Chapter 83: The Flashy Ride and the House

Chapter 83: The Flashy Ride and the House

"Ohghnn~ Ahgnn~~"

Pah! Pah! Pah!!

"Aghnn~ Faster," she begged.

Amira Moans echoed in the bathroom.

He obliged. His hands tightened on her hips, and he started pounding into her, hard and fast, the water splashing over the edge of the tub and onto the marble floor.

She cried out, her head falling back against his shoulder, her body arching into every thrust.

"That’s it," he growled against her ear. "Take it. Take all of it."

She could feel herself getting close again, the orgasm building faster this time, coiling in her belly like a serpent.

He must have felt it too, because his hand slid down her body, found her clit, and started rubbing in tight circles.

"Cum Amira, Let it go," he commanded. "Now."

She shattered.

Her body convulsed around him, her inner walls clenching and fluttering, and she heard herself make a sound she’d never made before, or maybe she’d made it and didn’t know it was her voice.... a high, keening cry that echoed off the bathroom tiles.

He kept thrusting through it, kept pounding into her as she came, and the overstimulation made everything worse, made the orgasm stretch and stretch until she thought she might pass out.

"Lynx~" she gasped. "Lynx, I can’t~"

"You can." His voice was strained now, his rhythm faltering. "You can take it. You’re so fucking tight, fuckk! Amira, you’re going to make me—"

"Come inside me," she said, and she didn’t know where the words came from... her inner thoughts? She didn’t care.

"I want to feel it. I want to feel you fill me up, want to be so full and leaking with your fucking seed."

He groaned, a sound that seemed to come

from somewhere deep in his chest, and then he was coming, she felt him pulse inside her, hot and thick, felt him fill her completely. Like she’d asked for.

His hands gripped her hips so hard she knew there would be bruises again. His breath was ragged against her neck.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The water had gone still around them. The only sound was their breathing, ragged and slow, and the soft drip of water from the faucet.

Then Lynx pulled out of her, slow and careful, and she felt the emptiness immediately. She made a small, helpless sound in her throat. He felt it too, that loss, the way her body twitched like it wanted him back.

His seed spilled out of her, warm, mixing with the bathwater in thin white ribbons before vanishing into the drain.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just turned her in his arms, pulling her against his chest until her back was flush with him. Her skin was slick, hot, and trembling. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, to the wet strands of hair stuck there.

"You did so well," he murmured. "My good girl."

Amira didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. She was still trying to remember how to breathe. Her hands came up, gripping his forearms like she was afraid the water would take him if she let go.

They stayed like that. Long enough for the water to cool by a degree, long enough for the steam to thin.

Eventually, Lynx shifted. "Amira." The way he said her name always made her feel fuzzy. "Let’s get out before we turn into prunes."

She huffed a laugh against him, tired and soft. "Bossy."

"You love it."

"I do," she admitted, and let him lift her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Getting ready took longer than it should have.

Lynx stood in front of the mirror, watching his uniform pull itself together. The auto clean function happening in his naked eyes, seams realigning, stains vanishing, wrinkles smoothing out like they’d never existed. In thirty seconds it looked brand new. It was really neat.

"This world is something else. I’m literally watching my own uniform wash itself." He murmured.

He folded it anyway, out of habit, and looked at Amira.

She was already dressed, towel dried hair pulled back, wearing a simple black slip dress that somehow still looked expensive.

Her closet was barely half full. A few dresses, a couple pairs of heels, and one neat, folded set of clothes that looked like it had been waiting for him.

"You got anything I can wear?" he asked.

She glanced at the closet, then at him, and smiled. "Yeah. Here."

She handed him a dark grey shirt and black pants. Casual, but the fabric was too smooth, it was too well cut. Definitely Blessed quality. He smiled at the humor.

Lynx pulled them on. They fit perfectly. Of course they did. He’s Lynx.

She walked to her dresser and picked up a set of keys. Sleek, silver, with a small sigil etched into the fob. It caught the light and threw it back in shards.

"Where are you... we going?" Lynx asked.

Amira looked at him like the answer was obvious. "We are going home."

"Home?"

"Yes, home. What? You don’t think I live in this place do you?"

"U-uhm, yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I figured you, uh, definitely don’t live here and have a house you always stay at."

"Shut up," she said, but there was amusement in it. "Just take your uniform and let’s go."

They headed downstairs.

Kayla was already at the front desk, leaning against the counter with a cigarette between her fingers. The smell hit him the moment they stepped into the lobby. Burnt, sharp, familiar. Earth thing spotted, it smelled exactly like it did on Earth. No enhancement or fancy stuffs added.

She saw them, and in one smooth motion dumped the cigarette into a small bin behind the counter and wiped her hands on her skirt.

"Morning, Miss Amira," Kayla said, all professionalism now. "Heading out today, huh."

"Yeah," Amira said. "I’m going home. Take care of this place. And for Shiva’s sake, don’t fucking smoke."

Kayla didn’t flinch. "Yes, ma’am."

Amira walked out.

Lynx lingered for half a second. He glanced at Kayla, then at the counter, then back at Kayla.

"I know you’ve got a packet in your back pocket," he said quietly. "Give me the packet, or I’ll tell Amira."

Kayla blinked. "W-what, how did you kno— there’s no packet of cigarettes. You’re just guessing."

Lynx smiled. Then he turned, loud enough for the whole lobby to hear, "Amiraaa—"

Kayla was around the counter before he finished the second syllable. She slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shhh, for fuck sake," she hissed. "Here it is. And get the hell out of here."

She yanked a small, crumpled packet from her back pocket and shoved it into his hand.

"Thanks," Lynx said, pocketing it inside his underwear. Amira hated smoke. He’d deal with it later. His underwear will do for now.

He jogged to catch up with her outside.

The air outside was warm, with that golden hour glow that made everything look softer than it was. People were already on the streets. And the moment they saw Amira, they stared.

A Blessed. Out in public.

Lynx got stares too, for his face, for the way he moved, for the faint, different kind of glow under his skin. But Amira outshined him now. Her golden sigil was visible at her forehead. Her presence alone made the air feel lighter.

A few kids, maybe eight or nine, worked up the courage to run up to her.

"Miss! Miss Amira! Can we take a picture?"

Amira softened immediately. She crouched down, let them crowd around her, and smiled for three quick photos. One of the boys was shaking.

"Be good, okay?" she told them, ruffling one kid’s hair before standing.

They walked to the parking lot a block down.

And that’s when Lynx saw it.

"...your automobile is sick," he said.

The word barely did it justice.

It was low, sleek, and vicious. A car that looked like someone had fused a Porsche, a Lamborghini and a Ferrari, then told it to be obnoxious about it.

Glossy obsidian paint that shifted to deep violet in the light. Trims that ran along the edges like liquid silver. The doors opened upward, with a soft hydraulic hiss when she pressed the button on the key.

Inside, the seats were white leather, the dashboard was glass and light, and the sigil on the steering wheel pulsed faintly, like it was alive.

"Thanks," Amira said, laughing at his expression. "Get in."

He did. The door shut with a sound that felt expensive. ’Damn I love cars, and she’s definitely rich too. This car is more fancy than Isabel’s super fancy car.’

The drive was smooth. Too smooth. Like the car wasn’t touching the road at all. They merged onto the main road, and the city blurred past in streaks of neon and gold.

Lynx pulled out his phone.

Kira had 12 new messages. All caps. All furious. He didn’t even understand half of what she was mad about.

Emily: 3 messages. Normal. Asking if he was okay, if he was eating, and where he was now.

Lira: 30 messages. Thirty new messages, all words, her saying he should come back, or he should stay safe of he should take a photo of his face, or he should call her, and some other weird and half types requests.

He typed out one group reply.

[Me: Gone for a few days. Maybe weeks. Be strong. Get into your affinity trials. Become among the chosen 50. Take academy forest missions. Get stronger. I’ll be back....] He just created a group chat with that single message.

He sent it.

Then he opened Isabel’s chat. Sent her a quick: Thinking of you, hope you’re really fine.

He sent a message to Rose and got no reply. He locked his phone and stared out the window.

Amira noticed everything.

"You ever wondered," she said, eyes on the road, "what outside this human continent looked like?"

Lynx didn’t look at her. "No. My parents died by the hands of a Blessed. I Got afflicted by a curse at 13. Almost died. Came back to life. Became a Blessed at 18. Two months ago."

The car went quiet except for the hum of the engine.

Amira’s expression softened. Her hand left the steering wheel for a second and found his. Her fingers were warm.

"My poor baby," she whispered.

"I got you moaning my name like a prayer a few hours ago," he said, trying for light.

"Shut up and enjoy the moment."

He laughed, bright and real, and she glanced at him. At his face, sharp and unfair and open in a way she hadn’t seen before. And something in her chest twisted.

They forgot the question. They talked instead. Random things. She told him what she liked and some other boring stories about a town she visited.

He listened attentively.

An hour later, the car slowed.

Lynx’s jaw dropped.

The house was massive. White stone, tall columns, gardens that looked like they were trimmed by magic. Lights were on in every window, warm and welcoming.

"I’m either just really lucky with rich women in this new world," Lynx said to himself, "or I’m finally cashing in on all the suffering I received on Earth."

Amira parked, killed the engine, and looked at him.

"Welcome home," she said.