QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)

Chapter 409:

Lorelei

"What type of kiss means I want to mate?" I ask.

She smiles.

In the moonlight, two of her teeth look exceptionally sharp—longer than the others, pointed, predatory. I have seen them before, when she laughs, when she threatens, when she fights. But never like this.

Never directed at me.

She drags me to her chest.

Her arms close around me, firm and unyielding. She bends my head back, exposing my throat to the sky, to the stars, to her.

Then she kisses me.

She has never kissed me like this before.

Like she is devouring me.

Her mouth is hungry. Her tongue is demanding. Her teeth scrape against my lower lip—not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to feel.

I gasp.

She swallows the sound.

I get that weird feeling again.

The one I get when I see her back. Her abdomen. Her naked. A tingly feeling, low in my belly, spreading through my limbs like warm water.

But this time, it is more.

More intense.

She pulls back.

Her dark eyes are bright. Her lips are wet. Her chest rises and falls with each breath.

"That kind," she says.

I touch my lips.

"Do it again," I say.

"Wrap your arms around my neck," she says.

I do as she asks. My arms circle her neck. My fingers tangle in her wet hair. The water laps at my shoulders, cold and dark, but she is warm.

She kisses me again.

That tingly feeling returns.

It spreads from my lips to my chest to my belly. It pools there, warm and heavy, making my body feel strange.

I pull away.

"I feel weird," I say.

"We can stop," she says. "If you are not comfortable."

"No." I shake my head. "I just... when you kiss me, I get this feeling."

She studies my face.

"Let us get on the boat," she says.

She climbs onto the boat first, water streaming from her clothes, her hair, her skin. Then she reaches down and helps me up.

The boat sways beneath our combined weight. I stumble. She catches me.

She pulls me onto her lap.

I settle against her. Her chest is warm against my back. Her arms wrap around my waist. Her chin rests on my shoulder.

The boat rocks gently.

She runs her finger down my chest.

I do not know what she is doing.

Then she pinches the nubs.

The ones that are more pronounced when I am in human form.

I tremble.

"Is that the feeling?" she asks.

I nod.

She does it again.The sensation is unlike anything I have ever felt,sharp and sweet and aching, all at once.

I try to pull away, but her hold on me is firm.

"I can make you feel so much better," she murmurs against my skin. Her voice is low, coaxing, like she is soothing a frightened child.

"Trust me."

I relax into her touch.

The tension drains from my shoulders. My body softens against hers. The strange, tingling warmth spreads through my chest, my belly, my limbs.

She places a kiss on my ear and whispers.

"You are so beautiful."

Her hand slides to my neck, fingers resting lightly against my pulse.

"I am scarred," I say. I may have been beautiful once—before the banishment, before the hunts, before the years of surviving alone in the deep. But not anymore. Not now.

"My beloved." Her voice is soft. "These scars do not take away from your beauty. They only enhance it."

She runs her fingers across the scars scattered over my arms. Her touch is gentle.

As if she is tracing something precious rather than broken.

I watch her face, and she means it. It’s in her eyes, the way they roam over me—my shoulders, my chest, my stomach.

Everywhere her gaze lands, I feel exposed.

Yet safe.

I do not understand how she can look at me like this.

She takes my hand and places it over her heart.

I can feel the frantic rhythm beneath her skin, underneath the wet shirt sticking to her like a second skin.

"Feel that?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes."

"That is what you do to me." Her voice is low. "Every time I look at you. Every time I touch you. Every time you breathe."

She squeezes my hand.

"Losing you," she says, "each time it destroys me."

I look at her face. At the shadows beneath her eyes, the lines around her mouth, the weight she carries that I do not understand.

"But I am here," I say.

She smiles.

"Yes," she says. "You are."

She shifts me on her lap. Her hands grip my waist, lifting me, turning me, until I am facing her with my legs on either side of her hips.

The boat rocks from the movement.I steady myself with my hands on her shoulders.

She looks up at me.

Her dark eyes are bright.

"There," she says. "That is better."

I tilt my head.

"Why?"

"Because now I can see your face."

She runs her hands over my skin. Her touch is electric.

She starts at my shoulders, her fingers tracing the curve of muscle, the edge of bone, the places where my body rises and falls.

Then she moves down my arms, slow and deliberate, as if she is memorizing the shape of me.

Then up my sides.

"I thought we were going to mate," I say.

She looks up at me. Her dark eyes are warm.

"Don’t rush me." She runs her palms over my stomach. "Let me look at you."

"You have been looking at me."

"Not like this." She pulls me closer with her hands on my waist. "I have not."

I stabilize myself, gripping the wet shirt on her back. The fabric is cold and damp beneath my fingers, clinging to her skin.

"I suppose we can save the looking for another day." She kisses the corner of my lips. "Now, about that feeling."

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