Chapter 216: Chapter 216 – The Smell of Butter and Eggs

The next morning, sunlight bled through the gaps in the curtains, painting golden streaks across Zoey’s naked body as she slept soundly beside me. Her full chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, lips slightly parted, black hair tangled across the pillow.

I watched her for a moment—this woman who’d screamed and come more times than I could count in every corner of my house last night.

Then my eyes drifted to the digital clock on the nightstand.

08:34.

The tournament finals started at ten.

I rubbed my face, still foggy with the remnants of last night’s pleasure, and grabbed my phone from the floor. The screen lit up, and news notifications flooded my lock screen.

Breaking News: Guardian Council Member Black Dragon Found Dead in Central District Park

I sat upright.

My fingers opened the first article. Black Dragon’s photo—the man with that hulking frame, wild black hair, eyes like coal that always burned with arrogance—was now plastered above news of his own death. His body had been discovered this morning by park maintenance staff. Head severed from torso. Burn scars on the neck.

“The perpetrator is still under investigation. The Guardian Council suspects involvement by the Abyss Syndicate or other international criminal organizations.”

I scrolled down. Comments flooded in at a staggering pace.

“Black Dragon’s dead? Who could kill an SS-rank?!”

“The Abyss Syndicate must be behind this. They’ve threatened Gatehaven for too long.”

“I’m scared to leave my house. If even Guardian Council members can be killed…”

“Our lives aren’t safe anymore.”

“They say the head was severed with perfect precision. One clean cut.”

I set the phone on my chest, staring at the ceiling.

Black Dragon was dead.

Someone had executed an SS-rank Guardian Council member and dumped his body in a park like garbage. And the killer was still out there.

My thoughts immediately went to Delilah. My mother had obviously already left—there must be emergency meetings, urgent briefings, some kind of massive investigation. This wasn’t an ordinary death. This was a declaration of war against the Council.

I got up, leaving Zoey still deep in sleep.

I walked down the hall, heading for the bathroom.

Then I caught the scent of butter and eggs.

I stopped.

From the end of the hallway came the soft clatter of a pan, the whisper of a low flame, and gentle humming I knew intimately. I followed the sound, down the stairs, through the still-messy living room, and turned toward the kitchen.

And there, standing before a lit stove, was a woman with golden-blonde hair falling loose to her shoulders.

Delilah.

She was holding a spatula, flipping eggs with graceful movements. But that wasn’t what stopped me cold.

She was wearing only an apron.

The cream-colored lace apron I’d hung up a few weeks ago as a joke. Its neck strap tied neatly, its waistband cinching her slender middle perfectly. But beneath that apron… nothing.

No bra. No panties. Not a single thread.

Her porcelain-white skin showed faintly through the thin fabric. Every movement made the apron sway, casting shadows far more seductive than full nudity. And from behind…

God.

From behind, the apron barely covered anything. Her smooth, sculpted back was completely exposed, framed by that beautiful golden hair. And below, two full, plush, perfect spheres—her generous ass was almost entirely bare, only a thin strip of fabric tucked between her cheeks, swaying with every motion.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, utterly speechless.

She turned, maybe hearing my footsteps, and smiled. That goddess-like face glowed, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“Good morning, darling,” she said softly. “I’m making you breakfast.”

I didn’t answer. My legs moved on their own, carrying me toward her from behind. Delilah turned back to the pan, unaware that I was already right behind her.

My hands circled her waist.

“Oh!” She tensed slightly, startled. The spatula froze mid-air.

My chest pressed against her warm back. And below, my cock—already hard and thick since waking—pressed directly into the cleft of her full ass, separated only by that thin apron fabric.

“S-Son…” her voice trembled, her face now deeply flushed as she glanced back at me. “It’s… it’s still morning…”

“Mon,” I breathed against her ear, “what’s the occasion? You never cook.”

She squirmed slightly, trying to focus on the pan that was starting to smoke. “I-I… ah… I wanted you to fight well today. This is the tournament finals, and I didn’t want… mmh… you to be hungry…”

“I am hungry,” I cut her off. “Just not for food.”

“Adam!” she protested half-heartedly, her voice already turning breathy. The spatula clattered to the floor. “I’m… I’m cooking… aaah…”

My hands around her waist began to move. My fingers slipped beneath the apron, gliding slowly over her flat stomach, then…

Stopped at her breasts.

And squeezed.

Those full, heavy breasts filled my grip completely. So soft, so warm, so substantial. I groped them with full ownership, and in response, her instantly stiffening nipples released a spray of warm breast milk that soaked the apron from within.

“Hhh—ah!” Delilah moaned, long and low, her body arching backward, pressing her ass harder against my crotch. “You’re… you’re making my apron wet…”

“That’s the point,” I murmured against her long, pale neck. I kissed her, sucking on her fragrant skin. “You wore this on purpose, didn’t you? Waiting for me to wake up.”

“I-I didn’t… I just… ahh… wanted to look pretty…”

“You’re always pretty, Mom. But this… this is another level.”

My fingers gently twisted both her nipples. Milk continued to flow, soaking the apron, making the lace cling transparently to her swollen breasts.

Delilah had stopped pretending to cook. The stove was off, the eggs in the pan beginning to burn. But she didn’t care. Her head hung low, her breaths came short and shallow, and every time I twisted her nipples, she let out a soft moan.

“Mom,” I whispered, “you know how obscene this is, right?”

“A-Adam… you… ahh… Mommy was trying to cook…” she protested, but her tone sounded more like a moan than a scolding. Her ass pushed harder against me, pressing my cock more firmly.

“I’m ’cooking’ too,” I answered mischievously, my fingers still twisting her milk-wet nipples. Another spurt of milk escaped, this time more forcefully, soaking the apron until the thin fabric clung transparently to her chest.

“Hhh— you perverted child…” Delilah hissed, but the corners of her mouth curved upward. Those golden eyes looked at me over her shoulder, filled with distorted love and desire.

I smiled back. “And you, my esteemed stepmother, Guardian Council member, the Star Witch, wear nothing but an apron to cook for your stepson. Who’s the pervert here?”

Delilah flushed deeper, but didn’t argue. “But… you like it, right?”

“This was one of my dreams,” I murmured, bringing my lips close to her ear. “Fucking you while you cook in an apron. I figured it was every young man’s fantasy, living with a milf like you.”

Delilah’s face was now tomato-red, but her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “You… shameless boy…”

“What’s the point of shame? The important thing is my dream came true.”

Delilah sighed happily, her body leaning further into my chest. Her free hand reached for mine, still on her breasts, pressing it harder.

“Just enjoy it, Son. It’s all for you.”

I almost continued. Almost pulled off her apron and took her from behind right there. But then I remembered.

“I thought you’d already left,” I said, still fondling her breasts. “With the news of Black Dragon’s death… aren’t you having an emergency meeting?”

Delilah was quiet for a moment. Her earlier quick breaths began to slow. She looked down, then answered in a calmer voice.

“Yes… I’ve been summoned.”

“Then why are you still here?”

She turned, looking at me with gentle eyes. “The meeting’s at ten. There’s still time.”

“For what?”

She smiled coyly. “To make breakfast for my son.”

I frowned. “But the eggs are burnt.”

We both looked at the pan. The fried eggs there were blackened at the edges, the yolks overcooked and misshapen. Delilah laughed softly, a little embarrassed.

“Oh dear… because of you…”

“So,” I interrupted, “Mommy still has about… an hour?”

She looked at me, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Don’t bother me, Adam. I need to clean this—”

“I want to eat you right now.”

Delilah froze.

“Isn’t that why you dressed like this?” I continued, my voice dropping half an octave. “So I could access you easily? From behind? While you pretended to be busy cooking?”

She didn’t answer. But her body trembled. Her already-flushed cheeks burned brighter, all the way to her ears.

“A-Adam…” she breathed, barely audible.

My free hand gripped her waist, pulling her ass tighter against my crotch. My impatient cock ground against the cleft of her ass, searching for entry, searching for the gate.

“Or,” I whispered in her ear, “did you wear this because you wanted your stepson to fuck you in the kitchen first thing in the morning?”

“I-I…”

“Answer me, Mom.”

She bowed her head deeply. Her voice was barely a sigh.

“Y-yes…”

“What?”

“YES!” She moaned, embarrassed and delighted at once. “Yes, I wore this because I wanted you to… fuck me… in the kitchen… right now…”

I smiled, satisfied. My hand, still groping her breasts, now twisted both nipples at once. Hard.

“AAAAHHH!” Delilah let out a short scream, her body arching. Milk sprayed violently, soaking the apron until the fabric was completely transparent, clinging to her skin.

“You perverted child,” she hissed, but her tone was full of pleasure.

With slow, deliberately dramatic movements, Delilah reached for the hem of her apron. She lifted it slightly, then bent forward, spreading her smooth thighs. And there, between her slender white legs, her already-soaked pussy was on full display.

Those pink labia were already swollen, slightly parted, and from within, clear fluid slowly trickled down her inner thigh.

“Go ahead,” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncontrollable desire. “Enjoy… your mommy…”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

With one pull, I swept her apron aside completely, revealing her beautiful back and that full, plump ass. Then I positioned myself, the tip of my enlarged, throbbing cock pressing against her wet entrance.

“Put it in…” Delilah begged, her voice nearly a whimper. “Hurry… Son…”

I pushed.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHH~!”

Her voice echoed through the entire kitchen, probably through the whole house. Her body tensed, then collapsed, her weight supported entirely by the kitchen counter before her. Her full ass rocked backward, welcoming every inch of my cock as it sank into her.

“Yes… yes… full… Mommy’s so full…” she moaned, her face lowered, blonde hair spilling across the granite countertop.

I began to move.

Every thrust sent her body lurching forward, her large breasts swinging wildly beneath her now-open apron. Milk continued to stream from her hard nipples, dripping onto the counter, forming small white puddles.

“Mom,” I hissed, slapping her left buttock, its pristine white flesh now marked red, “you really can’t live without me, can you?”

“I-I CAN’T!” she screamed shamelessly. “MOMMY CAN’T! MOMMY’S LIFE WOULD BE DESTROYED WITHOUT YOUR COCK INSIDE HER! AAH! AAH! AAH!”

I slapped her ass again. The sound reverberated, leaving another red mark on her pale skin.

My free hand reached around to grab both her breasts from behind. I squeezed them brutally, squeezing out her milk until it sprayed everywhere—across the counter, the apron, the kitchen floor.

“Drink my milk~!” she moaned hysterically. “Milk Mommy! Mommy is your cow! MOMMY IS ADAM’S COW!”

We moved faster, more brutal. The kitchen counter shifted a few inches from the impact of our bodies. Cookware rattled. The burnt eggs in the pan had long gone cold.

“I’m about to come,” I hissed, breath ragged.

“COME INSIDE MOMMY! MAKE MOMMY PREGNANT AGAIN! I WANTS TO BE PREGNANT FOREVER! I WANTS MY BELLY TO KEEP SWELLING WITH YOUR CHILD!”

I thrust once, with all my strength, as deep as I could go. And inside her already-soaked, pulsing womb, I released my morning load.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH—!”

Delilah’s scream stretched long and loud, her body shuddering violently, her pussy clenching tight around my cock—dancing, squeezing, milking every last drop of sperm I released. That warm, white flood filled her womb, some of it spilling over, trickling down her beautiful thighs.

We stayed like that for a moment. Just the sound of heavy breathing.

Delilah collapsed against the kitchen counter, her body limp, drained. Semen still dripped from her gaping entrance, forming a small puddle on the granite floor.

I took a long breath, savoring the last threads of pleasure still firing through my nerves.

“Enough for this morning,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

But then Delilah stirred.

Slowly, she turned. Her face was still flushed, her breath still ragged, and those golden eyes of hers were glazed.

“Adam,” she called softly.

“Hm?”

She looked down. Her delicate fingers found my hand, curling around it tightly.

“Why… have you never claimed my ass virginity?”

I froze.

She lifted her gaze, meeting mine directly. In her eyes, there was no shame.

“Do you actually… not like me?”

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