Chapter 2: Are you serious?
Three minutes later, Noelle stood in the middle of the hideout’s main living room, the phantom echo of moans and the rhythmic thud of a headboard still pounding in her ears. Her face was aflame. Her heart hadn’t slowed. A deep, aching throb pulsed between her legs, a slick warmth soaking her underwear that she couldn’t ignore. She pressed her thighs together, as if she could quell the sensation, and let out a shaky, frustrated sigh.
“Damn it,” she whispered to the empty room.
“Damn what?”
Noelle yelped, spinning around, her mana flickering defensively before she reined it in.
Lucia Voltia leaned against the archway, a knowing smirk on her face. She’d approached without a sound. “Jumpier than a cat in a rainstorm, Noelle. What’s got you all worked up?”
“N-nothing!” Noelle stammered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “You startled me, that’s all.”
“Right.” Lucia pushed off the wall and sauntered in, her eyes sharp. “Because people usually sigh about ‘nothing’ while blushing so hard they could light a candle. Spill.”
“I said it’s nothing!” Noelle’s voice rose, edged with panic. “Just… training thoughts.”
Lucia let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Training thoughts. Sure. Your ‘training thoughts’ have you so wet I can smell it from here.”
Noelle’s jaw dropped. Humiliation, hot and sharp, lanced through her. “You—how dare you!”
“Eyes are glassy, breathing’s shallow, you keep shifting your weight like you’re trying to rub one out on your own thigh.” Lucia ticked the points off on her fingers. “So, either you’ve got a urinary tract infection, or something seriously juicy just happened. And since you came from the direction of the bedrooms…” Her smirk widened. “Was it our precious recovering patient?”
“No!” The denial was instantaneous, but it came out too loud, too fast.
Lucia just raised an eyebrow, waiting. The silence stretched, oppressive.
Noelle cracked. The words tumbled out in a frantic, hushed whisper. “I went to check on him. To bring water. The door was locked. And I heard… I heard…”
“Heard what?” Lucia pressed, stepping closer. Her own curiosity was fully ignited.
“I heard them. Yara. And him. It was… graphic.” Noelle’s face felt like it was melting. “The things she was saying. The sounds they were making. He was… he was…”
“Fucking her brains out?” Lucia supplied, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. A faint pink blush appeared on her own cheeks, but her smile was wicked.
“Yes!” Noelle hissed, relieved and horrified to say it aloud. “And she was… she was begging him for it. Telling him not to pull out. It was… it was…”
“Incredibly hot?” Lucia finished. She let out a soft breath. “Yeah. I bet it was.”
Noelle stared at her, scandalized. “That’s not—I wasn’t—”
“You’re dripping wet in the common room thinking about it,” Lucia stated flatly. “Your nipples are hard enough to cut glass under that tunic. You’re practically panting. You bit your bottom lip just now when you said ‘begging’. You haven’t made eye contact with me since I walked in because you’re embarrassed by how turned on you are. And you’ve got that glassy, far-off look of someone replaying a pornographic scene in their head.” She leaned in. “Six clues, princess. All pointing to one thing: you want a piece of that, too.”
Noelle opened her mouth to deny it again, but the words died. She was cornered by the brutal, observant truth. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine,” she whispered, the admission feeling like a surrender. “It was… intense. And part of me… wonders what it would be like. But it doesn’t matter! Captain Yara has clearly… staked her claim. He’s hers.”
Lucia’s eyes glittered. “So? Who says he can only be one person’s?” She shifted subtly, and Noelle noticed the damp patch forming on the front of Lucia’s own shorts. Lucia was just as affected. “Look, I’m not gonna lie. After that description? I want to climb him like a tree, too. Maybe we don’t have to ‘take him away’. Maybe we just… ask him. When we get the chance.”
“Ask him?” Noelle repeated, incredulous.
“Yeah. ‘Hey Asta, your captain’s a lot of fun, but how about a change of pace?’” Lucia shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “He seems like the agreeable type. And Yara… she might be possessive, but she’s not stupid. She knows what she’s got. Might even enjoy the show.” She winked. “We just need to get him alone. We can figure it out together.”
Back in Asta’s room, consciousness returned in a warm, heavy wave. The first thing he registered was a deep, satisfying ache in his muscles, and a profound sense of well-being. Then, the scent—ozone, leather, sex. Memory crashed over him.
He’d had sex. Real, actual sex.
With Yara.
Holy shit.
He opened his eyes. She was right there, beneath him, still asleep. Naked. The early morning light painted her in strips of gold and shadow. He was sprawled half on top of her, one arm thrown across her waist.
He held his breath, terrified of waking her, and just… looked.
Her breasts were full and heavy, pressed against his chest, the dusky nipples soft in her sleep. His gaze traveled down the fierce cut of her abdomen, over the swell of her hip, to the junction of her thighs. He stared, fascinated. Her pussy was pink and slightly swollen from use, glistening faintly. He’d expected more hair, given her untamed everything, but it was neatly kept, just a trimmed triangle of dark curls. That surprised him. Then his eyes drifted lower, to the powerful curve of her ass, round and firm even as she lay on her side.
He was rock hard again, his cock pressing insistently against her thigh.
Yara’s eyes fluttered open. Dark, lazy, knowing. She didn’t startle. She just looked at him staring, and a slow, predatory smile spread across her lips.
“See something you like, brat?” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.
Before he could answer, she hooked a hand behind his neck and pulled him down into a deep, hungry kiss. Her tongue pushed past his lips, claiming his mouth with the same ownership she’d claimed his body. When she broke away, she was breathing harder. “If you’re gonna stare,” she breathed against his mouth, “then fucking do something about it.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. A new, raw confidence surged through him. He moved, his hands gripping her hips, and rolled her onto her stomach. She went willingly, a soft grunt of surprise escaping her.
This time, he didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself behind her, guided his cock to her slick entrance, and pushed in with one firm, deep stroke. She cried out, a sharp, genuine sound that was nothing like her usual commanding tone. Her fingers clenched in the sheets.
He set a punishing pace from the start, drilling into her with a strength that made the bed frame creak in protest. Each thrust was a statement. He was in control.
“Asta—fuck—” she gasped, her voice muffled by the pillow.
“Harder?” he asked, his own voice rough.
“Yes, damn you—don’t stop—”
He kept going, his hands on her hips, watching the flesh of her ass jiggle with each impact. A fierce, dark urge took hold. “You like this?” he growled.
“I said yes!” she moaned.
“Tell me what you want.”
She turned her head to the side, her cheek pressed to the sheet, her eyes half-lidded and dark. “Slap it,” she breathed, the command laced with a desperate plea. “Slap my ass. Hard.”
The request sent a jolt of pure heat straight to his core. He pulled his hand back and brought it down on the curve of her buttock with a sharp, stinging crack.
Yara screamed, her back arching, her whole body clenching around him so tightly he saw stars. “Again!” she begged.
He did, alternating sides, painting her skin a glowing pink. Each slap made her cry out, made her push back against him harder, made her cunt squeeze him like a vise. She was unraveling completely, babbling, submissive in a way he couldn’t have imagined possible.
The familiar, urgent pressure built in his balls, coiling tight. “Yara—I’m close—”
“Don’t you dare come inside me,” she panted, the order returning faintly to her voice. “Not this time. I want to see it. On my tits. Pull out and paint them.”
He gripped her hip with one hand, his other fumbling between their bodies. On the next thrust, he dragged himself out of her dripping heat. She rolled onto her back immediately, her chest heaving, her breasts glistening with sweat. Her hands came up to cup them, holding them together, offering them to him.
“Here,” she commanded, her eyes locked on his face. “Now.”
With a few rough strokes of his own hand, he came. Thick, hot streaks of white spurted across her chest and breasts, some landing on her throat, some pooling in the valley between her tits. She watched, rapt, a look of fierce satisfaction on her face as he emptied himself onto her skin.
He collapsed beside her, spent, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Yara lay there for a moment, catching her breath, looking down at the mess on her chest. Then she slowly, deliberately, dragged a finger through it and brought it to her mouth, sucking it clean. She met his awestruck gaze.
“Breakfast,” she said, her voice back to its normal, lazy rumble. But her eyes were softer than he’d ever seen them.