The morning after our late-night conversation, I came downstairs earlier than usual. The common room was still quiet — only a pair of older men sat in the corner, muttering over their mugs.
She was at the counter, hair still a little loose from sleep, sleeves rolled up as she polished silverware.
Her eyes lifted when she saw me, and I caught the faint flicker — that half-second shift where someone's guard drops before they remember to put it back up.
"Morning," she said.
"Morning," I returned, moving to the counter. I leaned on it, close enough that the warm scent of her — something faintly floral beneath the morning air — reached me. "You're up early."
"I always am," she said with a faint smile. "Someone has to get this place running before everyone else wakes."
She poured me a mug without asking. When she slid it toward me, my fingers closed over hers instead of the handle.
Just a second. Warm skin. Desire Touch pulsed between us, and I didn't let it go instantly.
Her eyes met mine, something unspoken tightening in the space between us.
"You're warm," I said quietly.
She gave a small, breathy laugh. "That's the coffee."
"Not the coffee," I said, my tone low enough that she had to lean forward to hear.
Her smile faltered, but not from discomfort — it was the kind of pause someone made when they were deciding whether to step closer or pull away.
[Target's attraction threshold reached. Physical escalation viable.]
I took a sip from the mug, still holding her gaze over the rim. "I was thinking," I said, "about what you said last night."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "What part?"
"That maybe you should let someone help you more often."
She tilted her head, studying me. "And you're volunteering?"
"Maybe I already started."
The quiet stretched. The two men in the corner had left without me noticing, and now the room was ours alone.
I stepped around the counter, close enough that the air between us shifted. She didn't move back.
"You've got a lot on your shoulders," I said. "I can see it in the way you work. Always moving. Always… keeping busy."
"That's how I like it," she said, but her voice was softer now.
"I don't think that's true," I said, letting Desire Tongue wrap around the words. "I think you just haven't had a reason to slow down."
Her lips parted, and for a moment she didn't seem to know what to say. My hand came up, fingers brushing along her forearm. The warmth of her skin was instant, and I let my touch linger, Desire Touch humming at a steady pace.
"You're making trouble," she murmured.
"Only the kind you want," I said.
Her breathing changed — not much, but enough for me to hear.
[Optimal engagement achieved. Target is primed for contact escalation.]
I stepped in closer, close enough that the edge of her hip brushed against me.
My hand moved from her arm to her waist, pulling her gently but firmly against me. Her body yielded almost immediately, the soft press of her curves fitting against my chest like she'd been waiting for it. I tilted her chin up with my free hand, and our lips met—slow at first, a tentative brush that quickly deepened into something hungrier. Her mouth parted under mine, warm and inviting, tasting faintly of the morning's coffee and something sweeter, more personal. As the kiss intensified, my fingers tugged at the edge of her blouse, slipping beneath the fabric to graze the warm skin of her lower back. She tensed for a split second, her hands clutching at my shirt, bunching the material as if deciding whether to pull me closer or create distance. The tension built in the air, her breathing quickening against my lips, the faint rustle of clothing the only sound in the empty room.
Her hands found my shoulders, fingers curling as if testing whether she should push me away or pull me closer.
"You're going to regret this," she whispered, but there was no conviction in it.
"I don't regret what I want," I said, and pressed forward.
I broke the kiss just enough to trail my lips down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under my mouth. My hands explored further, one sliding up her side to cup the swell of her breast through her blouse, thumb circling slowly over the hardening peak beneath the thin fabric. She gasped, arching into the touch, her fingers digging into my shoulders as Desire Touch amplified every sensation, making her skin flush hot under my palms. I pressed her back against the counter, the wood creaking faintly under our weight, my body pinning hers in place. Her skirt rode up slightly as her legs parted instinctively, allowing me to step between them, the heat of her core radiating through the layers of clothing. I ground against her subtly, letting her feel the growing hardness, and she moaned softly, her hands fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, desperate to feel more skin.
By the time she pulled back, her breathing was uneven, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes searched mine like she was trying to find the sense she'd just lost.
"I…" she started, then stopped, shaking her head.
I stepped back just enough to let the space breathe. "You don't have to say anything," I told her. "Not yet."
She swallowed, glancing away before meeting my eyes again. "You should… go upstairs for a bit. Before someone comes in."
As things heated up, I pulled back slightly, both of us breathing heavily. My hand lingered on her thigh, squeezing gently before withdrawing, leaving her wanting more. She straightened her blouse with trembling fingers, her eyes glazed with unmet need, and I whispered against her ear, "We'll continue this later," before stepping away completely.
I left her there at the counter, her hand still resting on it like she needed the anchor.
By the time I reached my room, the system's voice was in my head.
[Desire Points earned: 7. Cumulative total: 15.]
[Bond progress: 60%. Target shows increased loyalty potential.]
I sat on the edge of the bed, the taste of her still fresh in my mind. She wasn't mine yet — not completely. But she was moving there.
And the best part? She'd be thinking about me all day.