The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 367

Chapter 367: 367 | Make Me Forget the Vanilla

"What am I to you."

"Everything." The word came out without thought, which meant it was true. "You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up. You’re the standard I measure everyone else against. You’re the reason I want to be number one, because what’s the point of standing at the top if you’re not standing next to me."

"That’s, hahh." Her voice cracked. "That’s embarrassing. You can’t just say things like that."

"I can say whatever I want. I’m the class representative now."

"Oh my god." She pulled back far enough to punch my shoulder, hard, and there was the Sloane I knew, fire and violence and emotion expressed through impact. "You’re making jokes. I’m having a crisis and you’re making jokes."

"The joke is how I cope."

"Cope better."

"Make me."

She kissed me again.

This one was different. Angry. Hungry. Her teeth caught my lower lip, not gentle, and when I hissed she swallowed the sound with a satisfaction that pulsed through the bond like electricity. Her hands found my shoulders and pushed, backing me toward her bed, and I let her push because Sloane needed to feel in control and I needed her to have it.

The backs of my knees hit the mattress. I sat. She followed me down, straddling my lap, the dress riding up her thighs as she settled her weight against me.

"You’re mine." She said it against my mouth, fierce, claiming. "Whatever happens with her, with anyone, you’re mine first. Say it."

"I’m yours first."

"Again."

"I’m yours first."

"Nnh." She rolled her hips, grinding down against me, and the friction pulled a sound from both of us. "I can feel her on you. The vanilla. It’s, hahh, it’s making me crazy."

"Good crazy or bad crazy."

"Both." She ground down again, harder, the friction deliberate and devastating. Her head fell back, exposing the line of her throat, pink hair cascading over her shoulders in a wave that caught the lamplight. "I want to burn that smell off you. Replace it with me. Make you forget anyone else exists. Make you forget what she smells like. What she looks like. Make it so every time you close your eyes all you see is me."

The possessiveness in her voice sent heat straight through me.

"Then do it."

Her eyes snapped to mine. The blue was almost gone, swallowed by pupil, and what remained was wild with want.

"You don’t get to tell me what to do." She rocked against me in a rhythm that was definitely not accidental, slow and grinding and perfectly calculated to make me lose my mind. "I tell you. That’s how this works. That’s how we work. I’ve waited nine years for this. I’m in charge."

"Yes ma’am."

"Don’t, nngh, don’t call me that." The words came out strangled. She rolled her hips again, harder, and I felt her shudder against me. "Makes me sound like my mother."

"What should I call you."

"Sloane. Just Sloane." Her hands found the hem of my shirt and yanked upward. I raised my arms, let her strip it off me, and then her palms were flat against my chest, fingers splaying across muscle that months of System-enforced training had built from almost nothing.

She traced the lines of my shoulders, my ribs, mapping the changes with a focus that felt clinical and hungry at the same time.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify