?