Chapter 339 | The Rhythm of the Bell [GT BONUS]
Chapter 339: 339 | The Rhythm of the Bell [GT BONUS]
Naomi’s entire body seized. Her legs came up and locked around my waist, her heels digging into my lower back through the basketball shorts. The pressure of her thighs against my ribs was considerable. This girl hauled in fishing nets for a living before she started blasting spiral energy beams at cave monsters. Her squeeze made my floating ribs creak.
"Jace." My name came out of her mouth soaked in something between prayer and accusation. "Don’t stop."
I increased to six. Kept drinking. Switched to the left breast and repositioned the bottle beneath the right. Naomi’s milk production ramped up with her arousal in a direct correlation the System rewarded me for exploiting. The faster her heart beat, the more milk flowed, and the more pleasure I channeled into her nervous system, the faster her heart beat. A feedback loop that would have made any biologist deeply uncomfortable and any economist deeply jealous.
\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]
\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]
The first bottle filled. I capped it and set it on the nightstand, then grabbed the second.
Naomi’s fingers tightened in my hair. Her hips rolled against nothing because I’d kept my body positioned to the side, close enough to drink from her but not close enough to give her the contact she was grinding toward.
"You’re doing that on purpose." Her voice was ragged.
"Doing what?"
"Keeping your hips away from mine."
"I need to fill the bottles first."
"I hate you."
"No you don’t."
"I hate you so much that when you finally get inside me I’m going to break your back."
I bit the underside of her breast. Not gently. Naomi yelped, then moaned, then grabbed my shoulders with both hands and pulled me on top of her with a strength that caught me off guard despite everything I knew about her physical stats. Her legs uncrossed and spread, and she locked her ankles behind my ass and pulled my hips down against hers with a grinding pressure that made both of us groan.
The cow-print panties were soaked through. The heat of her bled through the fabric and through my shorts and the contact made my vision blur at the edges.
I kept drinking. Kept filling the bottle. Naomi kept grinding against me with the desperation of someone who’d been watching Belle orgasm on a porch railing for five minutes and had spent those five minutes with her hand between her own legs without reaching the peak she needed.
Second bottle filled. Two hundred total. Two days of life, liquid and warm, sitting in glass on the nightstand.
I capped it and set it down.
Then I sat up, hooked my fingers into the waistband of Naomi’s cow-print panties, and pulled them down her thighs, over the lace tops of the stockings, past her knees, off her ankles, and tossed them across the room where they landed on a rocking chair near the window.
Naomi lay on the white sheets wearing only the thigh-high stockings, the choker with its silver bell, and her mother’s shell necklace. Her legs fell open with zero hesitation. Zero apology. Zero of the stammering, blushing, fragile Naomi that the rest of the world saw.
This version of Naomi looked at me like she knew exactly what she wanted and was furious I hadn’t given it to her already.
"Come here."
I pulled my shorts down and kicked them off the bed. Her eyes tracked the motion with open interest that she didn’t bother hiding. When I positioned myself between her thighs, Naomi reached down and wrapped her hand around me, guiding me to her entrance with a directness that she’d never shown during our first weeks together.
Her grip was firm. Confident. The girl who once asked permission to sit next to me in class was now positioning my cock against her body with the same focus she applied to targeting Crawlers in a gate.
People change. Or maybe they just stop pretending.
I pressed forward and Naomi’s breath punched out of her as I sank in. She was wet enough that the first two inches met no resistance, and the heat was immediate and consuming and completely unfair because I needed to last long enough to fill her with enough to activate the Gold buff and then still have the endurance to repeat the process with Belle.
The math of being a milk vampire was genuinely ridiculous sometimes.
Naomi’s walls clenched around me as I bottomed out, and the bell on her choker rang as her back arched, and her hands found my shoulders and her nails dug into muscle that hadn’t existed a month ago.
I started moving.
Slow at first. Long strokes that let Naomi feel every inch, that gave her body time to adjust and respond and produce the milk that was already leaking from both nipples and running down the sides of her breasts in warm white trails that darkened the sheets beneath her.
I lowered my mouth to her right breast and drank while I fucked her.
This was the real trick. The thing that separated a normal extraction from the kind that maxed devotion meters and produced Gold-tier buffs. The combination of penetration and extraction created a biofeedback response that the System amplified through Euphoric Feedback, turning two separate sources of pleasure into something that exceeded the sum of its parts.
Naomi’s body clenched and released in rhythm with my thrusts. Each stroke pushed milk from her breasts in small spurts that I caught with my mouth, each mouthful triggering the twenty-five point notification while her inner walls milked me in a parallel rhythm that made my abs tighten and my breathing turn ragged.
\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]
I increased my pace. Naomi’s moans climbed in pitch, and her hands slid from my shoulders to my back, nails dragging red lines across skin that was already marked from Addison’s rougher treatment the night before.
"Harder." Naomi’s voice came from somewhere deeper than her usual register. The fisherman’s daughter who apologized for existing was gone. The woman beneath me demanded what she wanted with the authority of someone who had learned that asking nicely was optional when the person above you responded better to commands.
I gave her harder.
The bed frame protested. The headboard tapped the whitewashed wall in a steady percussion that matched the rhythm of my hips. Naomi’s bell rang with every thrust, a tiny silver sound that punctuated each impact of my body against hers.
I reached between us and found her clit with my thumb, circling in the pattern I’d learned over three weeks of mapping every response her body produced. She sucked in a breath through her teeth and her legs came up higher, her thigh-highs warm against my ribs, the lace bands rough against my skin.
"Jace. I’m close."
"Already?"
"Don’t you dare judge me right now."