Chapter 337 | The Monster’s Technique [GT BONUS]
Chapter 337: 337 | The Monster’s Technique [GT BONUS]
The grass whispered as Naomi walked closer. She stopped at the base of the porch steps, close enough to see everything, far enough to maintain the illusion that she was just observing.
Her pink eyes locked onto the place where Belle’s thighs met my body, and her tongue moved across her lower lip in a motion so brief that anyone else would have missed it entirely.
Belle’s attention split between my face and whatever she could read in Naomi’s expression over my shoulder. "She’s blushing."
"She’s always blushing."
"This is different blushing. This is the blushing she does when she wants something but can’t figure out how to ask for it without apologizing first."
I leaned close to Belle’s ear. "Then let’s give her something worth watching."
I reached behind Belle’s back and unclasped the cow-print bra with one hand, the kind of move that required either extensive practice or the kind of confidence that comes from spending a night with a woman who manifests death scythes and demands you match her intensity or get the fuck out.
Three weeks ago I would have fumbled the clasp for fifteen seconds while Belle made sarcastic commentary about my manual dexterity.
Tonight the fabric separated, the straps slipped down her arms, and Belle’s breasts swung free into the warm evening air of a pocket dimension that existed solely because a divine entity with a perverted sense of humor decided I deserved a second chance at life.
Belle’s nipples were already hard. Not from cold. There was no cold here. Just the breeze and the anticipation of a body that had learned what happened when my mouth found those specific points of contact.
I didn’t start with her chest.
That was the old move. The default. Walk up, grab the tits, start drinking. Efficient. Predictable. Something Belle could anticipate and armor against because she’d been through the process enough times to build a mental framework around it.
Instead I dropped to my knees on the porch.
Belle’s thighs tensed on either side of my head. Her hands found the railing behind her, knuckles whitening against the painted wood. I pressed my mouth against the inside of her left thigh, just above the lace band of the stocking, and kissed the warm skin there with the kind of deliberate slowness that I knew from experience made Belle’s brain short-circuit faster than any level of Euphoric Feedback.
"Monroe." Her voice came out thin. "What are you doing?"
I bit the inside of her thigh. Not hard. Hard enough. The mark would sit there for hours, a bruise shaped like my teeth on skin that the cow-print panties would cover when she stood up but that she’d feel with every step tomorrow during the gate run.
Belle’s whole body jerked forward. Her bell rang.
I hooked my fingers into the waistband of those ridiculous cow-print panties and pulled them to one side without removing them, because removing them would mean losing the visual and the visual was too good to sacrifice for convenience. Belle was already wet.
The kind of ready that came from walking across campus in lingerie beneath a hoodie while knowing what was about to happen, from standing in a field designed specifically for her and hearing me call her my cow in a voice that carried no shame and all of the possession she pretended she didn’t want.
I activated Euphoric Feedback at level six.
Belle’s spine went rigid. Her hips bucked forward off the railing, seeking contact that I deliberately withheld by pulling back two inches. Her fingers released the railing and grabbed my hair instead, pulling with the kind of force that blurred the line between direction and desperation.
From the base of the steps, Naomi made a sound. Small. Private. The sound of a woman watching another woman fall apart and discovering that the spectacle produced a physical response she hadn’t expected to feel this intensely.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Naomi stood at the bottom of the porch steps with one hand pressed between her own thighs, her fingers working against the cow-print fabric in slow circles that she probably thought were subtle but absolutely were not.
Her pink eyes were enormous, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with breaths that had nothing to do with physical exertion and everything to do with the fact that she was watching me take Belle apart with my mouth six feet away from her and her body had decided that watching was just as devastating as participating.
Good.
I turned back to Belle and stopped teasing. My mouth found her center and I heard the exact moment her self-control snapped because the sound she made scared a flock of birds out of a tree that didn’t exist in a field that wasn’t real under a sky painted by a System that ran on orgasms and stolen milk. Belle’s thighs clamped against the sides of my head.
Her fingers twisted in my hair until my scalp burned. Her bell rang and rang and rang as her body rocked against my face with the frantic rhythm of someone who’d been wanting this since four-thirty that afternoon and was furious at herself for admitting it.
"Fuck," Belle gasped. "Fuck, Monroe. Fuck."
I increased Euphoric Feedback to seven. Then eight. Then I activated Sensory Hijack and layered taste manipulation over the top, making my tongue feel like melted chocolate and warm honey against her most sensitive nerve endings while my actual technique remained the same aggressive pattern that had made her scream in the hotel room three nights ago.
Belle came so hard she fell backward off the railing.
I caught her before she hit the porch boards, one arm hooked behind her back, her body convulsing against mine as the orgasm rolled through her in waves that made the bell on her choker swing like a pendulum.
Milk beaded at both nipples and ran in thin white lines down the curves of her chest, dripping onto my arm and the porch boards and the evening air that smelled like grass and sex and something sweeter underneath that I’d learned to associate with Bronze-tier essence at peak quality.
Belle’s eyes rolled back before finding my face again. Unfocused. Glazed. Her mouth worked around words that her lungs couldn’t supply with sufficient air.
"You absolute," she managed. "Fucking. Monster."
At the base of the steps, Naomi’s hand had stopped moving. Her cow-print panties were visibly dark between her thighs.
Her pink eyes held mine with something that had graduated from curiosity past desire into territory that I recognized because I’d seen it on Addison’s face in the seconds before Addison stopped pretending she didn’t want everything I could give her.
I laid Belle gently on the porch boards and stood. Took two steps down. Offered Naomi my hand.
Her bell chimed once as she took it.