Divine Milking System

Chapter 421: 421 | The Taste of Post-Coital Responsibility

The System notification bloomed gold at the edge of my vision.

◆ ABILITY THEFT SUCCESSFUL ◆

Target: Addison Baxter (Rank #27, Silver House)

Ability Stolen: \[Reaper’s Edge\]

Starting Rank: Copper

Note: Ability already exists in Library. Duplicate detected. No additional copy created. Existing \[Reaper’s Edge\] retained at Copper Rank.

LIBRARY STATUS: Total Abilities: 5 (unchanged)

I lay on my back on the teacher’s desk beside Addison, both of us staring up at the drop-tile ceiling and its magnificent fluorescent lighting. The math equations from this morning’s pre-calculus class were still visible on the whiteboard in the corner. Someone had drawn a dick on the margin. Quality education.

My lifespan counter climbed with every swallow of the essence still warming my stomach. Two days and fourteen hours. Two days and sixteen hours. Each point was a tiny brick in the wall between me and permanent death, stacking higher with every beat of my heart. The Silver-tier extraction processed through my system like liquid gold being refined into more time, more breathing, more everything that mattered.

Addison hadn’t moved from her spot beside me. Her legs dangled off the edge of the desk, one combat boot on and one lost somewhere beneath a row of student chairs during our more athletic moments. The garter belt had somehow survived everything we’d done to each other.

A testament to either the quality of the lingerie or the resilience of elastic in general. Her black lipstick was completely gone. I’d personally removed it and redistributed it across my chest, my neck, my mouth, the desk surface, probably the chalkboard if I checked closely enough.

The heavy eyeliner had tracked down both cheeks in dark rivers that made her look like a raccoon who’d just had the best night of its life and wasn’t quite ready to process the emotional implications.

Her purple highlights were plastered to her forehead with sweat. The high bun had given up on life entirely somewhere around the second orgasm and now hung at a drunken angle, half-collapsed and held together by sheer stubbornness and a few bobby pins that refused to surrender.

She still had the lollipop stick clenched between her teeth.

The candy itself was long gone, but she kept the stick there out of what I could only assume was habit or oral fixation or some combination of both.

She was beautiful. Genuinely, completely, absolutely beautiful in the specific way that only happens when someone stops performing and starts existing.

"Hey."

"What."

"I need more."

She turned her head to look at me. Those eyes. Brown beneath the violet contacts, warm and real and still carrying the afterglow of three consecutive orgasms. "More what."

I propped myself up on one elbow and looked at her chest. Her breasts sat heavy and full against her ribs, still producing. A bead of white appeared at her left nipple as I watched, gravity pulling it down the curve until it disappeared into the valley between them. Her body knew what I needed before her brain caught up to the conversation.

"Milk. I need to drink more. I’m still running low."

Addison sat up on the desk. The motion caused things to bounce that my brain registered with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever seeing a tennis ball. She looked down at herself, at the lingerie that had been progressively destroyed throughout our encounter, at the mess we’d made of each other and the classroom and probably several of the motivational posters.

"Get over here."

I sat up and repositioned myself so my back rested against the chalkboard behind the desk. Some of the fake equations smudged against my bare skin. Addison shifted until she sat beside me, our shoulders touching, and then she did something that made my chest do the complicated thing I’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

She pulled my head down to her chest.

"Drink." Her voice came out softer than I’d ever heard it. No snarl. No profanity. Just the single word, delivered with the quiet authority of someone who had decided that keeping me alive qualified as a personal responsibility she intended to execute with her full attention.

I closed my mouth around her right nipple.

Milk flooded my tongue. That same complex profile I’d catalogued during our farmhouse encounter, dark and rich with layers that unfolded the longer I held each mouthful. Coffee. Dark chocolate. A ghost of cayenne that lingered at the back of my palate. But there was something new underneath tonight. Something warmer. Sweeter. The taste of someone who had been genuinely afraid of losing you and decided to show up in a hospital wearing nothing but a trench coat because fear is just love with worse fashion sense.

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]

Addison’s hand found the top of my head.

Her fingers sank into my hair. Not pulling. Not grabbing. Just running through the strands with the kind of absent-minded tenderness that people display when they’re petting a cat on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Her nails scratched lightly against my scalp, tracing patterns that sent pleasant shivers down my spine. The sensation was so far removed from the violent, biting, screaming intensity of what we’d been doing ten minutes ago that I almost forgot where I was.

Almost.

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]

I drank slowly this time. No rush. No frantic consumption driven by a death timer counting down to zero. Just steady, rhythmic pulls that matched the pace of Addison’s fingers moving through my hair. She was humming something. Low and tuneless and probably from some death metal album that sounded completely different when stripped of distortion and double bass pedals.

"Your hair’s gotten longer." Her voice came from above me, rumbling through her chest and into my mouth alongside the milk. "When’s the last time you cut it."

I pulled off long enough to answer. "Before I arrived at the island."

"It looks better longer. Covers your ears. You’ve got big ears."

"Thank you, Addison. Very romantic."

"I’m not romantic. I’m observational." Her fingers continued their path through my hair. "You should dye it."

I latched back onto her breast and drank another mouthful before responding. The System pinged dutifully.

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]

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