Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System! - Chapter 576

Chapter 576: Midnight Rain (R-18)

The rain didn’t ask permission. It simply fell—cool and slow at first, beading along her collarbone, sliding down the curve of her breasts, soaking into the thin silk until it clung to her like a second, sinful skin.

Scarlett stood still, letting the storm dress her in temptation. The fabric became transparent under the downpour, outlining every forbidden contour—nipples peaked against the chilled air, the swell of her breasts swaying gently as she moved, and lower still, where the silk no longer protected but revealed the bare curve of her hips.

She hadn’t worn anything beneath the dress.She hadn’t needed to.

The fabric, now transparent, betrayed everything it once pretended to hide. Her nipples, already taut from the cold, pressed through like punctuation marks in a forbidden story. The curve of her breasts, proud and perfect, moved with each slow breath she took.

Lower still, the silk molded to her belly, her hips—and then revealed the rest. Bare skin. The untouched valley between her thighs, glistening. There was no mistaking it now. She was pantless, soaked, and stunning in her defiance her ass from behind. soaked was a sight to behold.

And as she turned just to tease him, the back of the dress swayed up slightly, revealing a fleeting, maddening sight of her ass—round, pale, sculpted like temptation incarnate beneath the moonlight the crack promising more.

Parker’s heart slammed against his ribs. This wasn’t a dream. This was memory and madness colliding, and Scarlett was the storm.

The forest didn’t deserve her. The moon shouldn’t have had the right to witness her like this. But they did.

She stepped toward him, barefoot and brazen, soaked and unashamed. Her hair stuck to her shoulders in dark, wet waves, her skin gleaming with moonlight and stormwater. Every step was silent thunder, every sway of her body a sermon in seduction.

Her ass, bared beneath the drenched hem, gleamed under flashes of lightning—an invitation laced in defiance.

And Parker—gods, Parker—he was unraveling. His eyes dragged across her like a man dying of thirst drinking poison just to taste her once more.

“Still regretting it?” she whispered, rain dripping from her dark lashes.

He stepped forward and kissed her again, this time with reverence—slow, sensual, as if he wanted to taste the rain on her mouth, to drink down every drop the sky had gifted to her skin. Their bodies met like magnets in the storm, her arms circling his neck, his hands sliding down her soaked spine, slipping easily over silk and skin.

Every inch of her was warm despite the rain, pulsing with the fire that never seemed to burn out between them.

Lightning forked in the clouds, flashing behind her as their kiss deepened, as the rhythm of their bodies began to shift in something slower… deeper.

He laid her down in the moss beneath the trees, the forest floor cradling her like a lover would.

Rain danced on the leaves above them, droplets kissing her stomach, her thighs, her throat—and then his mouth replaced them, trailing heat along the curve of her neck, over her collarbone, down the valley of her chest.

Every inch of her trembled with sensation, and her nails pressed into his back, grounding herself against the flood of memory and lust that surged between them.

“Tell me this isn’t real,” she breathed, voice breaking with something too fragile to name.

“It’s real enough to ruin us,” he murmured into her skin. “But I don’t care.”

They made love under the moon, the rain growing heavier, like the sky couldn’t bear to look away. Each movement was a confession, every touch an apology, every gasp a memory pulled from the marrow. The storm bore witness, and the earth held them close.

Two broken souls tangled in moonlight and midnight rain—drenched, damned, and divine.

The moss beneath her arched with the motion of her hips, slick from the rain, but softer than any bed they’d ever known. Her hair splayed out in dark, wet waves, a crown of night blooming around her as he moved above her—reverent, aching, utterly undone. The world narrowed to breath and body and the whisper of skin against skin, a rhythm carried by thunder and thunder alone.

His hands explored her like scripture, memorizing lines he thought he’d forgotten— the dip of her waist, the swell of her hip, the way her breath hitched just before she moaned his name. And she gave herself to him with fierce grace, no hesitation, only heat—her legs curling around his waist, drawing him deeper into a truth neither had dared speak aloud until now.

“I tried to ignore you, My Prince,” she gasped into his ear, teeth grazing the curve of his jaw. “I tried so hard.”

“I never did,” he said, breath ragged. “Even when I hated you… I remembered everything.”

Their bodies rocked together in perfect contradiction—desire and regret, tenderness and ruin. Her bare thighs slick against his hips. His mouth moving between gasps and kisses, worshiping her like a fallen goddess. Her wet dress, pushed aside and forgotten, clung to her arm like the last remnant of restraint, but even that surrendered in the end.

The rain kept falling.

The forest hummed.

And somewhere above them, the moon broke through the clouds—full, silver, watching.

She reached up and touched his cheek as he hovered above her, trembling. “This changes nothing,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“But gods… I needed it.”

He kissed her again, slower now, less need, more ache.

And when the storm finally eased, and the midnight rain gave way to silence, they lay together—breathing in sync, hearts still tangled. The moss had turned to steam beneath their heat, and the trees stood guard around their sin.

She curled into his side like she belonged there.

And for that single breath of eternity, she did.

Still wrapped in his arms, she looked up at him, rain slipping down the curve of her cheek water cascading down her like a baptism. Her hair clung to her shoulders in dark, wet ribbons, and her breath misted in the chill air—but her eyes… her eyes burned. Red and unrelenting.

She didn’t move yet, waiting.

Testing him.

His fingers rose slowly, reverently, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Thunder rumbled somewhere above them, distant but awakening, like even the sky had begun to stir. His hands drifted down the curve of her arms, trailing the soaked silk that clung to her skin like temptation made visible.

“Scarlett…” he murmured, voice hoarse with restraint.

She took his wrist gently, guiding his hand to the knot at her side, where the silk dress tied like an old secret. Her lips parted just barely, and her voice was a whisper meant only for him.

“Undo it.”

He hesitated for the briefest of moments, reverence and hunger clashing behind his gaze.

He did—slowly, deliberately. The knot gave way under his fingers, and the fabric slackened. Rainwater had already done half the work; all it took was a single breath of wind for the dress to slide down her shoulders.

Inch by inch.

First the collarbones. Then the smooth curve of her breasts, half-shadowed by the moonlight filtering through the leaves. Then her waist, her hips, her thighs…

The dress slipped to the mossy ground, forgotten. Moonlight caressed her bare skin, the rain blessing every curve with a shimmer. She was before him like a secret the night had kept hidden for too long—drenched, divine, and utterly unashamed.

There was no shame in her—only heat, defiance, and that unshakable fire that had always set her apart.

He looked at her like he was seeing something holy and forbidden at once. Like the woman before him wasn’t Scarlett Draven, but the storm given form.

“You haven’t changed,” he whispered.

“I’ve only become harder to leave.”

Parker leaned in closer, his fingers tracing her hip, up her side, then cupping her cheek with a kind of aching gentleness.

Then it was her turn.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his chest, fingertips grazing skin and scars and rain-slick muscle. She tossed it aside. She reached for his belt with trembling hands, undid it, then let her palms wander down to undo the rest.

The way his body leaned into her. The way the forest held its breath around them.

When the last layer dropped, he stood before her in all his imperfect beauty—haunted, strong, ruined by time and reborn by her touch.

Piece by piece, they shed the layers between them—not just clothes, but years of silence, pain, longing, and everything they’d refused to say.

There was nothing between them now. Just the storm. The forest. The moss beneath their feet. The soft sigh of wind. And the knowledge that this—whatever this was—had always been inevitable.

She took his hand, brought it to her waist, and pulled him in until there was no space left to speak of.

The rain kissed their bodies. The moon wrapped them in silver. And the night, finally, began to burn.

“Please take me, Oh, My Prince~”