Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

Hot breath slipped into Park’s ear.

His brow creased somewhere down in the warm dark of sleep, and without troubling himself to open his eyes he lifted one hand and swatted vaguely at the side of his head, dismissing the disturbance like a fly too stupid to be worth killing properly.

Two seconds later something blew directly into his ear canal with the enthusiasm of a small hurricane.

Park came off that mattress with a strangled cry, upright and standing on the bed before his soul had finished catching up with his body, both fists raised, shoulders locked, cognac-gold eyes sweeping the room for assassins, kidnappers, supernatural entities, or another System notification arriving to deliver emotional damage before he’d even had water.

A bright peal of laughter detonated at the edge of the mattress:

A girl sat there with one arm folded across her stomach, already bent so far forward that her dark hair swept toward her knees. She clapped twice, delighted, pointed straight at his defensive stance, then lost whatever thin control she’d managed to recover and went down into another fit that shook the whole bed.

"You always crack me do that, little brother." She got the words out between gasps. "Every single time. Oh my God, you should have seen your face."

Park stayed frozen a moment longer, fists still up, while his heart came back down out of his throat and resumed its normal duties.

His arms lowered.

"Emmie~" he said, the name leaving him with the soft resignation, discovering that the assassin was only a relative with too much free time.

Emmeline Bennett straightened up, laughter still trembling through her shoulders, her smile broad and luminous and containing not one gram of remorse.

"Oh, little brother. I didn’t startle you that badly."

"You sent my soul back to customer service, you weirdo." He glared down at her from his ridiculous vantage point on the mattress. "How did you even get in here? That door was locked."

His voice carried the irritation the moment required but his mind had gone somewhere else entirely.

Emmeline Bennett. His older sister; nineteen years old and older than him by a handful of months, which was less a sibling age gap and more a timestamp on his father’s infidelity — while the Chancellor had been carrying Emmeline, the Prime Minister of the Kingdom had gone off on a small private adventure involving poor judgment, loose morals, and no thought whatsoever for the future comfort of family dinners.

Park was what the result of that adventure; the bastard that came a few months behind the legitimate daughter and got folded quietly into the household with a room, a name, and no public photographs.

And now the youngest legitimate child of the Bennett family was sitting on his bed at whatever hour this was, laughing herself sick at him.

’She’s so fucking beautiful,’ he thought, and there was nothing polite about the way the thought arrived.

She was pinfully, inconveniently so:

Long dark hair loose down her back and still mussed from her own laughter, a face built along the same unfair as his own but softened into something warmer and a great deal more dangerous — bright teasing gray eyes, a mouth that curved before she’d finished deciding what she meant to say with it.

And she had come to his room in white lace:

It was a long see-through robe; floral and sheer as a rumour, falling past her knees with the wide bell sleeves pushed back to her elbows and the scalloped eyelash trim at every edge trembling whenever she moved.

A white satin ribbon cinched it at her waist; the whole effect was so aggressively hot that some slower part of Park’s brain kept insisting there had been a romantic journey he hadn’t been told about.

The rest of his brain had already worked out that the robe was doing nothing:

It hung open the length of her body and the lace hid less than a good curtain, and beneath it he could see, with unforgiving clarity in the morning light coming off the windows, the matching set she wore underneath: a little scalloped bralette in the same floral lace, thin straps cutting over her collarbones, the cups doing an honest job and not one inch more to hold the soft, full, and swaying of her peaky round boobs which shock just enough when she laughed that his mouth went dry; and, further down, the briefs of her panties matched; it cut high on her hips, edged all round with that same delicate scalloped trim, hugging the round curve of her perky firm-looking ass like the fabric itself was proud of the work.

White. All of it white. Virgin-white — cut and constructed by somebody who had clearly held very firm opinions about innocence and had wanted to make every last one of them public.

’Fuck,’ Park thought, with the flat honesty. ’She looks like she walked out of a honeymoon photoshoot and decided the best place to sit was her horny little brother’s bed.’

She sat there on his mattress with one leg folded under her, the robe pooled around her hip, entirely relaxed.

She hadn’t checked the tie of her belt once since she’d walked in, and she hadn’t pulled the lace across her chest when she’d doubled over laughing, and she was not going to, because it had not occurred to her that there was any reason to.

She simply did not think anything was happening.

’This is what she sleeps in,’ he thought. ’She rolled out of bed dressed like this, walked three corridors through her father’s house, let herself into a locked room, and is now sitting on my bed at seven in the morning with everything on display, and she is bored. She is probably more concerned about breakfast than about the fact that I can see the fully display of her boobs and her nipples too and count her ribs through the lace... and that the lace is basically a polite suggestion at this point more so on her pooling ass.’

He dragged his eyes up to her face and kept them there with real effort.

’Beautiful,’ he thought. ’And hot. Freaking hot. And apparently entirely comfortable about it.’

"Come on," Emmeline said. "I told you I have a key."

"I told you it’s for emergencies."

"This was an emergency."

"I was asleep."

"Exactly. On the couch."

Park stared at her.

She spread her hands and presented her reasoning with the serene confidence of an attorney who had already bribed the judge.

"I have a key for this exact purpose. Why do you always forget that?"

"And why do you always forget that this is my room?" He climbed down off the bed. "The sitting area, fine. Walk in whenever the mood takes you. My bedroom is off-limits. Stop coming in here every time some evil little idea crawls into your skull."

He sounded stern. That was the external performance, and it was a decent one.

Internally, the shameless creature currently occupying this body had submitted an entirely different statement.

’No trouble at all, big sister. Visit as often as you like. Knock first so this young master has time to arrange himself into something worth walking in on. Or don’t. I’m flexible.’

Emmeline rolled her eyes. "Details."

Then she pointed at him with exaggerated disapproval. "And you should be thanking me. Without my intervention you’d still be face-down on that couch with your neck folded like a failed execution."

’Yes! the couch.’ Realisation arrived with the unhurried cruelty of a bill.

Park’s eyes widened and he looked down at himself — at the soft black sleep trousers, the loose nightshirt, neither of which had been anywhere near his body when he’d blacked out on the System’s parting line.

He touched the shirt, glanced at the trousers:

Then, with the sinking dread of a man taking inventory after a break-in, conducted a brief and discreet investigation of the situation further south.

Nothing. No waistband. No seam; no boxers.

Someone had changed him down to the skin.

His head came up slowly.

"Don’t tell me..."

Emmeline’s smile went radiant. Then she giggled — bright, delighted, utterly without conscience.

"Emmie!"

She started laughing again.

"I told you never to do this." Alarm sharpened his voice into something almost genuine. "I told you last time. If you ever undressed me in my sleep again, I’d go straight to Mother."

"Oh, please~" She waved the entire threat away like smoke. "There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m your big sister. I’ve already seen everything there is to see on you, several times, and honestly a man built the way you’re built and endowed like you shouldn’t be squealing about it in the first place."

Park’s brain short-circuited for half a second. ’FUCK! Several times? Several. Fucking. Times? Okay stay cool. Cool cool cool. My older sister has a full inventory of the goods and is currently sitting on my bed in lingerie looking bored about it.’