Chapter 182: Tie Me Naked and Take It From the Front

Chapter 182: Chapter 182: Tie Me Naked and Take It From the Front

Giselle stopped walking.

Her shoulders went tight under the clean white fall of her hair.

She turned fully, red eyes flat and measuring, the exact expression she had worn in the academy confinement room when she first tried to reverse-engineer the drain.

"Didn’t expect you to ask it."

I kept my voice light, almost casual.

"That development is to your favour, or are you going to slap me again? That kink gets old too fast."

Her gaze locked on mine and held.

The ordinary street noise around us seemed to thin.

"I can do more than just slapping," she said.

"If rough sensual methods were the way for you to use that technique again, should I tie you naked and take you from the front?"

I didn’t flinch.

I closed the last half-step between us until our breath mixed in the narrow space.

The fragment of her core still sitting under my ribs gave a single, quiet pulse, as if it recognised the proximity and approved.

"You sure you would be able to handle it?" I asked.

"Last time I was serious, your breath left you. Literally."

The air between us went tight enough to feel.

Giselle’s pupils narrowed a fraction.

For a moment neither of us moved.

The Hunger, no longer muffled by any collar, stirred with slow, patient interest and catalogued the density of the Empress-line energy still living under her skin.

Her eyes moved to my lips.

A voice cut across the tension from the private entrance behind her.

"Lady Giselle. The upper gallery is waiting. Your uncle requested no further delays."

She stepped back first.

The expression reset into perfect neutrality so quickly it was almost insulting, as if the last thirty seconds had been a brief technical discussion about residual transfer rates.

I followed her through the reinforced doors without another word.

The interior of the building was a different category of wealth from anything I had seen in Sector 7.

Overwatch had been professional, clean, expensive in the practical way of a guild that needed to function under real pressure.

This place was theatre.

Polished black stone floors reflected the overhead lights like still water.

Floating galleries curved overhead.

Soft ambient music drifted through the space without ever competing with conversation. And the women, Vanguards, ranked supports, administrative officers I couldn’t immediately place, moved through the halls with the kind of effortless physical confidence that came from never having to prove they belonged.

On average, they were sharper, more deliberate, and noticeably hotter than the Overwatch roster, and most of them did not attempt to hide the fact that they were being looked at.

"What is this place?" I asked as we stepped onto a private lift whose walls were seamless dark glass.

"One of the guilds under my mother."

"Empress’s own guilds too?"

"Empress owns all the guilds."

Giselle’s voice stayed level, almost bored.

"A very small number of houses are permitted to operate as overseers. Everything else ultimately reports upward. Sector 5 is simply more honest about the hierarchy than most."

"You train here?"

"Yes."

The lift rose without any sensation of movement.

When the doors opened again, we stepped into a quieter, more restricted floor.

Dampeners were heavier here; the air itself felt thicker, as if the building were actively tasting every spark of output that passed through it.

Draven was waiting in an open lounge that looked more like a private observation deck than an office.

Floor-to-ceiling glass showed the Sector 5 skyline in all its branded, Draven-saturated glory. He had changed into a darker coat and looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"You didn’t die," he said by way of greeting.

"Good. I was only about fifty percent sure the chains would catch in time."

"Your concern is touching."

"I know."

He gestured toward a side chamber whose door stood open, revealing a featureless white room containing a single chair and a ring of subtle sensors set into the walls.

"Small personality test before we continue. Nothing lethal. I just want to see how you behave when the variables get annoying, and you know you’re being scored. Pass it, and we talk about the real schedule."

I glanced at Giselle.

She gave no indication either way, neither encouragement nor warning.

I walked into the chamber.

The door sealed with a hydraulic sigh.

No obvious threats.

A calm female voice spoke from the walls, perfectly neutral.

[Support candidate: Revien.]

[You will answer a series of situational prompts.]

’Another exam?’

[Honesty is preferred. Evasion will be noted.]

[Begin.]

The first question appeared in clean white text across the far wall.

[Would you fuck the Empress if she ordered it?]

I stared at the words for a second.

"Are you serious?"

[Please answer the question.]

"Depends if she asked or ordered. Ordering gets her a refusal and a very short life expectancy for me. Asking gets a negotiation."

[Preferred sexual position?]

’That bastard is trolling me.’

"Whatever keeps my hands free and my core stable. I’m not dying mid-thrust because someone wanted a romantic angle."

[Threesome or foursome?]

"Threesome. Four bodies is just logistics, and someone always feels left out. I already have enough women trying to kill me without adding scheduling problems."

[Would you allow an Empress-line Vanguard to dominate you in bed if it stabilised a link?]

"If the alternative is her mother executing me in front of others, yes. Pride is cheaper than dying."

[Final prompt: Rank the following in order of priority — survival, power, the women already linked to you.]

"The women already linked to me, then survival, then power. Power without the first two is just a longer, lonelier way to die."

[Answers Submitted Successfully.]

The wall went dark.

Draven was already laughing when I stepped out, one hand braced on his knee as the answers had physically hit him.

"Damn. Ten out of ten. Only I ever scored that high on the crude battery."

He straightened, wiping the amusement off his face with theatrical effort.

"Most supporters start lying the moment the questions get filthy. You just got practical. I like it."

He clapped me once on the shoulder, hard enough to sting.

"How good is your composure at a party?"