My Scumbag System

Chapter 603: Hola, Kuzmina

I palmed the weight of her. Full and warm, the nipple already a hard point pressing into the center of my hand. She was bigger than the bra had suggested, that black lace compressing what nature had provided generously. I kneaded gently and her back arched, pressing more of herself into my grip.

"Harder."

I squeezed with more intention. Rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Her mouth opened and a sound escaped that she clearly hadn’t authorized, loud enough that it bounced off the walls of her private suite.

"Mierda," she hissed. Then quieter, almost to herself, "That’s good. That’s really good."

I lowered my head and took her other breast into my mouth. Swirled my tongue around the darkened peak. Her hand shot to the back of my head and fisted in my hair, holding me in place as her hips stuttered and her walls clenched around me hard enough to blur my vision.

"Don’t stop. Don’t stop don’t stop don’t—"

I didn’t stop.

Alternated between tongue and teeth. Gentle and firm. Kissed the soft underside of her breast where the skin was lighter, almost cream colored. Drew a line with my tongue from one nipple to the other while she rocked above me and made sounds that La Sirena would never make on camera because La Sirena didn’t actually exist. This girl did. This foul-mouthed, anime-watching, magical-girl-loving disaster who’d never been kissed before last week.

Her pace changed. The languid rolls gave way to something more urgent. Her thighs tightened against my hips. Her nails raked down my back in lines that would leave marks Natalia would catalog and add to her punishment ledger.

The pendant burned against my chest like a brand.

Part of me registered the guilt. Filed it in the ever-growing cabinet labeled "consequences I’ll deal with later." The rest of me was consumed by the woman in my arms who had started trembling from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet.

"I’m close," she gasped. "Already. How am I already—"

"The Nectar. It amplifies everything."

"It’s not just the stupid Nectar." She grabbed my face with both hands. Held me still. Her green eyes were glazed and desperate and achingly honest. "It’s you. You’re looking at me like I matter."

"You do matter."

"Then prove it. Make me finish. I want to feel it with you."

I grabbed her hips and took control. Lifted her and brought her back down with a pace that was relentless but not brutal, finding the angle that made her voice crack and sticking with it. She wrapped her arms around my neck and held on as though the world was spinning too fast and I was the only fixed point.

My mouth found her neck. That spot behind her ear where her pulse thrummed against my lips. I kissed it and sucked, leaving a mark that would be visible for days, and she bucked against me with a broken cry that she muffled against my shoulder.

"Tell me," I said against her skin. "Tell me what you feel."

"Full." Her voice was barely there. "I feel full and warm and wanted and I don’t want it to stop, please don’t let it stop—"

I reached between us. Found the swollen bud where our bodies met and circled it with my thumb while maintaining the upward drive of my hips. The double stimulation hit her like a physical blow. Her entire body went rigid in my arms. Her walls clamped down with crushing pressure. Her mouth opened in a silent scream that lasted three heartbeats before sound caught up.

She came apart.

Not the dignified, controlled orgasm of someone managing their image. This was a full-body detonation. Her spine bowed backward until her crimson hair swept the sheets behind her. Her thighs shook violently against my sides. A strangled sound tore from her throat, half Spanish and half wordless, and her nails drew blood from my shoulders in eight parallel lines that stung like paper cuts from hell.

I felt her pulse around me. Rhythmic contractions that pulled at me with an insistence my body couldn’t ignore. The Nectar fed her pleasure back through our contact, flooding my nervous system with an echo of what she experienced, and that feedback loop pushed me past the point of no return.

"Reyna—"

"Inside," she managed through the aftershocks. "Inside me. I want to feel—"

I came. Hard. Deep. Holding her flush against me while my vision tunneled and every muscle in my body locked at once. The release felt like it went on forever, pulse after pulse while she clung to me and made soft, involuntary sounds against my neck.

We stayed like that for a long time.

Connected. Breathing. Her head on my shoulder. My arms around her waist. The pendant an icicle against my breastbone, radiating cold fury from three hundred miles away.

Worth it.

Absolutely, catastrophically, relationship-destroyingly worth it.

Reyna lifted her head eventually. Her makeup was ruined. Mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Lipstick transferred to my neck and chest in several incriminating locations. Her hair was a red explosion that defied geometry.

She looked wrecked and satisfied and softer than I’d ever seen her.

"You’re staring again," she said.

"Can you blame me?"

She smiled. Not the camera smile. Not the competitor’s grin. Just a girl smiling because something good happened to her and she wasn’t used to it. "Nobody’s ever made me feel like that."

"Nobody’s been worthy of you before."

"Corny."

"True though."

She kissed my chin. Then my jaw. Then the hollow of my throat, her lips lingering on the pulse that hammered there. When she pulled back, her expression had shifted into something more thoughtful. More awake.

"The pendant is basically a meat thermometer for your relationship, isn’t it?"

"More or less."

"So Kuzmina felt all of that."

"Every second."

Reyna looked down at the silver snowflake pendant glowing faintly blue against my skin. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t look guilty.

Instead she pressed her lips to the pendant, leaving a lipstick mark on the silver that would probably survive nuclear detonation.

"Hola, Kuzmina," she murmured against the metal. "He’s mine too now."