Divine Milking System

Chapter 295: 295 | The Center of the Web

She reached up and touched the collar of my leather jacket. Not grabbing or pulling, just resting her fingertips against the material with enough contact to remind me that I was still wearing it. Still dressed. Still technically capable of leaving if I possessed the willpower of a monk and the survival instincts of someone who’d never seen Aurora smile.

"Addison’s asleep," I pointed out.

"Addison’s going to be asleep for hours. She doesn’t do anything halfway, including unconsciousness." Aurora’s fingers moved from my collar to the zipper, pulling it down with the slow precision of someone opening a present. "Besides, she knows about us. She’s known since the ferry."

"Known what about us?"

"That you drink from me. That I let you. That we both enjoy it more than we probably should." The jacket fell off my shoulders and landed on the floor behind me. "That I’ve been planning this since the first time you looked at my chest and tried to pretend you hadn’t."

"I’m very good at pretending."

"You’re terrible at pretending. You just think you’re good because most people are too polite to call you on it."

She was right, but admitting it would have damaged my carefully maintained reputation for tactical brilliance.

Aurora stepped back into her room, moving in reverse with the kind of balance that came from dance training or combat experience or both. The nightgown shifted with each step, silk catching light and shadow in ways that made geometry look like art. She didn’t turn around or break eye contact or give me any excuse to pretend this was happening by accident.

I followed her inside and closed the door behind me. freёwebnoѵel.com

Aurora’s room reflected the same aesthetic sensibilities as the rest of the apartment, but with personal touches that revealed more about her than she usually allowed. Books scattered across surfaces, romance novels mixed with combat theory mixed with what looked like advanced mathematics texts. A desk covered in notes written in handwriting too neat to belong to someone who solved problems through violence. Photographs pinned to a bulletin board showing Aurora and Addison in various states of mayhem, plus a few shots of people I didn’t recognize who shared Aurora’s sharp features and green eyes.

The bed dominated the far wall, queen-sized with cream-colored bedding that looked like it had never encountered a System-issued blanket in its life. Real pillows. Real sheets. Real comfort that came from having money instead of hoping the monthly lottery draw might change your circumstances.

"You’re staring," Aurora said.

"I’m taking inventory."

"Of what?"

"Everything I’m about to ruin."

She laughed, the sound low and warm and completely without the theatrical edge she wore during public performances. This was Aurora’s real laugh, the one she kept for moments when she didn’t need to maintain distance or project invulnerability.

"You’re not going to ruin anything. You’re going to make it better."

She reached for the straps of her nightgown, and the world narrowed to the movement of her fingers and the whisper of silk against skin. The fabric pooled at her feet in a puddle of pale green that looked like water in moonlight.

Aurora stood naked in the middle of her bedroom, backlit by the lamp on her nightstand, and every coherent thought I’d possessed evacuated my skull like it was on fire.

She was perfect. Not perfect in the artificial way of someone who’d been photoshopped into compliance with mathematical ratios, but perfect in the way that made you forget why you’d ever looked at anyone else. Curves that belonged on statues designed to start wars. Skin that caught light like it had been specifically calibrated for the purpose. Legs that went on for geological time periods before connecting to hips that moved like music when she walked.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" she asked.

"I’m considering it. The view’s pretty good from here."

"The view gets better closer up."

She was right about that too, but admitting it would have required speaking, which would have required remembering how language worked.

Aurora moved toward me with the unhurried confidence of someone who’d never doubted the outcome of this particular encounter. She stopped just close enough that I could smell her perfume, something light and floral that mixed with the warmer scent of her skin. Close enough to see the small scar above her left eyebrow from some childhood adventure. Close enough to count the freckles scattered across her collarbone like constellation points.

"Second thoughts?" she asked.

"Third and fourth thoughts. Maybe fifth."

"About?"

"Whether I’m making good decisions or terrible ones."

"Does it matter?"

She reached up and touched my face, her palm warm against my cheek. Her thumb traced the line of my jaw, and I realized I’d stopped breathing sometime in the last thirty seconds.

"Aurora."

"Yes?"

"You orchestrated this entire night."

"I did."

"You manipulated me and Addison into sleeping together."

"I facilitated. There’s a difference."

"You planned for me to end up here. In your room. At midnight. With you wearing nothing but good intentions."

"I planned for you to have choices. You could have gone home. You could have stayed in the guest room with Addison. You could have told me no when I asked if you were too full." Her thumb moved to my bottom lip, tracing the edge with pressure light enough to qualify as torture. "But you didn’t do any of those things."

"No, I didn’t."

"So what are you going to do?"

I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her against me, feeling the warmth of her body through my shirt. She fit against me like she’d been custom-designed for the purpose, her head tilting back to maintain eye contact as I held her.

"I’m going to drink from you until you forget your own name."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I kissed her, tasting strawberry lip gloss and wine and something that belonged entirely to Aurora. She kissed me back with enthusiasm that bordered on desperation, like she’d been waiting for this moment since the first time we’d shared space on a couch.

When I pulled back, her eyes had gone dark and her breathing had shifted into something deeper, more deliberate.

"How long do we have?" I asked.

"Until you decide to leave."

"That could be a while."

"I was counting on it."