Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 324: 324 | Warranty [CASTLE BONUS]

"You climbed on me."

"You were breathing beside me. It was loud." Chloe pressed her palms flat against my chest. Her black hair, tangled with electric-blue streaks, spilled over her shoulders. She rocked her hips back. The friction dragged a low, tight noise out of her throat. "Mmh, God. You’re already this hard. What were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing. I didn’t sleep."

"So you’ve just been lying under me for four hours." She laughed, but the sound snapped in half as she ground her pelvis down. "Ahn, that’s—don’t. Why does it feel like that through the sweatpants?"

"Chemistry."

"Shut up." She hooked her fingers under the elastic waistband of my sweats and yanked. I lifted my hips. The fabric slid down. Skin snapped against skin. She let out a sharp, wet gasp—the exact kind of noise that would have cost me a three-thousand-dollar OnlyFans tip six weeks ago. "Haa, wait. Hold. Ah. Don’t move yet."

I stayed completely still. Her inner thighs trembled against my hips. She sank down piece by piece. Each fraction of an inch pulled a new sound from her mouth, climbing higher in pitch until she bottomed out completely. Her stomach pressed flush against mine. Her muscles locked tight.

"Nnnghh. There. Okay." She dropped her forehead against mine. A bead of sweat transferred from her skin to my nose. "Hi."

"Hi."

"I’m mad at you." She started rocking. Small, tight circles. Her voice cracked right through the middle of her syllables. "Because you didn’t sleep. And, ah, ahn, because you have to sit in a room with her today. And you didn’t tell me you were awake all night thinking about it."

"You knew I was awake all night thinking about it."

"I wanted you to say it." She dragged her hips up and slammed back down. The wet smack echoed off the loft windows. "Aah. Fuck. Right there. Do that again."

I grabbed her waist. My thumbs dug into the soft indent of her hips, and I drove upward. Again. And again. She got louder in stages. First just the ragged exhales. Then the vowels. Then full, open-mouthed sounds. The headboard started slamming the wall. Miss Valentine down the hall was absolutely drafting an email to the landlord.

"Jordan, Jordan, I’m—ahh, oh my God, I’m gonna. Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop, nnh, nngh, HAAH."

She came hard. Her fingernails dug into my shoulders while she swore in fluent Korean, then English, then back to Korean. Her body went completely slack. She collapsed flat against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her bare back. Little aftershocks rippled through her thighs. Her breathing stayed choppy and erratic, puffing hot air against my collarbone. She mumbled something into my neck. It sounded exactly like the word "unbelievable," but she also could have been complaining about my abysmal cardio stamina.

But I wasn’t finished. She figured that out about forty seconds later. Chloe Kim never missed a detail.

She pushed off my chest. Her blue-streaked hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks. She glared down at me, her lips pulled into a tight frown, nostrils flaring.

"Excuse me."

"You look tired."

"I look tired." She straightened her back. She was still straddling me, still completely full of me. She jammed her index finger hard into the center of my chest. "Lie there. Don’t move. Don’t help. Don’t do anything."

"Chloe—"

"I said don’t."

She rode me with zero hesitation, fighting a personal war to prove a point. The sounds she made were the kind I’d be replaying in my head when I was seventy years old—high, ragged, and completely stripped of her usual careful control. It short-circuited my brain. My hands grabbed her hips purely on instinct. Around the nine-minute mark, her triceps started shaking. By minute eleven, her posture dipped. She was barely holding herself up. I tried to follow her orders, but I failed entirely. My fingers clamped down on her slippery skin, and my hips chased hers on every downstroke.

When I finally let go, she gasped like someone had punched her in the stomach. She kept grinding down anyway.

Then the trait kicked in. \[Ceaseless Discharge\]. The heat, the pressure, the ridiculous volume. She felt it happening. She started laughing, throwing her head back while calling me an idiot, because it just kept spilling into her and she physically couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or impressed.

"Every time," she gasped, her chest heaving. "Every single time. We’re going to need a mattress cover. A commercial one. Ah, hah, God. Why is there still—hnn."

"Warranty."

"I hate your phone."

"You’ve mentioned."

She dropped back down against my sweat-slicked chest. Neither of us moved. The room smelled like sex and expensive vanilla lotion.

Eventually, she mumbled into my collarbone, her voice wiped flat. "Text me when you go in. And text me when you come out. That’s all I want."

"That’s it."

"That’s it." A pause. "And the hundred fifty."

I was still laughing when the front door downstairs clicked open.

Kumiko had a key now. Giving her one seemed like a solid idea roughly twenty hours ago. Now, it was a liability.

"OHAYO," Kumiko announced from the first floor. She did not lower her volume. "I brought boxes! And bagels! Also, I heard skin slapping, so I am going to stand right here and look at this very nice wall for a minute."

Chloe groaned and lifted her head. Her hair was an absolute disaster. A fresh purple bruise sat right on the curve of her throat.

"She’s early," Chloe said.

"She’s four hours early."

"KUMIKO," Chloe yelled down, refusing to slide off me. "Give us five minutes."

"TAKE SEVEN! I’M ALPHABETIZING THE BAGELS!"

I took a fast shower, grabbed a black ribbed tank top, and pulled on my grey sweats since Chloe had confiscated my last clean henley. By the time I walked down the metal stairs, Kumiko had erected a fortress.

Eleven cardboard boxes sat stacked three high against the kitchen island. Each one bore pink marker script in Kumiko’s loopy handwriting. She stood in front of them, wearing a lavender crop hoodie and skin-tight black bike shorts. Her black hair was already tied into two high twin tails with pink ribbons. She planted her hands on her hips, admiring her work like a general surveying a battlefield of very cute siege equipment.

She spun around. She spotted me. Her face flushed bright red down to her neck.

"You’re wearing the tank," she squeaked.

"I’m wearing the tank."

"That’s an escalation." Kumiko looked from my bare shoulders down to the center of my chest, then snapped her head back up so fast her neck popped.

She practically tackled me. She wrapped her arms tight around my ribcage, pressing her entire body against mine like she was trying to fuse our cells together. I reached down and rested my palm right on top of her head, directly between the pink ribbons.

The \[Headpat\] trait engaged immediately.

Kumiko’s knees buckled. Her posture went completely soft. She let out a tiny, high-pitched whimper and went dead silent for four straight seconds. For Kumiko Yamanaka, four seconds of silence was a localized religious event.

"Ohh," she hummed, nuzzling my chest. "Okay. Okay, I’m calm. I’m extremely calm. I have never been calmer. Chloe-chan, he did the thing. My brain is a puddle."

"He’s using it as a mute button," Chloe said, descending the stairs in my stolen shirt.

"I know. I don’t care. Do it again on Thursday."

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