Chapter 479 | Resentment Prevents Orgasms

Chapter 479: 479 | Resentment Prevents Orgasms

Addison’s shirt hit the stone floor before anyone could form a coherent objection.

"Wait," Belle said.

Addison paused with her fingers on the second button, which was already undone because Addison’s relationship with clothing operated on a consent-optional basis. "What."

"We haven’t established parameters."

"Belle, I swear to God, if you turn this into a committee meeting I will manifest both scythes and cut this entire cliff in half."

"I’m not turning it into a committee meeting. I’m turning it into an organized experience with clear expectations and measurable outcomes." Belle had produced a small notebook from somewhere on her body that should not have been able to conceal a notebook, and she was already writing. "We have four hours of internal time thanks to the dilation. That’s sixty minutes per person if we divide equally, which we should, because fairness prevents resentment and resentment prevents orgasms."

"She said orgasms with a straight face," Addison told Aurora. "Your boyfriend’s other girlfriend just said orgasms like she was reading a grocery list."

"Belle processes everything through spreadsheets," Aurora said. "It’s how she copes."

"It’s how I optimize."

Naomi raised her hand.

Everyone looked at her.

"I just... the beach." Naomi lowered her hand halfway. "The beach outside. Can we use that. Because I’ve been thinking about it since we landed and the water looks really warm and I’ve never done anything on a beach before and I think the sand would be nice and the sunset is permanent so the lighting would be—" She stopped herself, cheeks turning a shade of pink that matched the streaks in her hair. "Sorry. That was a lot of words."

"That was adorable and I’m furious about it," Addison said. "But no. Beach sand gets into places that sand should never be. Trust me."

"You’ve had sex on a beach?"

"I’ve had sand in my underwear for three days after a training exercise in the simulation dome. Close enough. The answer is no beaches. We need a proper dungeon."

Belle’s pen stopped moving. "A what."

"A dungeon. Chains. Leather. Red lighting. Maybe some of those wall-mounted restraint things with the padded cuffs. I saw a catalog once." Addison cracked her lollipop between her molars and grinned, all teeth and violence and genuine enthusiasm. "If milk boy over there is going to make me hit three peaks in one session, I want to be tied to something when it happens so I don’t accidentally put my fist through a wall."

"You want a sex dungeon," Belle said, writing this down.

"I want a sex dungeon."

"In the magical pocket dimension that our shared boyfriend built from our childhood memories."

"Yes."

"Noted." Belle underlined something twice. "I want a penthouse. High floor. City skyline. Real bath. Candles that aren’t in iron sconces shaped like my dead mother’s kitchen, because I’m going to need approximately forty-five minutes to recover from that emotional ambush before I can function sexually." She shot me a look that could have stripped paint from a warship. "Floor-to-ceiling windows. King bed with actual thread count. Champagne in a bucket. Something that feels expensive because the entire point of sleeping with someone in a pocket dimension is that the pocket dimension can be expensive and I refuse to apologize for wanting nice things."

"That’s very on brand for you," Aurora said.

"My brand is survival through aesthetic standards and I will not compromise."

Aurora stretched her arms above her head, the movement pulling her crop top high enough to flash the smooth skin of her lower stomach and the thin gold chain around her waist that caught the permanent sunset light. Her orange hair spilled across her shoulders in loose curls and her green eyes had that specific quality where the playful spark had burned down to something slower and more focused, a pilot light rather than a firework.

"I want a classroom," Aurora said.

Silence.

"A classroom," Belle repeated.

"With a door that doesn’t lock. And a window that looks out onto a hallway. And desks, actual desks, the uncomfortable wooden kind with the fold-out writing surfaces." Aurora sat on the stone railing with one leg crossed over the other, completely casual about the two hundred foot drop behind her. "I want the possibility that someone could walk in. That a teacher could open the door. That we might have to stop."

"Nobody can walk in," I said. "It’s a private dimension."

"I know nobody can actually walk in. That’s why I want the illusion of it. The architecture of getting caught without the consequences." She dragged one finger along the railing. "Prohibition makes everything taste better. Ask any Texan about liquor laws."

"You want to role-play getting caught having sex in a classroom," Addison said, "while we are currently inside a magical sex dimension located on a cliff above a fake ocean."

"I want what I want. Sue me."

"I might."

"You can’t afford the filing fees."

The four of them looked at me.

This was the part where the old version of Jace Monroe would have run calculations. Four women, four preferences, four distinct environments, limited time, limited mana, maximum chaos. The System would suggest optimal sequencing based on devotion tiers and extraction yields. The smart play would be to prioritize whoever provided the highest point return per minute, stack the buffs in order of combat relevance, and treat the entire experience like a gate clear with orgasms instead of monster cores.

I had seven thousand points of proof that this approach works and six dead predecessors as proof that it eventually kills you.

"Ladies," I said.

They continued staring.

"The Sanctum changes environments on command. I built an entire cliff in thirty seconds. The beach, the penthouse, the classroom, the dungeon. They all exist the moment I think about them. I just have to rebuild the space between sessions." I leaned against one of the dark wooden pillars and crossed my arms. "So the question isn’t what we do. It’s who goes first."

Four mouths opened.

"Not all at once."

Four mouths closed.