The Conquerors Path

Chapter 946: Chapter 944-The True Seductress.

’Now she is playing the game.’

And that was the understatement of the century. Sitting there across from me, Angelina embodied every filthy fantasy a man could dream up, wrapped in a veneer of elegant restraint that only made the underlying sin more intoxicating. Her dress—oh, that dress—was a masterpiece of deception, the kind that whispered ”respectable lady” to the world while screaming ”fuck me senseless” to anyone with eyes sharp enough to see through the facade.

It was a deep crimson number, silk-smooth and clinging to her body, the fabric so fine it caught the low light of the room. High-necked and long-sleeved at first glance, it played the part of modesty, the collar brushing just under her jawline. But then your gaze dipped lower, and the truth unravelled.

The neckline, though high, plunged in the back—I could see the hint of it from my angle, a daring V that exposed the graceful arch of her spine, the silk parting just enough to reveal the dimples at the base of her back.

The sleeves hugged her arms down to her wrists, but they were sheer, almost transparent, embroidered with delicate gold threads, drawing the eye to the way her biceps flexed ever so slightly as she lifted her glass.

And the skirt—God, the skirt. It fell to mid-calf in a respectable length, slit high on one side to allow freedom of movement, but that slit... it climbed dangerously, parting with every cross of her legs to flash a glimpse of thigh, smooth and toned.

But it was the way the fabric moulded to her curves that turned decent into devastating. The bodice cinched at her waist, accentuating the hourglass swell of her hips, the silk stretching taut over the full, heavy globes of her breasts, which strained against the material like they were fighting for release.

No bra, I noted with a predatory gleam in my eye—her nipples, pert and dark shadows beneath the crimson veil, poked insistently, as if daring me to notice. The dress wasn’t flashy; it didn’t scream for attention. It lured you in, made you lean closer, made you imagine peeling it away layer by sinful layer to uncover the flushed, quivering flesh beneath.

’I have to admit, I am hard.’

My cock twitched in my pants just watching her, the wine forgotten in my hand as she leaned forward slightly, her elbows on the table, chin resting on interlaced fingers. That simple pose arched her back just so, pushing her breasts up and together, the silk whispering against her skin with a faint rustle.

Her dark hair was swept up in a loose chignon, a few tendrils escaping to curl against her neck, damp with the room’s warmth—or was it anticipation? Her lips, painted a shade deeper than the wine, curved in that knowing smile, full and plush, the kind made for wrapping around a thick shaft, sucking with hollowed cheeks and teasing tongue.

’Down, boy,’ I thought, forcing my focus back to the plan. But damn, if she wasn’t making it hard—literally. Her eyes, those deep pools flecked, locked onto mine with an intensity that bordered on worship, the 101% love meter in my mind’s eye pulsing like a heartbeat. She was mine, utterly, the bloodline tweaks I’d slipped into her veins turning her from calculating socialite to devoted siren, every fibre of her being tuned to my frequency.

I cleared my throat, setting the glass down with deliberate calm, my voice steady as I dove into the explanation. ”Alright, Angelina. The plan’s straightforward on the surface, but layered enough to catch them off guard. We’ve got them to break the old value of the clubs, that’s the bait.”

As I spoke, she didn’t interrupt, didn’t fidget like some nervous debutante. No, Angelina listened with rapt attention, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side, exposing the long column of her throat. And then, with the innocence of a cat stretching in the sun, she uncrossed her legs under the table.

The slit in her dress parted audibly— a soft hiss of silk on silk—and I felt the brush of her bare foot against my calf, deliberate, teasing. Her toes, painted the same crimson as her lips, traced a lazy circle up my ankle, the touch light but electric, sending a jolt straight to my groin. It was nothing overt, just a small action, but filthy in its intent— a promise of what those feet could do wrapped around me, or pressed against my chest while I buried myself deep.

I paused mid-sentence, my eyes narrowing as I met her gaze, but she just batted her lashes, all feigned purity. ”Go on,” she purred, her voice a velvet rasp that wrapped around my words like smoke. ”The bait and more, using the hidden powers you have, I presume?” That title—slipped in so casually—hit like a drug, her love meter spiking in my periphery, confirming the depths I’d planted in her soul.

I leaned back, letting her foot ascend higher, now hooking behind my knee, pulling gently, sensually, urging me closer without a word. ”The bait for the trap. I’ve got insiders—reliable ones, the kind who owe me favours deeper than blood. They’ll plant the whispers: evidence of a double-cross, forged docs and more. Paranoia spreads like wildfire in a room full of egos that are fragile egos.”

Her foot climbed bolder now, the arch pressing flat against my inner thigh, inches from where I was hardening despite my best efforts. She flexed it subtly, the ball of her foot rubbing in a slow, insistent grind—up and down, up and down—mimicking a motion far more intimate, the pressure just enough to make my breath hitch.

It was dirty, this under-the-table seduction, her eyes never leaving mine as she sipped her wine again, tongue darting out to lick a stray drop from the rim, slow and deliberate, like she was savouring the taste of something thicker, saltier. The motion pulled at the silk over her breasts, the fabric shifting to outline one nipple more clearly, a dark, hardened peak begging for teeth.

’She’s testing me,’ I thought, a smirk tugging at my lips as I continued, voice dropping lower, rougher, matching the heat building between us. ”When the accusations fly—and they will, hot and fast, we will all break more rules. Neutral party, right? But I’ve rigged the hall’s security feeds. Looped footage, blind spots where my people plant the real evidence: cartel ledgers with the traitor’s name inked fresh. Chaos erupts, alliances shatter, and in the fallout...”

Here, Angelina shifted in her seat, a small, seemingly innocuous adjustment. But as she did, her free hand—the one not holding the glass—drifted down, fingers trailing along the neckline of her dress, dipping just inside the collar to adjust... something. A necklace? No, it was a feint; her nails scraped lightly over the swell of her breast, visible only to me in the angle, a self-touch that was pure filth.

She pinched subtly, her lips parting in a soft, exhaled ”Mmm~”, the sound barely audible but laced with that masochistic edge I’d glimpsed in her before—the way she craved the bite of restraint before surrender. Her foot pressed harder now, toes curling against my thigh, dangerously close to brushing my bulge, the heat of her sole seeping through my pants like a brand.

”In the fallout,” I echoed, my words gravelly now, the plan spilling out amid the sensory assault, ”we scoop up the pieces. We, the old, will break them all.”

She moaned again, softer this time, ”Ahn~”, her hand lingering at her chest, thumb circling the shadowed nipple through the silk in lazy loops—around and around, matching the rhythm of her foot’s grind. It was hypnotic, that repetition, building the tension like a coil winding tighter, her hazel eyes glazing with feigned innocence as she leaned forward more, the dress’s bodice gaping just enough to offer a fleeting view of cleavage, the inner curves flushed pink, and I didn’t stop, I went forth more into the details, putting forth even rewards.

”It sounds... perfect,” she breathed, her voice husky, threaded with need. ”You’re so clever, Austin. So... commanding.” As she spoke, her foot finally made contact— the toes grazing the outline of my cock through the fabric, a feather-light stroke that had me gripping the table edge to keep from groaning.

The touch was electric, dirty in its casual violation, like she owned the right to tease me under the guise of conversation. I could feel the warmth of her skin even through layers, the subtle flex of her toes tracing the length of me, up from base to tip, then back down, slow and exploratory, as if mapping territory she intended to claim. My pulse thundered, but I held her gaze, letting the power dynamic simmer.

”You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I murmured, the plan momentarily sidelined as I reached across the table, my fingers brushing hers where they toyed with her neckline. I captured her hand, guiding it back to the glass, but not before feeling the tremor in her touch, the way her pulse raced under my thumb.