Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 307: 307 | What Are You Gonna Do About It

Jordan got his arm under her knees, ready to lift her off the counter and carry her upstairs like some romance-novel cover, and honestly he’d earned the cover, he had the shoulders for it now, the System had seen to that.

"Wait."

His hands stopped. "You okay?"

"I’m perfect." Chloe pushed at his chest, sliding off the counter onto legs that shook, and for a second he thought the charm effect had gotten too much and she needed to stop. Then she looked at him with those blown-out eyes and something curled at the corner of her mouth that he’d learned to be very afraid of. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around, McKnight." She spun her finger in a lazy circle. "Face the window. Count to five."

The old Jordan would’ve asked why. The old Jordan would’ve asked three follow-up questions and offered to reschedule if she wasn’t comfortable. New Jordan turned around and faced the black factory glass with his own dumb reflection staring back at him, shirtless, hair a disaster, expression of a man who had stopped making decisions an hour ago.

He counted.

Behind him he heard fabric. The rustle of the sweater coming off, the whisper of something else coming on, a soft grunt as she balanced on one foot, and the whole time his brain kept helpfully offering him a play-by-play his imagination didn’t need.

"One," Chloe said, and he could hear the smile in it. "You can turn now."

"That was two."

"I’m bad at counting when I’m horny. Turn around."

He turned around.

His brain shut off. Not metaphorically. There was a full second, maybe a second and a half, where every higher function Jordan McKnight possessed simply logged off and went home for the night, and all that remained was a low buzzing sound and the vague awareness that he was still technically upright.

Chloe stood in the middle of his kitchen in the full suit.

Not the half-version from before, the sweater-and-tights improvisation. The whole thing. The bunny ears sat perfectly upright now, black and glossy, framing her face. A black bodice hugged her ribcage and pushed everything up in a way that defied several laws of physics, cut high on her hips, and the sheer tights ran from there down over legs that suddenly seemed to go on for a geological age. A little white collar sat at her throat with a bow. And behind her, when she turned her hips just slightly, a fluffy white tail.

The blue streak in her hair caught the kitchen light. Her chest rose and fell fast, the charm effect painting her skin pink all the way down. She looked like something out of the specific corner of the internet Jordan had lived in for three months of his life, except she was real, and she was in his kitchen, and she was looking at him like he was the one on display.

"There he is," she murmured. "There’s the jaw thing."

Jordan’s jaw was, in fact, doing the thing.

Chloe ran her hands up her own body slow, palms sliding from her hips over the bodice, up her stomach, cupping herself through the fabric with a soft sound that had no business being that quiet in a room this small. Her head tipped back. The bunny ears wobbled. "Nng," she breathed, and it wasn’t a performance, the charm had her genuinely gone, her fingers pressing into her own skin like she couldn’t feel enough of it. "The suit makes my whole body feel like it’s plugged into a wall socket, Jordan. Everything’s turned up to eleven. I touch myself and it’s like electricity."

He said nothing. Words were a technology he no longer possessed.

She rolled her hips. The tail swayed. Her hands kept moving, dragging over the bodice, thumbs brushing the tops of her thighs where the tights met bare skin, and every stroke pulled a different sound out of her, a hitch, a whimper, a low broken "haah" that scrambled whatever was left of his motor control.

Then she opened her eyes, dark and glassy and full of something that had teeth, and she smiled at him.

"What are you gonna do about it, Jordan baby?"

And that was the thing about Chloe Kim. She could be shaking apart from a magic suit that had turned her nervous system into a live wire, barely able to stand, and she would still find the exact three words engineered to detonate whatever discipline he had left, because the girl had run a six-figure operation on knowing precisely what a man wanted to hear before he knew he wanted to hear it, and now she’d pointed that entire skillset at him.

Cruel. Genuinely cruel.

He crossed the kitchen in two steps.

"Ah-!" She got half a laugh out before his hands hit her hips, and then the laugh became something else entirely as he backed her into the counter’s edge. "There he, mm, there he is."

"You planned this."

"I plan everything." Her arms went around his neck. Her mouth found his jaw, his throat, the sensitive spot under his ear that she’d catalogued weeks ago and filed away for exactly this. "You told me you weren’t going to lock me in a cage. So I put on the bunny suit. That’s, ohh, that’s called irony, do they teach irony in business econ-"

He kissed her to shut her up. She let him for about four seconds, her whole body melting into his chest, the charm effect making her shudder every place they touched, and then she bit his lip and he lost the thread of whatever plan he’d been forming.

"Bed," she gasped against his mouth. "Now. The suit is, ah, it’s a lot, I’m going to lose my mind if you don’t-"

This time she let him lift her.

He got his hands under her thighs and she wrapped her legs around his waist, the sheer tights sliding against him, the fluffy tail crushed between her lower back and his forearm in a way he’d have found funny if his blood were still reaching his brain. She was light. She was always light. Kumiko was smaller but Chloe fit against him with this specific ownership, like she’d decided the shape of his body belonged to her and was simply confirming the fact.

He carried her toward the stairs. She kept kissing him the whole way, sloppy and desperate, her hands in his hair, the bunny ears bumping his forehead, and every step jostled her against him and pulled another sound from her throat.

"Careful," she managed. "The, mmh, the stairs, if you drop me I’m haunting you-"

"I’m not going to drop you."

"You have one job-"

"I have several jobs. This is the easiest one."

She laughed into his neck, and God, that sound, the real one, the one that came out crooked and surprised like her own happiness kept catching her off guard, that was worse than any of the moaning, that was the thing that actually got him, because he’d spent three months of his life paying for the manufactured version through a phone screen and here was the genuine article for free.

He got them up the stairs. The loft opened out with the dark grey sheets Chloe had picked and the Newport skyline glowing amber through the factory windows, and he laid her down on the mattress like she was worth something, because she was, and she looked up at him from the sheets in the bunny ears with her chest heaving and her thighs already parting to make room for him.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

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