"We need to do something for Dad."
Artis said, his voice carrying the weight of a declaration meant for an action movie climax.
He leaned back, his abs practically sculpting themselves into a Greek tragedy, and locked eyes with Nadia like he was daring her to confess her deepest sins.
Nadia's brain short-circuited for a moment. Her gaze dropped, her cheeks lighting up like she'd been caught red-handed sneaking a peek at forbidden treasure—which, let's face it, she had.
But realizing her mistake, she quickly snapped her eyes back to his, determined not to look like the flustered pervert she absolutely was.
"W-what? Why? What did he do now?"
She asked, her voice wobbling as she blew on her soup like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, instead of, say, the half-naked Adonis smirking at her.
"The man's gone erratic..."
Artis replied, swirling his spoon with the kind of casual menace that could make even soup seem like a power move.
"He hasn't had a drink since… that day."
Juliana, who had just finished playing doting hostess, slid into the seat beside Artis. Not a seat, but his seat's gravitational field—so close she might as well have been trying to merge into him.
She stirred her soup with one hand while resting her other "innocently" on the table, mere inches from his arm.
"That's true."
She said, her tone a mix of faux concern and real exasperation.
"He's been sitting in the corner of the room for over a week, murmuring nonsense. At night, it's downright creepy. I don't even know if he gets up to pee or shit or just does it in that corner like some deranged dog."
"Mom..."
Nadia muttered, her spoon clinking against her bowl. She tried to sound sympathetic, but her eyes kept darting back to Artis's chest, like her libido was waging war on her moral compass.
"Either way, it's pathetic..."
Juliana added, her voice dripping with the kind of disdain that only years of marital disappointment can cultivate.
"But it's also getting annoying. Something needs to be done, or we'll be living with a piss-stained ghost who doesn't shut up."
"Momma, seriously! We're eating. Stop saying those words!"
Nadia whined, her voice teetering between exasperation and embarrassment as if she were the last bastion of decency in this madhouse.
"What? It's the truth!"
Juliana retorted, throwing her arms up like she was delivering a TED Talk on the realities of bodily functions.
Artis, meanwhile, was trying—and failing—not to laugh. His giggle broke through like a mischievous schoolboy caught red-handed, and it only made Nadia's face flush deeper. Enjoy more content from My Virtual Library Empire
The words "pee" and "shit" weren't exactly gourmet dinner conversation, but here they were, floating around like uninvited guests at an otherwise dysfunctional feast.
"Little brother! Stop laughing! Y-you can't say—or even giggle at—those words while eating!"
Nadia pouted, glaring at Artis. The fact that he was shirtless, gleaming under the dim light like a human thirst trap, only made her flustered state more pathetic.
Artis smirked, his giggle turning into a full-on chuckle.
"What can I say, Nadia? It's comedy gold. Dinner and a show."
Nadia squirmed in her seat, clutching her soup spoon like it was her last tether to sanity.
Her pout deepened, making her look less like an adult woman and more like a kid who'd been told Santa wasn't real.
"What is your problem, Nadia?"
Juliana chimed in, her hand dramatically pressed to her chest like she'd been personally attacked.
"I just said the truth! What's so wrong with that?"
Juliana's feigned innocence was the cherry on top, and Artis leaned back, shaking his head with another chuckle.
"Mommy, I think what Nadia wants is a big, thick…"
His gaze locked onto Nadia like a predator eyeing a particularly delectable prey, and her breath hitched. The slow, deliberate pacing of his words was doing things to her that a family dinner had no business doing.
"Veiny…" he continued, his eyes narrowing as if savoring every syllable.
Nadia swallowed hard, the lump in her throat doing nothing to stop the heat pooling between her thighs. Her mind was screaming, Oh god, not here, not now!
"Throbbing… carrot," he finished, the pause stretching just long enough to feel like a punchline to some cosmic joke.
Nadia's jaw nearly hit the table.
"A carrot?!"
She squeaked, though the soft, unbidden moan that followed completely betrayed her.
Artis wasn't done.
"Stuffed so thoroughly…" he drawled, gripping his bowl with exaggerated intensity, "that she forgets the date, the time, maybe even her own name. Juices dripping down her thighs, completely spent…"
He licked his lips like the devil himself, his eyes smoldering as they drank in her reaction.
Nadia was a mess. Words failed her, her brain short-circuited under the weight of his innuendo.
Her thighs pressed together, trying to quell the desperate ache, her hands trembling like she'd just been caught sneaking into the cookie jar.
"I… I…"
She stammered, cheeks blazing, nipples betraying her resolve as they stood at attention beneath the thin fabric of her nightie.
Artis chuckled low and dangerous.
"What's the matter, Nadia? Can't handle a little dinner talk?"
Juliana, oblivious to the volcanic tension at the table, tilted head like a curious puppy, her mind still marinating in confusion. Carrot? Stuffing? What kind of dinner conversation is this?
'Why would a carrot leave her quivering, anyway?'
She thought, her eyes narrowing as if the answer might suddenly appear on the soup's surface.
Her thoughts were foggy these days, and the culprit sat smugly across the table. Ever since Artis had started teasing her, her brain had been running on fumes. It was all him—his stupidly perfect body, his smug smirk, and, of course, that damn oversized cock.
And the way he drained her divine water (as she liked to poetically put it)? It left her out cold, curled up like a sated kitten every single time.
This had become her life now—a cycle of teasing, draining, and passing out, and honestly, she wasn't even mad about it.
But then Artis did something. One of his hands dipped below the table, fumbling under his robe. Her eyes darted down instinctively, her breath hitching, her mind jumping to all the filthy possibilities. Then, he pulled out…
A carrot.
Not just any carrot—a massive, thick, veiny monstrosity that looked like it belonged in a porn parody of a vegetable garden.
'Ohhhh.'
Her face went blank, her brain connecting the dots at a speed that felt embarrassingly slow.
"Are you hungry, Mommy?"
Artis asked, flashing her a grin that was equal parts innocent and devilish.
"Yes, baby. Very hungry."
She replied automatically, her eyes fixed on the carrot like it was the Holy Grail.
And then, inspiration struck.
"Oh no! The spoon just dropped," she exclaimed, her voice dripping with mock surprise as she oh-so-conveniently knocked her spoon to the floor. "I guess I should get it."
Her chair scraped back as she bent down, her movements slow and deliberate, giving Artis an uninterrupted view of her cleavage as she "searched" for the spoon.
Underneath the table, her eyes locked onto the carrot.
Juliana thought she was the epitome of stealth—smooth as a shadow on a moonless night. But Nadia, perched across the table with a scowl that could curdle milk, had seen everything.
Juliana didn't even glance at her. Nope, her eyes were glued to Artis, dripping with lust like she was auditioning for the role of Desperate Housewife of the Year.
The spoon wasn't just dropped—it was a weapon of distraction, and Juliana wielded it like a pro.
'Seriously?'
Nadia fumed.
'These two act like I'm wallpaper. It's bad enough I have to listen to their "activities" through the paper-thin walls—now they're turning dinner into a live show?'
Juliana, blissfully unaware or just not giving a damn, tilted her body sideways like a cat stretching before naptime.
Her ass remained firmly planted on her chair while her upper half casually collapsed into Artis's lap.
Without hesitation, her mouth opened wide, and she took in the infamous "carrot" with a dramatic moan that could've won an Oscar.
Nadia's knuckles whitened as she gripped her spoon.
'It should be me. I should be the one sitting in his lap, not her.'
Juliana, on the other hand, was putting on a performance that would've left a Vegas stage show feeling underwhelming.
She moaned like she was auditioning for a sultry audiobook, her throat stretching in ways that defied both physics and common decency.
Artis, ever the showman, leaned back in his chair with a shit-eating grin, locking eyes with Nadia. The bastard smirked at her. Mockingly. Teasingly.
Meanwhile, the dining hall echoed with the wet, messy symphony of gagging and spitting as Juliana's head bobbed up and down. Her hair flopped above the table, only to disappear again below, like some deranged whack-a-mole.
Saliva dripped down the length of the carrot, pooling onto Artis's abs and crotch in a sticky mess. Juliana wasn't just eating—it was a full-on worship session, and the altar was Artis's smug, shirtless torso.
Nadia's throat tightened as she gulped, her eyes glued to the scene despite herself. The heat in her body climbed with every passing second, the jealousy sizzling in her veins like oil on a hot skillet.
But Artis, ever the provocateur, only gave her a wink.