Divine Milking System

Chapter 336: 336 | The Milk Vampire’s Farm

Belle’s eyes narrowed. "You’re still smirking. Why are you still smirking?"

"You’ll see."

"That’s worse. That’s so much worse than the smirk."

I held out both hands. Palms up. One for each of them.

Belle took the left without hesitation, her fingers wrapping around mine with the grip strength of someone who’d been firing a crossbow daily for three weeks. Naomi took the right a beat later, her touch softer, her thumb finding the inside of my wrist and pressing against my pulse in a gesture so familiar now that I barely registered it consciously.

I activated Private Sanctum.

Fifty mana drained from my reserves as reality folded around us like a page being turned. The apartment walls went transparent, then dissolved. The ceiling peeled back to reveal something that was definitely not the fifth floor of Building C.

We materialized on grass.

Not the flat, maintained lawn of the academy training fields. Real grass. Long and wild, dotted with wildflowers in white and yellow, swaying under a breeze that smelled like clean earth and distant rain. The field rolled out in every direction, climbing gentle hills that rose and fell against a horizon painted in the deep orange and purple of a sunset that existed nowhere on Earth. The sky looked enormous here, stretched wider than any California evening, with clouds stacked in layers of gold and copper that caught light from a sun hovering just above the treeline.

To our left, a small farmhouse sat at the base of the nearest hill. White clapboard walls. A red door. A wrap-around porch with two rocking chairs and a wind chime made of copper that sang in the breeze. A wooden fence enclosed a patch of grass behind the house, and beyond the fence, more rolling hills covered in the same wild green that cushioned our bare feet.

Belle’s hand went slack in mine.

Naomi made a sound that wasn’t a word.

I’d spent twenty minutes between the shower and their arrival designing this specific environment, burning through configuration options in the Sanctum’s interface until every blade of grass sat exactly where I wanted it. The luxury penthouse worked for Aurora. The candlelit loft worked for Addison. But tonight wasn’t about impressing anyone with expensive furniture or impossible city skylines.

Tonight was about two women in cow-print lingerie standing in a field that stretched forever under a sky that would never get dark, and a farmhouse with clean sheets on the bed and no neighbors for miles in any direction.

"You’re cows," I said. "So I’m going to take you in your natural habitat."

Belle’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Her free hand came up and pressed flat against her own forehead like she was checking for a fever.

"I want to be mad at you," she said. "I want to be so mad at you right now. But this is actually beautiful and I hate you for that."

Naomi had already released my hand and walked three steps into the field, the grass brushing against her thighs above the stockings as she turned in a slow circle.

The breeze caught her hair and spread it across her shoulders, pink and black against a sunset sky that looked like someone had painted it specifically to make her look like an illustration from a novel that would get pulled from shelves in conservative districts.

The bell on her choker chimed once, soft and clear, and Naomi touched it with her fingertips and smiled in a way that made something behind my ribs do something stupid.

"Okay." Belle squared her shoulders, and I watched the exact moment when the surprise wore off and the competitive instinct took over.

She walked toward me with her hips swinging and her bell chiming with every step, the cow-print fabric riding against her curves in ways that the designers either intended or should be ashamed of, depending on your moral framework.

"Okay, Monroe. You brought us to a farm. You’ve made your point. We’re your little cows. Very clever. Very on-brand for the milk vampire."

She stopped close enough that I could smell her shampoo and the faint sweetness that her body always carried after the previous extraction sessions, a permanent note in her scent now, something the System had altered at the biological level that she probably didn’t even notice anymore.

"So?" Belle tilted her chin up. "What happens on the farm?"

I grabbed her.

Not gently. Not with the careful consideration I’d used during our early sessions when Belle was still pretending this was transactional and I was still pretending I wasn’t losing my mind over how her body felt under my hands.

I grabbed her waist with both hands, fingers digging into the soft give of flesh above her hip bones, and lifted her off the ground.

Her legs wrapped around my waist on instinct, the thigh-high stockings sliding against my bare sides with a friction that sent information directly to my spine. Her bell rang out across the empty field as her body jolted against mine.

Belle’s eyes went wide. Not afraid. Surprised. Recalibrating.

"That’s new," she said.

"I learned a few things recently."

"From who?"

"Does it matter?"

Belle’s legs tightened around my waist, and she bit her lower lip in that specific way that meant she was about to say something she’d regret or enjoy. "It matters because you’re holding me like I weigh nothing and you’re looking at me like you’re about to ruin my whole life and I want to know who taught you to be this confident because three weeks ago you couldn’t hold me up for thirty seconds."

I kissed her hard enough to shut her mouth.

Belle made a noise against my lips that traveled through my teeth and into my jaw and down every nerve in my body. Her hands found the back of my head and pulled, fingers twisting into my hair with the aggression she usually saved for arguments about chip flavors and formation strategies.

I walked forward with her wrapped around me, the grass parting against my legs, heading toward the porch of the farmhouse where the rocking chairs sat empty and the wind chime sang its copper song.

Naomi watched from ten feet away.

I could feel her eyes on us. Not hurt. Not jealous. Something else that lived in the space between curiosity and desire, something that had been growing since the hotel room when she’d watched Belle come apart on the bed and touched herself while pretending she wasn’t interested.

Naomi’s hand rested against her own stomach, fingertips pressing into the bare skin between her bra and panties, and her other hand gripped the hem of her own cow-print underwear like she needed something to hold onto while the field spun around her.

I set Belle down on the porch railing, the wood creaking under her weight, and stepped between her open thighs. The cow-print panties pressed warm against my stomach. Her bell chimed again. The sunset painted her blue hair in shades of copper and fire that she’d never be able to recreate with any dye in any salon in any world.

"Naomi," I said, without looking away from Belle.

Naomi’s breath caught. I heard it from ten feet away, carried on the same breeze that moved the wildflowers.

"Come here and watch."