Faced with the pouncing White Emperor, Miss Valentine (Mikita) could only curl up her body like a startled fawn, using her hands to shield her most vulnerable areas from his hungry gaze.
Golden blonde hair, a face scoring an easy objective nine out of ten, a voluptuous bust, a flat, toned stomach, a shapely, perky rear, and long, fair legs that seemed to stretch on for miles. Even in the Grand Line, a sea teeming with beauties, Mikita was undeniably a stunner.
Leaping forward, Darian pinned her down onto the mattress.
He seized the slender wrists Mikita held defensively across her chest, pulling her arms up and pinning them against the pillow above her head. He wanted to admire the beauty lying beneath him without obstruction.
Gazing up at Darian—who looked every bit like a starving wolf—Mikita's eyes suddenly welled up with moisture. Trembling slightly, her brave facade crumbling under his overwhelming physical presence, she whispered, "Captain... don't!"
Although she was a trained Baroque Works assassin and a superhuman Devil Fruit user, she was, at the end of the day, still a woman who had never been completely overpowered like this before.
Noticing the genuine fear in her eyes, Darian—sounding like a classic, lecherous villain from a movie—tried to reassure her. "Don't be afraid, Mikita. I'll be very gentle... very, very gentle."
As he spoke, Darian looked down at the prize he had just uncovered. With her hands pinned above her head, two magnificent, snow-white "bunnies" sprang into view, their rosy peaks seemingly glaring defiantly back at him in the dim lamplight.
Darian was no stranger to intimacy by now, yet having gone without release for four days (since his session with Carmen earlier was completely ruined by Vivi's interruption), the sight of those towering, snow-capped peaks before him caused his breathing to grow noticeably heavier.
With Darian looking as if he were about to devour her whole, Mikita seemed to realize that resistance was utterly futile. She resigned herself to her fate. She turned her head aside, bit down hard on her glossy lower lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and ceased her struggles.
Seeing Mikita lying there, looking utterly helpless and ready to be taken, Darian felt his dark excitement surge even higher.
Leaning down, he dragged his tongue along her flushed cheek and down her jawline. The sensation of her skin was smooth and delightfully firm to the touch. Darian could only conclude that the women of the *One Piece* world were truly exceptional—every single one of them seemed to possess flawless skin, stunning beauty, logic-defying curves, and impossibly long legs.
Sensing Darian's wet tongue, Mikita squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, her chest heaving as her breathing grew ragged.
Gently cupping her chin to turn her face back toward him, Darian aimed for her alluring, trembling lips and planted a deep kiss. He playfully teased her small tongue—which seemed entirely unsure of how to respond at first—and only reluctantly pulled away from her tempting mouth after he had savored his fill.
Her saliva carried a distinct, sharp citrusy tang. It tasted delightfully sweet and tart, like a glass of fine lemon liquor.
He trailed soft, open-mouthed kisses down her delicate earlobe, along her fair neck, and across her precisely defined collarbone. The neck is typically a woman's most sensitive zone; as Darian's lips and teeth grazed over her pulse point, Mikita's body went completely rigid. She clenched her pinned hands into tight fists against the pillows.
When Darian's kisses finally moved lower, the tense assassin let out a long, shuddering breath of relief.
Continuing his descent, Darian arrived at that pair of perky, snow-white peaks. Unlike the heavy, rounded "peach" shape of Nami and Carmen, Mikita's breasts were of the conical, "bamboo shoot" variety.
While perhaps not quite as massive or perfectly spherical as the others, they possessed an extraordinary, gravity-defying firmness. They stood tall and aggressively erect, much like a freshly peeled bamboo shoot. Indeed, the description of them standing tall as "snow-capped peaks" was no exaggeration.
Before he had even begun to toy with them properly, Darian's breathing had already grown heavy and ragged. His "little brother" felt as if it were on the verge of bursting through his skin.
Darian released one of Mikita's wrists. He took her small hand and guided it downward, wrapping her cool fingers around his throbbing, iron-hard member.
Her hand felt incredibly smooth and cool to the touch—a sensation so intensely soothing against his burning heat that Darian let out a low, contented groan.
Feeling the intense, unnatural heat and sheer mass in her hand, Mikita instantly realized what she was holding. Her hand trembled violently, and she instinctively tightened her grip around his burning shaft in shock.
Holding her small hand over his own, Darian began to guide her in a slow, rhythmic back-and-forth motion.
Even though it was merely her small hand doing the work, Darian felt a profound sense of relief. The sensation was completely different from when he had attended to himself earlier—far more satisfying to have a beautiful enemy operative servicing him.
He only had to guide her hand a few times. Even after Darian let go of her wrist, Mikita's hand remained locked in place, blindly and obediently repeating the rhythmic stroking motion, terrified to stop.
This finally allowed Darian to free both of his own hands and turn his full attention to those snowy peaks before him.
Cupping a heavy breast in each hand, Darian felt no chill; instead, only a sensation of slippery softness and intense body heat radiated back into his palms.
Leaning down, Darian gently savored the delectable, hardened cherries adorning the tips of those snowy peaks. Yet, this time, her skin carried that same faint hint of lemon—offering Darian a unique and novel sensory experience. The sheer deliciousness made him yearn to swallow the peaks whole.
As she felt Darian's vigorous suction—his rough tongue sweeping across her sensitive nipples and his teeth gently grazing the areolas—a powerful, tingling sensation of intense arousal coursed through her.
Mikita's body went rigid with tension. Her breathing fell into utter disarray, and loud, breathless moans escaped her lips as she gripped the fiery heat in her hand with unyielding, desperate force, stroking him faster.
Compared to the "peach" variety, the conical breasts possessed a distinct advantage: Darian could push upward from the base all the way to the tip in a single, incredibly smooth motion, taking more of her into his mouth.
Although those towering snowy peaks were undeniably alluring, they could not quell the burning fire raging within Darian's lower half. Only that deep, mysterious ravine could truly extinguish his scorching heat.
Lingering at her chest for a moment longer, Darian continued his descent. Gliding past her smooth, flat, athletic abdomen, he finally arrived at a valley carpeted in neat, golden grass—a valley where a stream was already flowing with a gentle, murmuring current of arousal.
Applying a touch of gentle force, Darian parted Mikita's long, fair legs, laying bare before his hungry eyes the valley of golden grass and the glistening pink folds within.
This time, Darian encountered yet another variety of beautiful anatomy. Following Nami's neat "White Tiger Buns," Kaya's delicate "Flying Petal Butterflies," Nojiko's plump "Clam Holding a Pearl," and Carmen's fiery depths, he now beheld Mikita's—the "Water Droplet Petals," or simply, the teardrop shape.
While perhaps not the most visually flamboyant of types, the sight of clear dewdrops trickling between the swollen, opening petals compelled Darian to lean down and sample the taste of the spring water.
Parting the petals with his tongue, Darian burrowed into her core, tentatively exploring the sensitive contours of her interior.
For Mikita, simply escaping death back on Summer Solstice Island had been a stroke of immense luck. Now, serving as a late-night warm-up for the devastatingly handsome White Emperor, her body tacitly and eagerly consented to his advances, even if her mind was still catching up.
However, when Darian had torn her clothes apart with the ferocity of a wild beast moments ago, Mikita had been genuinely terrified he would hurt her.
Yet, in this moment—feeling Darian's surprisingly gentle tongue brush against her most sensitive "pearl" and probe deep into the valley's spring—the tingling, electric sensation of intense pleasure brought a sudden sense of calm to her racing heart. Her tightly coiled body began to relax significantly into the mattress.
Nevertheless, the intense, overwhelming stimulation caused by Darian's ceaseless oral exploration quickly elicited soft, high-pitched whimpers from Mikita. Involuntarily, her hands left his shaft and reached out to tangle in his hair, pressing his head closer while simultaneously, silently pleading for mercy from the overstimulation.
Darian, for his part, was merely having a taste. Just as he had suspected, Mikita's entire body indeed carried the faint, natural scent of lemons—a delightful blend of sweet and tart.
She had consumed the Kilo-Kilo Fruit, not a Lemon Fruit; it seemed that, contrary to popular belief, a person's natural scent had nothing to do with their Devil Fruit powers.
A brief sampling sufficed; Darian was not one to be greedy when the main course was waiting.
Having already been thoroughly teased by his tongue, Mikita was flowing like a babbling brook—incredibly moist, slick, and ready.
After partaking of Carmen's sweet, fiery dessert earlier in the week, Darian was now poised to savor the "lemon-flavored bounty hunter bento" that was Mikita, eager to claim another prize for his growing empire.
Spreading Mikita's long legs wide, Darian shifted his weight and lowered himself over her. As she watched his massive, throbbing member align with her entrance, Mikita could do nothing but clench the bedsheets tightly with both hands, her eyes wide with apprehension.
Noticing her sudden spike of nervousness, Darian gently wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead. After whispering a few words of dark, gentle reassurance in her ear, he launched his assault.
Given the robust, aggressive vigor of his arousal, he required no assistance from his hands to guide it in. Indeed, he was already an old hand at navigating these familiar paths.
Mounting his prize and sinking his hips low, he slid the broad head just a few times across the warm, moist, and yielding terrain of the valley floor, spreading her slick juices. He parted the petals that guarded the way, located the tight entrance at the valley's heart, and slowly began to sink into its depths.
To his utter astonishment—though Darian couldn't be sure if it was due to his Dual Cultivation making his member even more formidable in size, or simply because Mikita was naturally incredibly petite internally—progress was agonizingly slow and tight right from the start.
Submerging oneself is an endeavor where the deeper one descends, the greater the pressure becomes, making forward movement increasingly arduous. And this was especially true for a waterway that had clearly never before been charted or traversed by a man of his... caliber.
Yet, Darian pressed onward undeterred, letting out a low growl. The intense sensation of being stretched to her absolute capacity elicited a muffled, pained moan from Mikita.
Finally, he encountered the ultimate barrier blocking his path.
The ensuing sharp pain caused Mikita to release her grip on the sheets and instead cling tightly to Darian's broad, sturdy back—her fingernails digging deep into his flesh.
Mikita's extreme tightness was a novel, intoxicating experience for Darian. But in matters such as this, it is always better to suffer a sharp, brief pain than a prolonged, lingering one.
With a sudden, powerful surge of his hips—and amidst a sharp, tearing cry of agony from Mikita—Darian effortlessly breached that final barrier: the proof of her purity.
Darian felt as though he had entered a whole new world. He was immersed in a boiling hot, spring-like embrace that squeezed him relentlessly from all sides.
The tearing, searing pain caused Mikita to clamp her long legs tightly around Darian's waist, locking him in place. Yet, Darian had no intention of retreating. He simply held her close, pressing his weight against her, waiting for her body to adjust to the intrusion.
After a few agonizing minutes, Mikita's ragged breathing began to slow. The pain faded into a dull ache, and the natural lubrication of her arousal returned in full force.
Darian began to move.
Pushing onward, he withdrew slightly and drove forward again, establishing a slow, punishingly deep rhythm. He emerged into a vast, open expanse of pleasure, making contact with the deepest depths of her core.
After such an arduous journey, Darian finally understood the true prize he had won.
When he had first parted Mikita's legs and gazed into the valley, seeing nothing but petals and flowing moisture, Darian had felt it was a standard, albeit beautiful, sight. He never imagined, however, that such a wondrous, impossibly tight realm lay hidden within.
Mikita was anything but ordinary; she was a veritable "Gourd of Dripping Water"—a true, hidden masterpiece of nature!
Yet, despite being such a rare, tight treasure, Mikita seemed to be the type who would crumble entirely at the slightest touch of true pleasure. Darian hadn't even finished widening the channel with his first dozen thrusts, but Mikita was already showing signs of her eyes rolling back in her head. She was rapidly entering that state of blissful, vacant, mind-broken ecstasy.
Gazing at the tears welling in the corners of her eyes, Darian couldn't tell if they were born of lingering pain or of pure, overwhelming pleasure.
Gently caressing her sweat-slicked body and kissing away the tears at her eyes, Darian waited until Mikita's breathing had steadied into soft pants before he truly began the heavy work of "cultivation."
Unexpectedly—even though Mikita seemed fragile and unable to withstand a vigorous assault—the moment Darian began to move with real power and speed, her body responded like a bursting dam. She unleashed a torrential flood of arousal that engulfed everything in its path, matching his brutal rhythm with desperate, screaming passion.
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