Chapter 98: I’m Under the Sheets with Her Mom***

Chapter 98: Chapter 98: I’m Under the Sheets with Her Mom***

The bedroom was quiet except for the low hum of the city beyond the glass and the sound of our breathing.

I stayed braced above her on my forearms, still mostly dressed, the bracelet cool and present against my left wrist.

Its status light sat steady green.

I checked it the way I had checked my mirrors in another life, habit, necessity, the only external proof that the ceiling was still holding.

"Look at me," she said.

I did.

No empty distance or sudden tunnel vision. Just Jenna’s eyes, sharp even in the low light, tracking mine for any flicker of the thing that had taken over with Gianna.

"Good," she murmured.

"Keep doing that."

Her hands slid under my shirt, palms mapping the line of my ribs, then lower.

She worked my belt open without looking away from my face.

When she pushed fabric down and wrapped her fingers around me, the contact was deliberate, testing, not frantic.

"Still here?"

"Still here."

"How does it feel?"

"Your hands are warm."

She stroked me slowly, thumb spreading the wetness already gathering at the head.

The bracelet stayed green. A faint system window flickered at the edge of my vision, and I let it resolve without chasing it.

[Target: Jenna Everheart]

[Favorability: 38 / 100]

[Arousal: 48 / 100]

[Rating: 9.6]

[Absorption Pathway: Dormant under current restriction threshold]

"You’re watching the numbers," Jenna said.

Not a question.

"I’m watching everything."

"Good."

She pushed me onto my back with the casual strength of an S-rank who rarely needed to prove it.

Then she moved down my body, hair falling forward, and took me into her mouth in one smooth, practiced motion. Heat. Wet pressure. The controlled glide of her tongue along the underside as she sank lower.

My head tipped back for half a second before I forced my eyes down again.

I can’t give in to pleasure again.

She was watching me from under her lashes, checking.

I kept my gaze locked on hers even as her throat worked around me and one hand braced against my hip to control the depth.

"Jenna—"

She hummed in answer, the vibration pulling a rough sound out of my chest.

The bracelet flashed amber once, then settled back to green. I exhaled through the spike and didn’t reach for her hair hard enough to take over.

When she felt me get closer, she only slowed, then resumed with exacting focus until the pressure broke.

I came with my eyes still open and on her, one hand fisted in the sheet instead of her hair, the release pulsing across her tongue while she took it without pulling off.

The system window updated quietly.

[Minor transfer: stable]

[Host control markers: within acceptable range]

Jenna drew back, wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and climbed up my body again.

Her expression was flushed but clear. No fear. No triumph. Just assessment and heat in equal measure.

"Your turn to work," she said.

I rolled her under me, stripped the rest of her clothes with less patience than the first half of the night had required, and settled between her thighs.

She was already slick when I touched her. I watched her face as I pushed two fingers into her, very slowly, curling until her breath caught and her hips lifted.

"There," she said.

"Don’t rush it."

I didn’t.

I worked her open until her thighs trembled and her hand closed around my wrist, not stopping me, only anchoring.

When I finally lined myself up and pressed in, I did it with my forehead against hers and both of our eyes open.

The first stroke was careful. The second found a deeper angle. Jenna’s breath left her in a low, controlled sound that still managed to sound like permission.

"Still with me?" I asked.

"Still with you. Harder."

I gave her harder.

The bed frame answered in quiet protest. Her legs locked around my waist. Every few thrusts, I flicked my gaze to the bracelet, green, green, a brief amber pulse when her nails bit into my shoulder, then green again.

This was the difference.

With Gianna, the need had closed like a door slamming.

Here the need was present, heavy, real, and still answerable to the part of me that could look Jenna in the eye and choose the next stroke instead of being dragged into it.

"...Talk," she ordered, voice rough.

"If it shifts, you say so."

"It’s holding."

I drove into her deeper, watched her mouth open on a silent sound, watched the way her pupils stayed focused on mine.

"You feel—fuck—you feel like the first time I actually get to stay in the room for the whole thing."

Her laugh broke into a gasp as I changed the angle.

"Then stay. Don’t you dare go empty on me now."

"I won’t."

I meant it.

For the first time since the class had started speaking with my mouth, I meant it while fully inside someone and fully awake to the cost of failing.

Her climax took her with a sharp, locked tremor and a broken version of my name.

I held through it, bracelet steady, eyes still open, and only then let myself follow, deep, deliberate, the release pulled out of me in long pulses while I kept my forehead against hers and my mind on the simple fact of her breathing.

We stayed joined while the aftershocks settled.

Jenna’s hand came up and rested against the side of my neck, thumb checking my pulse the same way she might check a residual reading.

"Again," she said quietly.

"Deeper. I want to know the ceiling holds when you stop being careful."

I pulled out long enough to shift us, her on her side, one leg drawn up, my chest to her back, then pushed back in at an angle that made her swear under her breath.

The new position let me go deeper.

I took the permission and used it, one arm braced across her waist, the other planted on the mattress so I could still see the bracelet when I turned my head.