Beast Gacha System: All Mine

Angela woke in her old room, not the dungeon, and the strange sensation of it hit her like a wave. It had been a couple of days, but she was still not used to ’freedom’.

The bed beneath her was just too soft, the sheets clean and smelling of lavender instead of damp stone. The air was warm, not cold and wet.

There were no bars, no chains, no distant drip of water echoing through the dark. Just the quiet of a royal chamber at dawn, and the faint, gray light filtering through the heavy curtains.

She stretched slowly, her body still expecting the hard cot and the rough blanket. Her eyes were bleary with sleep, her mind sluggish, still hovering somewhere between dreams and waking.

It didn’t feel real. It felt like one of those dreams where she was free to roam the world, and then she would wake to the cold iron and the flickering torchlight.

But the sheets were real. The warmth was real. Until—

Her fingers brushed against something solid and warm in the bed beside her.

Angela flinched. She sat up in alarm, her heart lurching into her throat. Her hand flew to her chest as she turned, eyes wide, squinting into the dimness of the room.

A man. There was a man lying beside her. In her bed. In her old room. The shock was so complete that for a moment she forgot how to breathe. She opened her mouth to scream—

And then she saw his face.

"Stevan...?"

Her heart hammered against her ribs. The scream died in her throat.

Stevan. Her... Stevan?

The warden who had guarded her cell. The man who had looked at her with those green eyes while her world crumbled.

This man was the only man in the world she had teased and tormented the most. But still.

How could he—how could he be here?!

He was asleep. Or at least, he appeared to be. His face was relaxed, softer than she had ever seen it. The hard lines of his jaw, the perpetual tension in his brow, gone.

Angela’s mind raced. Had she invited him? No. She would have remembered that. Wouldn’t she?

She should wake him and demand answers. She should do something other than sit here staring at him like a lovesick fool, right?

"Stevan... what are you doing here?"

That was when the smell finally hit her.

Alcohol?!

Her mind reeled.

This... How much did he drink?!

No. To her knowledge, this man barely ever touched alcohol. Ever. He was the kind of man who treated his body like a fortress, never letting anything cloud his judgment or slow his reflexes.

He was the greatest warden in the continent, the one they called when no one else could hold a prisoner, the one who had been assigned to her because no one else was strong enough to keep her.

And now he was here, in her room, in the imperial palace, having slipped past guards and servants and every layer of security, clearly, dangerously, impossibly drunk.

This just proved the legends true. The sheer skill of it was terrifying—

Blink.

Hearing her voice, his eyes finally opened. They were the green she had always loved. He rubbed his face with a nonchalance that made her breath catch, as if waking up in a princess’s bed after sneaking through the entire palace was the most ordinary thing in the world.

In her eyes, he was the most handsome man alive. He always had been. Even now, like this, with alcohol on his breath and something dark in the set of his jaw.

"Why else?" he asked, and his words were steady despite the heavy stench of drink. "I’m here to bring a runaway criminal back where she belongs."

Before Angela could react, Stevan pushed her down onto the bed. Her back hit the mattress, and suddenly he was above her, caging her in with his body.

She looked up at him, stunned into silence. She couldn’t tell if he was drunk or not. His eyes were too clear, but cold. Much colder than the eyes she had come to know during those long months in the dungeon.

These eyes were different, like a storm waiting to break.

She blushed despite herself. This man had never behaved this way. Not even when she had thrown herself at him, not even when he had given in to her with those reluctant, burning hands.

He had always held something back. Always kept a wall between them. But now that wall was completely gone, and she didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified.

...both?

"Stevan..." she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "You’re drunk..."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Angela had spent years in that dungeon, watching him, testing him, pressing her fingertips against the glass of his control just to see if it would crack. She had succeeded in chipping it over and over and over again. But never... never like this!

Could it be... finally...?

He was here now, reeking of ale, with his cold green eyes and his stark white haired temples and his expression the most unreadable it had ever been.

"I know," he said, and lowered his head until his lips almost brushed her ear. "But I’m still the only one who can catch you."

He licked her ear, and her eyes rolled to the back of her skull as his whisper followed, "...right?"

Griiiiiiiiiiiiiiind...

Angela’s whole body shivered as she felt him grinding against her. Slowly. Very, very slowly.

The heat of him, the weight of him, and that hardness pressing against her through the thin fabric of her nightgown—it stole the breath from her lungs.

How could he be such a different man when drunk?

The restrained, disciplined warden she knew had been replaced by a dark, ravenous creature. A beast that made every nerve in her body sing with anticipation.

Angela wasn’t Angela if she didn’t seize this chance. Her hands immediately roamed downward, desperate, trembling, trying to free him from the confines of his clothes.

Her heart pounded louder and louder, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he used his tongue and lips to stimulate her neck, trailing heat up and down her throat. Each flick of his tongue against her skin sent a jolt of electricity down her spine.

She could barely think. She didn’t want to think.

"Stevan... Stevan... I want it inside... Now... Now..." She begged.

But instead of granting her wish, Stevan caught her hands. He pulled away just enough to look down at her, and when his green eyes met hers, they were so cold they made her freeze.

Yet her body only grew hotter because of that.

Those eyes. She knew those eyes. They only came out when he was inside that cell with her, deep inside her, thrusting like there was no tomorrow, right after sending his prison guard subordinates away.

It came out... this quickly?

Angela was desperate now. So desperate that she pulled the hand holding hers tightly closer to her cunt, already wet and nearly ready for him. With a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, she ground her slick slit over his knuckles, her eyes wide and pleading.

"You’ve caught me, Warden... Y-you should punish me... right?"

Stevan’s jaw tightened. Something flickered in those cold green eyes, and then he moved. His free hand came down to grip her hip, hard enough to bruise, while the other pulled free of her grasp only to slide down her body, fingers finding her soaked entrance with an ease that made her gasp.

"Since when," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "did a criminal get to beg for punishment?"

Before she could answer, he pushed two fingers inside her, curling them just so, and Angela’s back arched off the bed with a cry.

"Ah!"

The sudden stretch, the pressure, the way he immediately set a punishing rhythm, it was too much and not nearly enough all at once. Her hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

"Stevan—ah—please—"

"Please what?" he rasped against her throat, teeth grazing her pulse. "Please let you cum? Or please fuck you properly?"

"Both," she sobbed, her hips bucking against his hand. "Both, both—please, Warden—"

He pulled his fingers out just as she was about to tip over the edge, and the loss was so sudden, so devastating, that she nearly screamed.

But then he was fumbling with his belt, freeing his cock, and the sight of it, thick and flushed and already leaking, made her mouth water despite her desperation.

"Spread your legs," he commanded. "Show me how sorry you are, Your Highness."

And Angela, the notorious criminal princess of the empire, did exactly as she was told. She spread her legs wide, exposing herself completely, and looked up at him with eyes full of want.

"I’m not sorry," she whispered. "And you wouldn’t want me to be."

Stevan frowned. Even this frown was the most handsome frown Angela had ever seen in a man. "No," he agreed. "I wouldn’t."

SLAM!

He sank into her in one brutal thrust, and the world went white.

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