Seven Sins System Chapter 627. I Can’t… Move

Seven Sins System Chapter 627. I Can’t… Move

Her eyes were blindfolded, her lips slick, her body painted in sweat. Her voice? Just gasps now. Whimpers. Moans too raw to fake.

And still—no release.

She was crying now. Just barely. Not pain. Not regret. Just... overload.

And it was perfect.

Because the longer I drew it out, the more hers she became.

And the more mine I made her.

And I wasn’t letting go until she was nothing but a shaking, ruined mess whispering my name like a prayer that burned.

The tentacle in her mouth moved steadily—up, down, slow, then fast, then teasing. Each motion slicked with saliva, dragging sounds from her throat that weren’t human. That weren’t controlled.

She sucked like she’d forgotten everything but that shape, her lips flushed and parted, her body bucking with each thrust of my other limb. Her tongue curled, desperate to please, to serve, to worship.

And inside her… she clenched harder than ever.

That spot. That damn spot. I hit it again. And again. With no mercy. The writhing shape moved like it had a mind of its own, wild, brutal, deliberate.

She screamed around me. Choked. Gasped. Her hands clenched the air, her wrists trembling in the restraints. Her legs jerked as if they could fight back. But there was nothing to fight. Only me. Only sensation.

I laughed. Not softly. Not kindly. I laughed low and cruel.

“You’re close,” I whispered against her skin. “I can feel it. You’re drowning, aren’t you?”

She moaned through her full mouth, nodding wildly. Her whole body shook—spasming, breaking, undone.

“I said I’d decide when,” I growled. “And now…”

I leaned in, my voice like velvet laced with poison.

“Now… you may.”

The word cracked something inside her.

Her entire body tensed—tight, trembling—then arched so violently the restraints strained to hold her. Her back curved in midair, and her head snapped back with a cry so raw, so guttural, it sounded like it was dragged from the pit of her core.

It wasn’t just a climax.

It was an eruption.

Like every nerve in her body was caught in a magical feedback loop. Her core convulsed around me, over and over—clenching so hard it nearly pulled my shape deeper by instinct alone. Her thighs quaked, toes curling, and her mouth opened wide around the tentacle, soundless for a full heartbeat before she screamed through it.

And I mean screamed.

Her voice broke in half—pitch cracking as wave after wave tore through her. Her skin flushed a deep red, shimmering with sweat and faint magical glow. Her chest heaved, nipples tight and tingling as her body tried to process a dozen signals at once.

My tentacles held her firm, letting her ride it, letting her burn.

Even as she came, I didn’t stop.

I slowed—just barely. Letting each movement drag the moment out. Letting the tremors stretch like static in the air. Her body shivered violently, legs twitching as another pulse rocked her—aftershock after aftershock.

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Not sad. Not broken. Just shattered. Like she had nothing left but sensation.

And that was exactly what I wanted.

To ruin her.

To claim her.

To leave her with nothing but the echo of my name.

My grip softened—slowly, methodically. One by one, the tentacles uncoiled, sliding from her trembling body with a wet, obscene finality. The one in her mouth last, trailing spit across her lips before I let it dissolve like mist.

Her moan when I finally let go wasn’t even coherent.

Just a whimper—like she didn’t know how to exist without me touching her.

I guided her limp body down to the bed.

She didn’t even move. Just sprawled out—legs still spread, twitching, dripping down her inner thighs onto the sheets. The room smelled like sweat and arousal. Her pulse flickered visibly beneath her flushed throat.

I could see it.

The slick, sticky glisten between her legs.

The way her hips kept twitching.

She still wanted more.

But I was done.

I stood, silent, and reached for the silk cloth nearby. I wiped my fingers, slow and deliberate, watching her chest rise and fall.

“Now,” I said. Voice steady. Cold.

“Unlock the drawer.”

She made a sound—half-breath, half-laugh—but didn’t move.

I waited. Watching.

After a moment, her shaking fingers reached for her blindfold. She peeled it off—slowly. Her eyes were glassy. Unfocused.

“I can’t… move,” she whispered.

I raised an eyebrow. “Then use your power.”

That snapped her back to attention. Her lips parted in a weak mumble, and a shaky burst of telekinetic magic sparked from her hand. It flickered, faltered—then locked on.

-Click!

The drawer gave a soft metallic groan.

Still smirking, I stepped forward and pulled it open.

And immediately— Regret.

Because of the rats.

The damn rats.

Tiny, glitter-drenched, sentient rats sitting among half-melted enchanted candles labeled things.

The rats looked up in unison.

One squeaked, “Who’s that?”

The next cocked its little head. “I don’t know, Azzy. Do you know him, Azzy?”

A third one nestled into a candle and said, “No clue, Azzy.”

My eye twitched.

Morgana giggled behind me, voice hoarse and deliriously proud. “They missed you.”

“…You really named them all after me?”

“Only the important ones,” she said, sighing like it was obvious.

Another rat stood on its hind legs, dramatically holding a wax stick like a scepter. “He’s hot. Can we keep him?”

“Too grumpy,” another replied. “He’s the mean Azzy.”

“I swear to the abyss…” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.

But I reached in anyway, grabbed the candles I came for, and turned around.

Morgana lay sprawled like she’d been caught mid-fall and decided to make it fashion. Her lips parted. Her legs still open. Hair a mess. Smile lazy. Eyes hazy.

And I’ll be damned if she didn’t still look smug.

“Worth it?” she asked again, barely able to keep her voice steady.

I looked from her, to the drawer of rats, to the ruined bed.

“Ask me again after I clean the trauma off this candle,” I said.

But yeah.

Yeah, it was.