Chapter 483 | Feral Naomi

Chapter 483: 483 | Feral Naomi

I moved up her body slowly. My mouth dragged across the milk trails on her stomach and cleaned them with each pass.

Silver-tier essence flooded my system with each pass. The System pinged points I ignored, because counting them right now felt like checking your phone during a fireworks show.

Naomi’s hands found my shoulders and pulled. Not gently. She had a fisherman’s grip and a fisherman’s daughter’s stubbornness, and when she wanted me somewhere, arguing wasted everyone’s time.

I let her drag me up until my mouth reached her left breast again. Milk beaded fresh at the nipple, and I sealed my lips around it and pulled.

The taste of her flooded my throat, vanilla and warmth and that thing underneath I still didn’t have words for after six weeks of drinking it. Naomi’s back arched into my mouth. Her fingers threaded my hair and held me against her chest like she was worried I might leave.

I wasn’t going anywhere. The Sanctum had four hours of dilated time and I intended to spend all of it exactly here.

My free hand slid back down between her thighs. She was drenched, slick and swollen from her first orgasm, her body already climbing again because Euphoric Feedback left residue in the nervous system that made everything after it hit harder.

I pushed two fingers inside her. Naomi’s whole body jolted.

"Jace." My name broke in the middle. Her hips rolled down against my hand, seeking more, and I gave it to her, curling my fingers up to find the spot that made her forget consonants existed.

She found it hard enough to prove I’d remembered right. Naomi’s thighs squeezed my wrist, her heels digging into the towel, milk flowing faster into my mouth as her arousal climbed and her body linked the two responses together in a loop the graft was built to exploit.

I drank steadily. Each pull sent a fresh point notification and another jet of milk that I swallowed before it could escape. My fingers worked inside her, slow then fast then slow again, never letting her settle into a pattern she could brace against.

The pavilion behind us had gone quiet. I registered it distantly, the absence of Belle’s commentary and Addison’s profanity. Three women watching in silence meant three women no longer treating this like a game they’d argued their way into.

I filed that away and gave Naomi my mouth again.

She was shaking now, the fine tremor that meant she was close. Her hand left my hair and found her own breast, the one I wasn’t drinking from, and she squeezed. Milk sprayed across my cheek. She made a sound that was half apology and half something feral, and I decided I liked feral Naomi more than every version of her the rest of the school got to see.

"You’re going to come again," I told her against her skin. Not a question. A schedule.

"I know." Her voice had gone thin and high. "I know, I can feel it, don’t stop, please, please, please."

Naomi Love said please the way other people prayed. Like she’d learned early that asking nicely was the only leverage she had, and old habits died hard even when I’d made it clear she could demand anything she wanted from me and I’d hand it over before she finished the sentence.

I pressed harder inside her and sucked her nipple in the same motion.

Level seven Euphoric Feedback.

Naomi shattered.

Her orgasm rolled through her in a wave. It started behind her navel and spread outward. Her stomach muscles rippled. Her thighs clamped shut. Milk erupted from both breasts in a spray that hit the black sand, the navy towel, and me.

She screamed my name into the fake ocean air and the cove threw it back and her body arched so high I got a full second of watching every line of her strain against the golden light.

I rode it out. Fingers still moving. Mouth still working. Drinking her through the aftershocks until her legs stopped kicking and her scream trailed into a whimper and her hand slapped weakly at my shoulder because she’d hit the edge of too much.

I released her nipple and pulled my fingers free. Naomi collapsed into the towel, boneless, her chest heaving, milk pooling in the dips of her collarbones and running down her ribs onto the sand.

"That’s two," I said.

She made a sound that wasn’t a word.

I sat back on my heels and looked at her. Naomi sprawled across a black sand beach that existed because I’d listened, her pink hair a disaster, her skin painted gold and wet, her eyes rolled halfway back and her mouth open around breaths she was fighting to control. Her thighs still trembled. A line of milk trickled from her left nipple with each exhale.

The graft in my chest hummed at ninety-seven percent and climbing toward something the numbers couldn’t measure.

"You’re staring." Her voice came out wrecked.

"Yeah."

"Why." She managed to lift her head an inch. "I look destroyed."

I leaned down and kissed the shell necklace resting against her sternum. "That’s why."

Naomi laughed, breathless and cracked, and then the laugh turned into a groan when I slid my hand back between her legs. Her whole body flinched.

"Jace, I can’t, I just, it’s too much, I need a—"

"You need one more." I kept my hand still, palm flat against her, not moving. Just present. Letting her feel the promise without the pressure. "System says three. I don’t make the rules."

"You literally make all the rules in here," she gasped. "You built a beach from my childhood, you absolute—"

I circled her clit with my thumb once and her sentence dissolved.

Her hips chased the contact before her brain caught up. That was the thing about Naomi. Her body had stopped negotiating around week three. Her mouth said too much and her hips said more and I’d learned to listen to the honest one.

I stripped off my shorts. Naomi’s eyes tracked the motion and something shifted in her expression, the exhaustion burning off and being replaced by that focused hunger she only wore in here, the one that made her look like she was aiming a Wave Motion blast instead of lying wrecked on a towel.

"Come here," she said. Same words as before. Different meaning entirely.

I settled between her thighs. She reached down and guided me herself, her fingers wrapping around me and lining us up with the confidence of someone who’d stopped being nervous about this a long time ago. Her pink eyes locked onto mine.

"Slow," she whispered. "The first part."

I pushed in slow.

Naomi’s breath left her in a long shaking exhale as I filled her inch by inch, her body stretching to take me, her nails finding my back and pressing into muscle that hadn’t existed six weeks ago. She was tight and hot and slick from two orgasms, and the sound she made when I bottomed out was one I’d heard in the farmhouse and again in her dorm and it never got less devastating.

I held still. Let her adjust. Kissed her jaw, her throat, the corner of her mouth.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay. Move."