Your Girlfriend Calls Me Daddy

Chapter 160 - 161 | Short Stack

I pulled her closer and the drain went wider, cycling her Essentia through me in sharp electric pulls that tasted like vanilla cream left too long in the freezer. Sweet. Cold. Delicious.

Noel’s fingers dug into my shoulders hard enough to bruise.

"This is—" She gasped. "I can’t—"

"Can’t what?"

"Think."

Good. Thinking got her into trouble.

I walked her backward toward the conference table, never breaking the kiss, swallowing the little sounds she made every time the drain spiked. Her hips hit the edge and I lifted her onto the surface in one motion. Her legs wrapped around my waist automatically, pulling me between her thighs like she’d been programmed for it.

The drain pulsed harder. Warmer. The flavor shifting from vanilla to something richer, more complex. Like tasting her actual thoughts.

"Rome." She broke the kiss, breathing ragged. "We’re in a classroom."

"Door’s locked."

"That’s not—someone could—"

I kissed her neck, finding that spot below her ear that made her whole body jerk. "Tell me to stop."

Silence. The kind that screams louder than words.

"Thought so."

Her hands went to my shirt, yanking it upward with desperate efficiency. I helped, pulling it over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me. She stared at my chest like she was cataloguing evidence. The healing bruises from yesterday’s match. The burn marks from Fire Fist. The bite marks Mera had left two nights ago in her dorm room while Cheon watched from her desk chair, fingers tracing equations and occasionally herself.

"You look like you fought a war," she said.

"Won it though."

"Arrogant."

"Accurate."

She traced one of the darker bruises with her fingertip. The drain opened wider at the contact, pulling her Essentia through that single point of connection like a live wire. She gasped, her hand flattening against my ribs, palm burning warm against the skin.

"Every time you touch me," she said, "I feel it. Like electricity. Like I’m—"

"Melting?"

"Burning." She looked up at me, those grey eyes wide and honest in a way they never were during tactical discussions. "And I hate that I like it."

"No you don’t."

"I hate you."

I grinned. "Still not convincing."

She grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me so hard I tasted blood. Mine or hers, didn’t matter. The drain exploded open, flooding me with her power in waves that crashed through my chest and down my spine. Vanilla and frost and steel and that hidden fire underneath, the one she kept locked away where nobody could reach it. The one that burned hotter than anything else in her entire Essentia signature.

Except I could reach it now. I was drinking it directly from the source.

I grabbed her thighs and pulled her to the very edge of the table, pressing against her through our clothes. She made a sound that was half gasp, half moan, and ground forward, chasing friction with the kind of desperate honesty that only came out in moments like this.

"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck, Rome, I—"

"Use your words, Short Stack."

"Don’t call me that when I’m—" She cut herself off, cheeks blazing red like someone had slapped her. The drain pulsed harder, feeding off her embarrassment, her arousal, the tangled mess of want and shame cycling through her system.

"When you’re what?"

Her nails raked down my back, leaving lines I’d feel tomorrow. "When I’m this turned on."

My brain short-circuited for a second. The pure, unfiltered honesty of it. No games. No strategic maneuvering. Just Noel Stark admitting she wanted me badly enough to forget her own rules.

She noticed my reaction. Smirked. Got that look like she’d just scored a point in whatever competition was always running behind her eyes.

"Not used to girls being honest?" she asked sweetly.

"Not used to you being honest."

She pulled me down by my neck and bit my lower lip hard enough to sting. "Get used to it."

I kissed her again, deeper this time, one hand going to her hair and the other sliding under her skirt. Her thighs tensed around my hips and she made another one of those sounds straight into my mouth, the vibration traveling through the drain like a tuning fork.

"We need to—" She gasped when my fingers brushed her inner thigh, skin softer than anything had a right to be. "We need to talk about parameters."

"Parameters."

"Rules. Boundaries. What this—oh god—what this means going forward." Her voice had that clipped precision she used in strategy meetings, except now it kept breaking every time I moved my hand.

I found the edge of her panties. Silk. Soaked through. The drain pulsed violently at the contact, her Essentia spiking like I’d touched a nerve ending.

"Seems pretty clear what this means."

"Rome." My name came out breathy. Desperate. "I’m serious."

"So am I."

I slid one finger under the silk and she went rigid, her whole body locking up like I’d hit a switch. The drain spiked so hard my vision flickered, her Essentia flooding through me in a rush that tasted like honey mixed with lightning.

"Wait," she gasped. "Wait, I—"

I pulled my hand back. "You want me to stop?"

"No." Fast. Too fast. She caught herself, bit her lip hard enough to leave marks. "I mean. We should probably—"

"Probably what?"

"Slow down?" But even she didn’t sound convinced. Her hips had shifted forward while she was talking, chasing the contact I’d just removed.

I raised an eyebrow.

She groaned and dropped her forehead against my shoulder. "I’m terrible at this."

"At what?"

"Casual sex."

"Who said anything about casual?"

Her head came up fast, eyes searching mine for the joke. The punchline. The moment where I’d laugh and tell her she was being naive. "You’re serious."

"Do I look like I’m joking?"

"You always look like you’re joking."

Fair point. I’d been using that expression as armor for so long I’d forgotten what my actual face looked like underneath it.

I cupped her face, thumbs on her cheekbones. The drain settled into something slower. Warmer. Less overwhelming. More like breathing than drowning.

"I don’t do casual," I said. "Ask Mera. Ask Cheon."

"They’re your girlfriends."

"So?"

"So I’m—" She swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. "I’m not."

"Yet."

"Rome."

"What?"

"You can’t just decide I’m—"

I kissed her. Soft this time. Slow. Let the drain cycle between us without pulling, just tasting her while she melted against me like ice cream in summer heat.

When I pulled back, her eyes stayed closed for three full seconds.

"That’s not fair," she whispered.

"Nothing about me is fair."

"I know." She opened her eyes, and there was something raw there. Vulnerable. "That’s the problem."

"Then make it your advantage."

"How?"

"Stop fighting what you want and just take it."

Something shifted in her expression. The uncertainty burned away, replaced by that sharp focus she got right before destroying someone in a tactical exercise. The look that said she’d identified her target and calculated the most efficient way to eliminate it.

"Fine."

She grabbed my belt buckle.

"Whoa—"

"Shut up." She worked the buckle open with quick, efficient movements that told me she’d thought about this before. Practiced it, maybe. "You said take what I want. I want this."

My jeans hit the floor with a soft thud.

She stared at the obvious evidence of what I wanted, her cheeks going darker. Her eyes traced the length, the width, cataloguing dimensions with the same analytical precision she brought to enemy Essentia patterns.

"That’s..."

"Problem?"

"No." She licked her lips unconsciously, the gesture so innocent and dirty at the same time that my brain nearly shut down. "Just. Bigger than I expected."

"I’ll take that as a compliment."

"Don’t let it go to your head."

Too late. Both heads, actually.