Chapter 488 | The Coroner’s Report

Chapter 488: 488 | The Coroner’s Report

Belle wrapped her legs around my waist and her ankles locked behind my back. The new angle let me hit a spot inside her that made her vocabulary reduce to a single syllable repeated at increasing volume and decreasing coherence. Her inner walls squeezed rhythmically around me, working the shaft with contractions that threatened to end this whole operation earlier than planned.

I reached between us and found her clit with my thumb. Three circles. A press. Two more circles. The specific combination I’d documented during our first session in the Sanctum when Belle had been angry and resistant and fully clothed until she wasn’t.

Belle came with a sound that started in her chest and finished somewhere past the penthouse ceiling, her body seizing around me in violent spasms while milk erupted from both breasts with enough force to splash against my chin and jaw. Her nails tore parallel lines down my upper back, adding fresh wounds to the collection Addison and Naomi had already contributed. Through the Sensory Hijack the pain became incandescent pleasure that radiated from my spine through my pelvis and threatened to pull me over the edge with her.

I held. Barely. By sheer stubbornness and the knowledge that this woman had spent seventy-two hours writing my coroner’s report at three in the morning because she thought I was dead, and she deserved every second of the attention she was demanding.

Belle’s orgasm rolled through her in waves that lasted almost twenty seconds. I counted. Not because the System tracked it, but because watching Belle Fox lose control was the kind of spectacle that warranted scientific observation. Her blue hair had gone dark with sweat and stuck to the pillow in tendrils. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. Her thighs trembled where they gripped my hips.

"Two," I said.

Belle opened one eye. "You counted."

"You said one orgasm was a handshake. Is two worship, or do I need to keep going?"

"Keep going." She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my face close enough that our noses bumped. "And if you come before I do, I’m adding a late fee to the emotional damages tax."

I laughed against her mouth and she kissed the laugh away, biting my bottom lip in the process. I tasted copper and butterscotch and the specific combination of those two flavors had become so associated with Belle in my brain that I would never encounter butterscotch candy again without getting half hard.

I pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach before she could argue. Belle made an indignant sound that died when I grabbed her hips and lifted them, positioning her on her knees with her face against the pillow and her ass in the air. The city light turned her spine into a topographic map of shadows and gold. I could see everything from this angle. The soaked mess between her thighs. The milk running from her nipples and dripping onto the sheets beneath her. The way her shoulder blades shifted as she gripped the pillow and braced for what she knew was coming.

I pushed back inside her from behind and Belle moaned into Egyptian cotton worth more than her monthly stipend. The angle was deeper and she felt it, her back curving downward to take more of me. I set a harder pace this time, the kind of pace that made the headboard tap the wall in steady percussion, each impact sending a small vibration through the bed that Belle’s oversensitized body registered as additional stimulus.

Euphoric Feedback at level nine. Sensory Hijack still running on touch.

Belle’s entire body started shaking. Her elbows gave out and she collapsed from hands-and-knees to chest-on-mattress, her face turned sideways on the pillow with her mouth open and her eyes squeezed shut and her blue hair plastered across her face in wet strings. Milk pooled beneath her, the sheets now thoroughly ruined, the white cotton dark with spreading stains. Her hands found the far edge of the mattress and gripped it for leverage as I drove into her from behind.

"Say my name," I told her.

"No."

"Say it."

"Absolutely not. I refuse. You do not get to hear me say your name while you’re—" She broke off when I spanked her right cheek hard enough to leave a handprint visible in the city light, the sound cracking through the penthouse and bouncing off plate glass. "Jace."

"Again."

"Jace." Quieter this time. Private. The version of my name that existed only in dark rooms and ruined sheets between two people who had learned each other’s bodies by accident and kept showing up on purpose.

I leaned forward over her back and reached beneath her to cup her left breast, squeezing until milk ran between my fingers and dripped onto the pillow below. With my other hand I found her clit and applied pressure, direct and unrelenting, while my hips maintained the rhythm that had been building her toward the edge for the past five minutes.

Belle’s third orgasm hit her like a wave crashing into a seawall. Her entire body locked rigid, every muscle from her calves to her jaw contracting simultaneously. The sound she produced was not a scream, not a moan, not a word. The sound was something older and more honest than language, torn from the same place where Belle stored the memory of iron sconces and a mother’s overtime checks and the specific loneliness of being pretty enough that everyone wants something from you but nobody wants to know you.

I came inside her at the same moment. Couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to. The resonance between us through the graft, through the Euphoric Feedback, through six weeks of proximity and extraction and the quiet accumulation of genuine feeling that neither of us had planned for, that resonance pulled my climax out of me with the same force that was still rolling through Belle. I buried myself deep and held there while my body emptied and the System pinged with a notification I couldn’t read through the white haze behind my eyes.

When the world reconstructed itself from fragments, Belle lay flat on the destroyed bed with my weight on top of her and my face against her shoulder. Her breathing came in ragged bursts. The city burned outside the windows, indifferent to everything we’d done in its reflected light.

"Two down," I murmured into her skin.