A few days later, Thomas found himself back in the bustling corridors of Metro-General ER. After handing over a fracture patient to the medical team, he deliberately slowed his pace, his eyes searching for the figure who was now central to his plan. Sal had already gone ahead, giving him a few precious minutes. In his pocket, his phone held brief notes of medical articles he'd read, a cheat sheet to calm his nerves.
The opportunity came in an unexpected form. Dr. Christine Palmer was standing alone near the nurses' station, not for an emergency, but simply refilling her water bottle. For a moment, she looked like an ordinary person, not a super surgeon. This was likely the best chance he would get.
With his heart beating a little faster than usual, Thomas approached. He tried to make his steps look casual.
"Excuse me, Dr. Palmer?"
Christine turned, slightly surprised. She recognized his uniform, if not his face. "Yes?"
"I'm Thomas Vance, paramedic. Sorry to interrupt your break," Thomas began, his voice a little stiffer than he had hoped. "I just wanted to say, I read your article on emergency hemostasis techniques. The part about topical agents... it was really fascinating."
Christine looked at him for a moment, a polite smile appearing on her face. "Oh. Thank you. I'm glad it was useful." She sounded sincere, but her eyes were already glancing at the monitors behind her, her mind clearly back on her work.
Before Thomas could continue his sentence, a nurse rushed over to them. "Dr. Palmer, the CT scan results for the trauma patient in Room 2 are out."
Immediately, Christine's full attention shifted. Her brief pause was over. "Alright, I'll be right there," she told the nurse, then gave Thomas a brief nod. "Excuse me, I have to go."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away quickly, her figure soon swallowed by the ER's bustle. Thomas was left standing there, feeling a little empty and very awkward. His plan, which had seemed so clever and logical on paper, felt like a clumsy schoolboy's attempt in practice. He was not a charmer. He was a paramedic, and at that moment, he felt it very clearly.
That night, Thomas sat in his quiet apartment. The rain outside fell harder, its drops drumming against the windowpane, creating a curtain of water that blurred the view of the city lights. He stared at the empty page in his notebook, his pen lying untouched beside it. No new data to write.
He replayed the brief interaction at the hospital in his mind, over and over, analyzing it like a strategist reviewing a failed battle. He hadn't made any fatal mistakes. His approach was polite, relevant, and non-threatening. Yet, the outcome was still a complete failure.
He leaned back in his chair, a sigh of frustration escaping his lips. The problem wasn't his plan, but the fortress surrounding his target. Christine Palmer lived in a world moving at a hundred miles an hour, a world where every second was measured by a patient's heartbeat. How could an awkward chat about a medical journal compete with that?
He realized the bitter truth of his situation. To build a relationship normally, he would need a series of nearly impossible coincidences. He needed time, dozens of small interactions to slowly chip away at that wall of professionalism. Time was a luxury he didn't have.
This path he was on was a dead end. He needed a different approach, a way to bypass that wall, not try to climb it brick by brick.
His hand reached for the notebook again. He flipped past Christine's profile page, which felt like a dead end, back to the first page where he had neatly listed all the assets and limitations of his new world. His eyes fell on one line under the "Blessings" heading.
Blessing: Subtle Influence (makes female targets more receptive; has a 1-month cooldown after use).
He stared at the sentence for a long time. It felt like cheating, an unfair shortcut in the complex game of human interaction. The man he used to be, the man raised to value honesty and hard work, would probably have rejected the idea outright.
But that man was gone.
The man who existed now understood that he wasn't playing a fair game. He was in a world where monsters and gods were real. He had a greater responsibility than just his own ego. His mission to protect people like Mr. O'Malley depended on his ability to become stronger.
His practical mind took over. This wasn't about pride. It was about efficiency. If a tool was available that could drastically increase the likelihood of success, then not using it was negligence. It was a key given to him to unlock a locked door.
He closed his notebook with a slow, steady movement. A decision had been made, not with joy, but with cold clarity of purpose. He would no longer try to win a game whose rules were stacked against him. He would change the rules.
Next time, he thought, his eyes on the rain outside the window. I can't just rely on luck.
The next few days felt like a tense waiting game. The decision had been made, but the execution required something that couldn't be planned: opportunity. Every time he and Sal got a call that ended at Metro-General, a thrill of anticipation ran through Thomas. He was no longer just a paramedic delivering patients; he was a hunter patiently stalking his prey.
But his prey proved remarkably elusive. He saw Dr. Palmer several times, but the moment was never right.
One afternoon, he saw Christine laughing freely in the cafeteria with a group of other doctors. She looked relaxed and happy, a rare sight. Thomas considered approaching, but his instincts held him back. No. Too crowded, he thought. Interrupting them would seem strange and forced.
Another time, during a night shift, he saw Christine arguing fiercely with a hospital administrator in the corridor, her voice low but filled with cold firmness. Definitely not now, Thomas decided. Approaching her when she was angry was a bad idea.
Frustration began to creep in. He realized that finding the perfect moment, a quiet lull in the storm of a trauma surgeon's life, was almost impossible. He needed a moment of vulnerability, a crack in her professional armor. And for that, all he could do was wait, and hope luck was on his side.
The opportunity came one busy night, amidst the usual chaos of the ER. Thomas and Sal had just handed over an asthma patient when a commotion broke out in one of the trauma rooms. The medical team rushed in, and among them, Thomas saw Dr. Palmer leading with brisk efficiency.
From a distance, Thomas could only glimpse the frantic activity inside the room. Thirty minutes later, the team emerged one by one, their steps weary, their faces grim. The door remained open, revealing an empty bed and a floor being cleaned. They had lost.
A few moments later, Thomas saw Christine walk alone to a quieter corridor, connecting the ER to another wing of the hospital. She leaned her back against the wall, bowed her head, and closed her eyes. Her shoulders trembled slightly. This was the moment. The moment of vulnerability he had been waiting for, though his heart felt a little uneasy about taking advantage of it.
With forced resolve, he walked to a vending machine, bought two cold water bottles, and approached her with slow steps.
"Tough night, huh, Doc?" he said softly, offering one of the bottles to her.
Christine opened her eyes. Her gaze was blank with exhaustion and sadness, then slowly shifted to Thomas with a hint of confusion. As their eyes met, amidst her fragility, Thomas focused his entire intent. He didn't think of words. He simply projected a silent, powerful wish, an invisible mental push, directly towards the woman before him. Please, give me a chance. See me.
The change was incredibly subtle, almost imperceptible. Yet, Thomas saw it. The haze of sadness in Christine's eyes didn't disappear, but seemed to lift slightly. The tension in her stiff shoulders seemed to ease a fraction. She looked at Thomas longer, as if truly seeing him for the first time.
She took the water bottle. Their fingers brushed for a fleeting moment. A small, genuine yet tired smile formed on her lips.
"Very tough," Christine replied, her voice hoarse. She opened the water bottle and took a long drink. "Thank you." She looked at Thomas again, this time with genuine recognition in her eyes. "You're Thomas, right? The paramedic who talked about that medical article the other day."
Thomas was slightly surprised she remembered him so clearly. "That's right," he replied. "I didn't mean to bother you."
"No, it's fine," Christine said, resting her head against the wall for a moment. "Quite the opposite, actually." They stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, a brief respite from the chaos around them. For Christine, it might have just been a short break. For Thomas, it was a surreal experience, watching his ability work firsthand, turning an interaction that should never have happened into a quiet moment of connection.
Thomas felt he shouldn't linger. "I should get back. My partner's waiting."
"Of course," Christine said. As Thomas turned to leave, Christine called out to him again. "Hey..."
Thomas turned.
"Thank you. I mean it," she said, now looking straight at him. "It's a relief to talk to someone, even for a moment." She paused, as if making an impulsive decision. "Maybe... we could get coffee sometime, when the world doesn't feel like it's about to end."
This was the offer he had waited for, the invitation that opened everything. "I'd really like that," Thomas replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
They quickly exchanged phone numbers. As Thomas walked down the corridor, away from the ER, he felt immense relief. His risky plan had worked. Yet, beneath the relief, there was another strange, inexplicable feeling, an unease that the success felt a little too easy.
Two days later. The small café in Greenwich Village was dimly lit and cozy, with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon lingering in the air. Thomas arrived fifteen minutes early, choosing a table in a slightly hidden corner. He felt incredibly out of place. In his pocket, his phone contained several notes that now felt ridiculous: "Ask about classical music," and "Mention literary books." He had prepared for this date like preparing for a mission, but now, sitting alone and waiting, all he felt was the awkwardness of a novice.
Christine arrived right on time, wearing a simple sweater and jeans that made her look very different from the always-alert Dr. Palmer at the hospital. For the first time, Thomas saw her not as a target or a doctor, but as a woman, and that made him even more nervous.
The first few minutes of conversation felt a little stiff. Thomas, trying to follow the script in his head, asked about her day, which Christine answered politely but briefly. There was an uncomfortably long pause, during which Thomas frantically searched for the next topic.
Then, he remembered his notes. "So... the nurse in the ER said you're a classical music fan," he said, feeling the sentence sounded more like an interrogation than a casual chat.
Christine smiled faintly, but thanks to the subtle influence still working in her subconscious, the smile quickly became more genuine. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, her tone lighter. "Yes, it's true. It's the only thing that can calm my mind after twelve hours in the ER."
From there, the conversation began to flow. Christine's wall of professionalism, which had only been cracked, now seemed to crumble. She spoke passionately about her favorite composers, about the last concert she had attended months ago. Thomas, in turn, found himself no longer pretending. He genuinely listened, asked questions, and was fascinated by the way Christine's eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved.
For a few precious moments, he forgot everything. He forgot about the cards, about the gods, about the mission. He was just a man enjoying a cup of coffee with a very attractive woman.
The date went better than Thomas had ever imagined. They laughed, and for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt like a normal human again. As they stepped out of the cafe onto the bustling sidewalk, the night air felt cool and pleasant.
"Honestly, I didn't expect you to know about classical music," Christine said with a smile, her eyes sparkling under the streetlights. "I thought all paramedics only listened to loud rock music."
Thomas chuckled. "I have many sides," he replied, feeling a genuine surge of confidence.
It was then that an arrogant, familiar voice cut through their moment. "Christine! I didn't know you had time to stroll among commoners."
Both of them turned. Dr. Stephen Strange stood there, casually leaning against a luxurious car parked at the curb. He wore an expensive suit that looked perfect, with a confident smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Christine's face hardened slightly, though she maintained a polite smile. "Stephen. What a coincidence," she said in a controlled tone.
Strange's eyes shifted from Christine to Thomas, assessing him up and down with a quick, dismissive glance. "And you..." he said, as if Thomas were an interesting specimen. He looked back at Christine. "I didn't know you had time for charity work," he added, his smile widening into a smirk.
Thomas felt a sharp wave of irritation, something he hadn't expected. He remained silent, letting Christine take the lead. On the surface, he appeared calm, but inside, he was analyzing the man before him.
"Stephen, this is Thomas," Christine said, her tone firm yet polite. "Thomas, this is Dr. Stephen Strange, a colleague." Her emphasis on the title "Doctor" was a clear message.
"Pleasure to meet you," Strange said to Thomas, though his gaze suggested otherwise. He then refocused on Christine, patting her shoulder with a gesture that was overly familiar. "Take care, Christy. Don't forget your way back to your ivory tower."
With a final arrogant nod, Stephen Strange turned and got into his car. The luxury car sped away, leaving an awkward silence between Thomas and Christine. The light and easy atmosphere they had built over the last hour seemed to evaporate. Thomas could see the smile on Christine's face had faded, replaced by a familiar tired expression.
Christine sighed deeply, not looking at Thomas. "Sorry about that," she said softly. "Stephen... can be quite annoying sometimes."
"No problem," Thomas replied, his voice calm. "Seems like you two have known each other for quite a while."
"Too long," Christine replied with a slightly bitter smile, before seemingly deciding not to discuss it further. They continued walking in a slightly more rigid atmosphere. The light chatter that had flowed smoothly now felt difficult to restart.
When they arrived in front of Christine's apartment building, their parting felt polite but a little distant.
"Thanks for the coffee, Thomas. I... had a good time," Christine said, sounding sincere.
"You're welcome. Me too," Thomas replied.
After Christine entered the building, Thomas turned and began walking home. His mind was no longer filled with the warmth of a successful date. Instead, his mind raced, analyzing the unexpected new variable. Stephen Strange.
He replayed the man's dismissive gaze, his possessive tone towards Christine. And more disturbing, he replayed his own reaction. A sharp irritation, a desire to say something sarcastic, a strange pang of jealousy. These feelings were illogical. They didn't fit the mission parameters. They were too personal.
He stopped at a street corner, staring at the changing traffic light without truly seeing it. His plan was to approach Christine, build a relationship, and get a new card. Simple, efficient, and impersonal. But Strange's appearance and his own reaction had just changed everything.
This isn't just about getting cards anymore, he thought, a realization that felt unsettling.
The next week and a half felt like a strange, pleasant dream for Thomas. His routine now had a new rhythm. Besides his long shifts, there was now Christine. The line between "mission" and his newly emerging personal life was rapidly blurring.
Their relationship grew in a series of small moments that felt intensely real. One bright afternoon, they walked aimlessly in Central Park. Christine, free from her doctor's scrubs, laughed freely as Thomas recounted one of Sal's most ridiculous complaints. Thomas found himself captivated, not by his target, but by the sound of the woman's laughter beside him.
On another day, knowing Christine was stuck on a 36-hour shift, Thomas brazenly delivered two large portions of warm soup and sandwiches to the hospital. He saw the sincere relief and gratitude in Christine's tired eyes, and it gave him a sense of satisfaction different from that of a successful mission.
There were even late-night phone calls, where both of them, equally exhausted after long days, simply shared comfortable silences or complained about their respective jobs.
"Your phone keeps ringing," Thomas said once while they were walking in the park.
Christine glanced at her screen with a momentary annoyed expression. "It's Stephen," she said, her tone flat. "Asking 'important' things about the surgical schedule that could frankly wait until tomorrow." She muted her phone and put it back in her bag, then smiled at Thomas. "Now, where were you?"
In each of those moments, Thomas felt himself drawn further into the role. This feeling felt dangerous, a variable he hadn't accounted for. He enjoyed this time, more than he should have.
At the end of one of their dates, sitting on a bench overlooking the Hudson River, a comfortable silence fell between them. Christine rested her head on Thomas's shoulder, her breathing regular and calm. For a long time, they simply stared at the twinkling lights across the river. The moment felt perfect. Too perfect.
"This is weird, you know?" Christine whispered softly, her voice barely audible amidst the night wind.
Thomas's heart beat a little faster. "What's weird?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
She lifted her head slightly to look at him, her intelligent eyes filled with genuine confusion. "All of this," she said. "It feels... so fast. I'm usually not like this. It takes me months to feel comfortable with someone. My walls are really high."
She paused, her gaze tracing Thomas's face. "But with you... it feels like I've known you my whole life. I don't feel the need to hide anything."
The words hit Thomas like ice water. It was the highest compliment, and also the most incriminating proof of his deception. This was a side effect of his power, an instant intimacy he hadn't earned honestly. A cold discomfort ran down his spine.
He forced a smile. "Maybe it's just meant to be," he replied, his voice hoarser than he intended.
Christine seemed to accept the answer, leaning her head back on his shoulder. But the seed of doubt had been planted. And Thomas now realized that his influence might not be as seamless as he thought. There was a part of Christine's logical mind that was still fighting, that recognized that all of this was too good to be true.
A few days later, Thomas took Christine to a small classical music performance in an intimate concert hall, a gesture born from their conversation on their first date. The night felt magical. For the first time, there were no interruptions from Stephen or emergency calls from the hospital. It was just the two of them, immersed in the beautiful music. The bond between them felt stronger, deeper than before.
As Thomas walked her home, they stopped in front of Christine's apartment building lobby. The night air was calm, and for a moment, neither of them wanted the moment to end.
Christine turned to face him, her eyes shining under the porch light. "I don't want this night to end," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.
Thomas felt his heart pound in anticipation.
"How about..." Christine paused, as if gathering her courage. "Tomorrow night you come over to my apartment? I'll cook dinner."
There it was. The invitation that had been the goal of all his plans. The final gate. He could feel a cold surge of adrenaline, a mix of anticipation for success, a beginner's nervousness, and the complicated feelings he now had for the woman before him.
He managed to suppress it all, and simply smiled warmly. "I'd love that," he replied.
After saying goodnight, Thomas walked away from the building. He had succeeded. All his steps, all his calculations, had led him to this point. But the feeling of victory felt complicated, overshadowed by the lie that formed its foundation. Yet, there was no turning back now.
The next evening. Thomas stood outside Christine's apartment door, his slightly sweaty hand gripping the neck of a red wine bottle. He felt more nervous now. His plan had brought him this far, but there was no plan for what came next. This was entirely unknown territory.
The door opened, and Christine stood there. She wore a simple yet well-fitting house dress, her hair left down. She smiled, a genuine smile that made Thomas's heart beat a little faster. "You came," she whispered.
Her apartment was warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to his own sterile, functional unit. There were crowded bookshelves, a few abstract paintings on the walls, and the soft strains of violin music drifted from a record player in the corner. The scent of garlic and herbs wafted from the kitchen.
Dinner itself felt like a dream. They sat at her small table, lit by dim light. Christine, it turned out, was a great cook. Their conversation flowed easily, deeper than before. She spoke of her idealism when she first entered medical school, and how the harsh reality of the ER sometimes eroded it. Thomas, in turn, found himself sharing stories, carefully edited versions, of his life, of his desire to help people.
Every one of Christine's laughs, every time their fingers accidentally brushed as they reached for wine glasses, every lingering glance, all built a tension in the air.
After the dishes were cleared, they sat on the sofa. The music still played softly. The conversation had stopped, replaced by a comfortable silence filled with burning anticipation.
Thomas didn't know how long they sat there in that comfortable silence. Time seemed to stop. He was only aware of Christine's proximity, the warmth of her body beside him, and the gentle violin melody from the record player. His mind felt blank now, hypnotized by the moment.
Christine moved, turning her body on the sofa to face him fully. She raised her hand, and Thomas felt the soft touch of her fingertips on his cheek. Her thumb slowly stroked his skin, making his entire body tense with anticipation. Her gaze was deep and filled with emotions Thomas couldn't fully read, a mix of affection, desire, and something deeper.
"Thomas," she whispered, his name sounding like a prayer.
And then, she leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
Their first kiss was soft, a hesitant exploration. Thomas could taste the lingering wine on her lips. Then, as he returned the kiss, something changed. The softness vanished, replaced by a powerful wave of passion. The kiss became deeper, more demanding. Christine's hands moved from his cheek to the back of his neck, her fingers pressing gently, pulling him closer.
Thomas's breath hitched. All plans, all analysis, and all missions evaporated from his mind. All that remained were overflowing sensations: the softness of Christine's lips, the warmth of her breath, and the pounding of his own heart echoing in his ears. This was the point of no return.
When the kiss finally broke, both of them were breathless. Christine's eyes were dark with desire. Without a word, she took Thomas's hand and led him, away from the sofa and towards her bedroom.
Christine's bedroom was dimly lit, illuminated only by the city light filtering through the window. Here, Thomas's doubts vanished, replaced by a raw, unstoppable wave of desire. Their clothes came off quickly, tossed to the floor without care. For the first time, Thomas felt the touch of Christine's skin all over his body, hot and soft, a sensation that emptied his mind.
Their kisses became wild and hungry. Christine's hands explored Thomas's back and shoulders, her nails gently raking, while his own hands awkwardly but eagerly caressed every curve of Christine's body. He could hear their ragged breaths, echoing in the quiet room, becoming the only music there was.
As they fell onto the soft bed, Thomas was on top of her. He paused, looking down at the woman beneath him. Her skin seemed flushed in the dim light, her eyes closed in passion, her lips slightly parted. For a moment, the awkwardness of a virgin haunted him again.
Christine seemed to sense his hesitation. She opened her eyes, looking directly into Thomas's. She smiled, a smile full of understanding and desire, then reached out, guiding him.
As he entered Christine, Thomas's world exploded in pure sensation. Incredible warmth, wetness, and a tightness that seemed to squeeze him from within. The first groan escaped his lips uncontrollably, a guttural sound full of surprise and pleasure. Christine arched her back, a long sigh escaping her lips as she fully received Thomas.
Their movements were clumsy at first, but quickly found a primal, powerful rhythm. The wet slapping sounds of their bodies filled the room, mixing with their groans and gasps. Thomas no longer thought. He only felt. He felt Christine's muscles tensing around him, the grip of her fingers on his back, and every pleasurable moan that escaped her lips.
He could see Christine's firm breasts bouncing with each thrust, her nipples hardened. He could smell their mixed body odors, the intoxicating scent of sweat and desire. It was an overflowing sensory symphony, far more intense than anything he had ever imagined.
"Thomas..." Christine moaned, his name sounding like a plea.
The sensation continued to build within him, a hot, unbearable pressure. He thrust faster, deeper, their hips moving in sync in a wild dance. The world narrowed to just this bed, just the body beneath him, and the tidal wave that was about to break.
With a final suppressed roar, his body convulsed. He felt a blinding release, a wave of heat flooding his entire nervous system, leaving him instantly limp. He collapsed on top of Christine, his body trembling, his breath ragged, his mind completely blank.
Only a few minutes passed in heavy silence, filled only by the sound of their breathing slowly returning to normal and their still pounding hearts. Thomas lay beside Christine, every inch of his skin hypersensitive. His mind, usually always working, was now completely empty, paralyzed by the physical experience that had just overtaken him.
However, his body wasn't still. The sensation lingered, an echoing pleasure pulsating in every nerve. This was an addiction, a hunger he had never known before. His disciplined mind tried to take over, telling him to rest, but his primal instincts, newly awakened for the first time, demanded more.
He moved, turning his body to face Christine. His hand began to explore again, this time with newfound confidence. His fingers traced the curve of Christine's waist, feeling the heat of her skin, still damp with sweat. He lowered his head, his lips tracing Christine's neck and shoulder, inhaling the intoxicating, musky scent of her skin.
Christine responded with a soft sigh, her body writhing under his touch. Thomas continued to move downwards, his kisses leaving a wet trail on her taut stomach. He could see her supple breasts rising and falling with her quickening breaths, her nipples already hardened to sensitive marbles.
As Thomas's lips and tongue finally found her warm core, a sharp moan escaped Christine's lips. Her vagina was already incredibly wet, glistening in the dim light, ready and welcoming. Thomas licked and sucked with the greed of a starving man, savoring every taste and texture. He could hear the wet squelching sounds of his movements, blending with Christine's increasingly uncontrollable moans.
"Ah... Thomas... Yes, right there..." she whispered, her fingers clutching the sheets tightly.
Feeling his penis harden to steel again, driven by the sight and sound of Christine's passion, Thomas changed their position. This time, his movements were more demanding, deeper. Each thrust felt stronger than before, hitting the deepest point within Christine, making her cry out.
"Again... harder!" she pleaded.
The sticky slapping sounds of their bodies echoed in the room. Thomas could see Christine's firm buttocks twitching with each thrust. He gripped her hips, controlling the increasingly wild rhythm. Sweat dripped from his forehead, falling onto Christine's arched back. This was no longer just sex; this was a storm.
The second wave of pleasure came faster, stronger than the first. Thomas felt the muscles inside Christine's vagina clench tightly around him, and with a deep roar, he released himself once more. He could feel his warm, abundant semen pouring out, flooding Christine from within.
He collapsed beside her, his lungs burning, his muscles trembling from total exhaustion. He had gotten what he wanted, but the hunger seemed insatiable.
Thomas thought he had reached his limit. Every muscle in his body felt spent, every nerve felt as if it had just been zapped with high voltage. He lay on his back, eyes closed, trying to regulate his still-pounding breath. He thought it was all over.
Then, he felt a movement.
He opened his eyes and saw Christine. She propped herself up on one hand, her disheveled hair falling to one side, framing her face flushed with passion. Sweat made her skin glisten in the dim light. A teasing, powerful smile played on her lips.
"Giving up already, Paramedic?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and deep.
Before Thomas could answer, Christine moved with the grace of a predator. She rose, and in one fluid motion, she turned her body and now sat astride Thomas's hips. Their positions were reversed. She was in control.
From below, the sight took Thomas's breath away. He saw everything, the woman's nakedness in all its glory. Her firm, full breasts, with nipples still hardened by passion, swayed gently as she moved. Her flat stomach tensed as she supported herself. And between her thighs, her swollen, incredibly wet vagina shimmered, ready to receive him again.
"This time," Christine moaned, her eyes half-closed in anticipation. "It's my turn."
She lifted her hips slightly, the tip of Thomas's already re-hardened penis brushing against the wet lips of her vagina. She didn't lower herself immediately. She teased him, grinding herself back and forth with slow, agonizing movements, making Thomas groan in frustration.
"Ah... Chris..." Thomas moaned, his hands gripping Christine's hips, trying to pull her down.
Christine chuckled softly, a husky, triumphant sound. "Patience, darling," she whispered. Then, with a deliberate, slow movement, she lowered herself, swallowing every inch of Thomas's penis into her incredible warmth and wetness. Thomas arched his back, the full, tight sensation almost driving him mad.
Then, she began to move.
Her rhythm was slow at first, sensual. Her hips rotated, grinding herself over Thomas, creating a deep, intoxicating friction. Thomas could only surrender, his hands now caressing her supple breasts, gently squeezing them while his thumbs played with her hard nipples. Every touch was met with a moan of pleasure from Christine.
"Mmm... yes... like that..." she moaned, her head thrown back, exposing her long neck.
Thomas completely forgot everything. There was no mission, no cards, no world outside this bedroom. There was only the woman on top of him, a masterpiece of sweating skin, tensing muscles, and burning passion. He felt a beauty so immense it was almost painful.
Christine increased her tempo. Her movements became faster, stronger. Each thrust of her hips was met by a thrust from below by Thomas. The wet, slapping sounds of their bodies uniting now grew louder, rhythmic with their escalating moans.
"Ah! Ah! Thomas!" Christine shrieked, her voice rising as she neared her climax.
Seeing the expression of ecstasy on her face, feeling the muscles inside her vagina begin to twitch and squeeze him, pushed Thomas over the edge. With one last powerful thrust, they climaxed simultaneously. Christine screamed, her body convulsing on top of Thomas, while Thomas felt an equally powerful wave of release flood through him.
For a moment, the world was white.
Then, with a final long sigh, Christine collapsed onto Thomas's chest, her body limp and trembling. Both were completely spent, lying in a puddle of sweat and total intimacy.
Silence finally took over. All that remained were the sounds of their deep, heavy breaths and heartbeats slowly returning to a normal rhythm. They lay in each other's arms, limbs intertwined amidst the damp, tangled sheets. An overwhelming exhaustion, the kind that reached into his bones, began to envelop Thomas.
As his hazy mind began to clear slightly, the familiar golden notification reappeared in his vision, floating calmly in the dim bedroom air.
[TARGET FULFILLED. NEW CARD READY TO CLAIM. CLAIM NOW?]
Below it, two choices shimmered: [YES / NO].
Thomas stared at the text emotionlessly. Hours ago, this notification was the sole purpose of his life. Now, it felt like an interruption, a reminder of the game he was playing amidst a moment that felt so real. He was too tired, both physically and emotionally, to care about his reward. The woman sleeping in his arms felt far more important.
With a barely exerted mental command, he chose [NO]. The notification instantly vanished. No card appeared.
Moments later, Christine stirred. She propped herself up on one elbow, her disheveled hair falling across part of her face. In the dim light, she looked at Thomas with a gaze full of warmth and deep admiration. She leaned down and gave Thomas a soft, deep kiss on the lips. The kiss was not demanding, only full of affection.
As she pulled away, her eyes looked directly into Thomas's. She smiled, the most genuine and vulnerable smile Thomas had ever seen.
"I love you," she whispered.
Those three words hit Thomas with more force than any bullet or punch. He had succeeded. His mission was accomplished. But this was a consequence he had never accounted for in his plan. He could only stare back into Christine's eyes, his tongue feeling numb, unable to answer.
This... was not in the plan.