Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 514: Succubi: Harrington & Beaumont Gambit

The Wilder ballroom was alive with muted conversation and muted chandeliers, but the center of gravity had shifted: two of the Five Families’ most dazzling leaders were zeroing in on Parker. And they didn’t arrive together—they were bringing the hunt, one seductive tango at a time.

The air still crackled as the applause faded, but Isabella and Diana had already slipped apart, eyes locked on Parker like hunters scenting the wind. The room shimmered in the afterglow of power, but tonight’s gravity centered on the Prince of Existence—and the two women determined to claim just a moment in his orbit.

It began when Isabella Harrington drifted forward, light flickering against her dress like distant fireworks. The crimson silk was liquid ambition, clinging to every curve—chin-length slit showing endless leg, diamond dust literally lighting the path down her décolletage.

He already saw through their little game. He called them out and walked away like a god who didn’t beg.

Now Isabella comes back—alone—because she can’t take it anymore. And what followed wasnt going to be a dance. But possession in slow motion. Everyone watching. No one breathing.

She hesitated at the edge of the ballroom.

The lights were golden. The air was thick. The music had shifted into something low and sweet, almost sinful.

And he stood at the center of it all like he belonged to no one—but knew everyone belonged to him.

Parker.

Just standing still, glass untouched in his hand, eyes half-lidded like he was already bored. Like no one in this ballroom had earned the right to keep him entertained.

But his gaze flicked up.

And it found her.

Isabella swore her legs forgot how to work. Her chest clenched. Her skin prickled like it remembered the last time his fingers brushed her lower back—and then left her cold, because he’d walked away. Said nothing. Left her and Diana in the middle of the floor like a man who knew he was the prize and didn’t have to share.

"Why don’t you two and come back separately, maybe them you will word very well your true intentions."

That’s what he’d told them. And now... she had.

Diana hadn’t moved. But Isabella had burned every second since. Burned for him.

And now she crossed the room—alone.

Her heels hit the marble slow, deliberate. Red silk trailed behind her, hugging her hips like heat. Her pulse throbbed in her neck. Eyes followed her. Whispers spilled in her wake. But she didn’t care.

Because he was still watching her.

By the time she reached him, the world had narrowed down to that look in his eyes. That maddening, unreadable calm.

"Parker." Her voice was barely a breath.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t ask.

Just extended his hand.

And she shattered.

Her fingers slid into his like they’d done this in every lifetime before this one. He turned her gently, impossibly slow, until her back hit his chest—and the dance began.

His hand pressed against her stomach, dragging her closer. Her breath caught.

The other lifted, fingers splayed wide, guiding hers up and out like this was a performance meant for gods. And maybe it was. Because no one else mattered. No one else existed.

The music didn’t build. It melted. Heavy strings and thick beats, humming like a heartbeat between thighs. He moved with absolute control—every motion timed, like he was painting on her with rhythm. She wasn’t dancing. She was being danced.

He turned her again, her chest to his now, eyes barely able to stay open. His hand cupped her jaw—not rough, not soft. Just sure.

"Say it," he murmured, voice like warm night and danger.

"I came for you," she whispered. "Only you."

A flicker of a smile touched his mouth, and that should’ve made her proud—but it only made her ache. His thumb dragged across her bottom lip, slow. Her knees gave just enough for him to notice—and hold her up like she was weightless.

His other hand slid down the dip of her spine.

Lower.

Lower.

And he held her there, bodies pressed so close they could’ve been one if clothes hadn’t gotten in the way.

She let out a soft noise that was almost a moan—bit down before it escaped.

Everyone was watching.

And she didn’t care.

His forehead brushed hers. Not kissing. Just close. Hot breath on her lips. Hands still guiding her in that slow rhythm. She was trembling, every muscle locked between wanting and collapsing.

"Isabella," he said low, so deep it vibrated in her ribs. "Look at you."

She opened her eyes.

"You’re falling."

She couldn’t lie.

"I already did."

That was when he spun her.

She turned out and back into him—her chest against his again, but this time, her thigh slipping between his like the world didn’t matter. Her hand gripped his shirt like survival.

He guided her downward, arching her just enough to expose her throat.

Then brought her back up, slow enough to make her feel it. Every inch of her body brushing against his.

She was breathing like she’d run miles. She was shaking like he touched her soul.

And still—he didn’t kiss her.

He just danced.

Claimed.

Burned her alive.

The music slowed again, nearing its end. She felt it. And her panic swelled—because if it ended now, she didn’t know if she’d survive.

"Please," she whispered, voice cracking, breaking. "Don’t stop. Not yet. Please..."

She didn’t even realize they were dancing at first. He pulled her into him with so much control it felt like gravity, not choice. One palm slipped low to her waist—almost too low—but his touch wasn’t rushed.

It was exploring.

Savoring.

She gasped softly as his hand spread across her hip, fingers dragging along the outer curve in a slow stroke that set every nerve on fire. Her dress clung to her, thin and useless against his warmth.

His other hand lifted—fingertips grazing up her arm, across her collarbone, then curling behind her neck like a collar being fastened. Her body followed without resistance, like he was drawing her breath with every pass of his touch.

She melted into him, spine curving, her chest brushing his with every shallow inhale. He moved her with a rhythm that didn’t match the music—it matched him. Slow. Intentional. Designed to make her feel everything.

He spun her once, a lazy, sensual turn that left her dizzy. When she landed back in his arms, she didn’t land gently.

She crashed.

Chest to chest. Her hands found his shoulders, then his neck—curling there like she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Parker’s hand slid down her back. Not possessive. Just certain.

He traced the line of her spine, one finger dragging slowly between her shoulder blades, lower, down to the arch of her waist—pausing there like he could feel her entire body clenching for more.

She shuddered.

He pulled her in tighter, his thigh sliding between hers without effort, parting her legs slightly. It wasn’t vulgar.

It was inevitable.

Her breath hitched. She leaned her head into the space between his neck and shoulder, gasping softly against his skin.

"I felt something," she whispered. "Back there... when we danced. I haven’t been able to breathe since."

"I know," he murmured. Voice like honey laced with poison. "I can make you feel more than that."

His hand moved again—slowly this time, tracing the edge of her thigh, guiding the curve of her movement as she swayed into him. His palm pressed into her lower back as he tilted her slightly, exposing the long line of her throat.

She wasn’t dancing anymore.

She was offering herself.

Her lips parted but no sound came out. Her nails dug lightly into his neck. She wasn’t sure when her eyes had closed—but when she opened them again, he was already watching her.

That calm, knowing stare that felt like it could strip her bare with no effort.

"I want in," she whispered. "Not just into your world. Into you."

He spun her again, drawing her out only to pull her back. And this time, when she landed in his arms, she wrapped herself around him fully.

Arms locked behind his neck.

Chest pressed to his.

Breathing ragged.

"I’m listening, tell me more! What else?"

She buried her face into his shoulder, hands trembling, completely surrendered to the way he held her.

And then she broke.

"I want to be yours," she whispered. "Please... just say it. Just take me. I don’t want to fight it anymore."

He didn’t kiss her.

He didn’t speak.

He just tightened his hold around her waist and pulled her even closer, his hands moving with slow purpose—one sliding up her spine, the other resting just below her ribs, holding her steady.

Isabella clung to him like he was the last thing in the world still holding her together.

The final notes of the music faded into a silence so loud it was deafening.

Dozens watched.

No one dared interrupt.

And Parker—still calm, still deadly beautiful—just stood there, arms around the girl who had just fallen for him harder than anyone ever should.

She held onto his neck like prayer. And he let her.