Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 220: Escalation **

"Aaaahhhh..."

The flush on Arkai’s skin deepened with each passing moment. Not the ruddy, unhealthy red of fever, but something richer, darker, spreading from his chest up his neck to stain his cheeks like wine spilling across white linen.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickled down his temples, caught in the hollow of his throat where his collar hung open.

His eyes, when they weren’t rolling back in his head, were glazed, half-lidded and heavy, pupils blown wide. His brows drew together in a constant, helpless furrow, caught between pain and pleasure and something that looked almost like wonder.

Lips, usually pressed into that stern, presidential line, were parted now, soft, wet, trembling with each exhale. A thin thread of saliva escaped the corner of his mouth, unnoticed, as his head lolled back against the sofa cushion.

His chest heaved beneath the wet fabric of his uniform. Each breath was a battle, each exhale a moan he couldn’t quite suppress.

The veins across his forearms stood out in stark relief. Dark, throbbing lines mapping the chaos of his mana. His hands, those strong, capable hands, gripped the sofa cushions hard enough to tear the fabric.

And still Cecilia’s mana flowed through him, mapping every corner of his being.

His hips twitched. Once. Twice. Involuntary, uncontrollable. His trousers were agony. Too tight, too confining, too much. A wet spot had begun to form at the apex of his crotch, darker against the dark fabric.

"Please..." The word escaped him, broken and desperate. He didn’t know what he was asking for. Didn’t know if he wanted her to stop or never, ever stop.

His body arched off the sofa, a full-body shudder wracking him from crown to heel. When he came back down, he was more dishevelled still. Hair plastered to his forehead, shirt completely untucked, buttons popped somewhere in the chaos.

He looked ruined.

He looked divine.

Cecilia grasped his hand tighter.

"Please what?" she asked.

Her voice was cold.

This man, this version of him, flushed and trembling and undone, was the same creature that had pinned her in a bathtub full of cold water. A man completely out of control. A man in a state beyond rut and rampage, beyond reason, beyond himself.

This version of him was almost... adorable.

But they were the same, in a way. Both refused to ask for help. Both locked themselves in rooms, trying to handle everything alone, carrying burdens they should never have had to shoulder.

Control might as well be Arkai’s middle name. But everything outside his control, everything that slipped through his fingers, drove him insane. Made him blame himself.

Like Sienna and Roarke. Like the assassinated southern lords. Like Mount Saede.

Like Rinne.

"Please... I don’t know... I don’t know..."

Arkai’s voice cracked, low and lilting, stripped of all the authority and composure he wore like armor. His eyes, glazed and desperate, searched her face for something. Answers, maybe, or absolution.

But Cecilia heard the echo of another question. The one he had asked her that day, when she wanted to know if he understood what to tell Rinne about everything.

He had asked her back. What do I tell him?

Perhaps Arkai never really knew what to do except push himself harder. And only himself.

"Do you want me to ride on top of you?"

Cecilia asked.

She had to take that control away from him.

Had to be the one directing, deciding, owning this moment. If he was going to surrender anything, his body, his burden, his endless, crushing need to handle everything alone, she would be the one to catch it.

"I want to ride on top of you."

Arkai’s mind spun.

Images. Visions. This beautiful girl, this impossible woman, on top of him. Her body moving. Her hips rolling. Her—

He saw complete white.

For a split second, a heartbeat, a breath, he was convinced he had tripped out of consciousness entirely. The world blinked out of existence, leaving only the echo of her words and the violent, helpless surge of his body in response.

Cecilia repeated herself. Patiently. Unhurriedly.

"I can ride on top of you. Facing away, so you can see my ass move up and down your cock."

"Ha—"

White. Again.

The wet spot on his trousers grew larger, darker, impossible to ignore. His hips jerked against nothing, seeking friction, seeking her.

In this world, their relationship wasn’t the taboo it was in the real one. Here, he wasn’t her uncle-in-law. She wasn’t the wife of his nephew. She was just the top student of the Unique Magic Department, and he was just the Student Council President.

"I will tighten my pussy when I pull my ass up."

She said it like a lecture. Narrating a demonstration.

"Then relax it when I push myself down. I’ll do it over and over again so it’ll feel like I’m milking you. Sucking you. I’ll move my hips and waist, clenching and unclenching my ass—"

"Miss Araceli—!"

Arkai’s growl was raw, torn from somewhere deep in his chest.

She was murdering him with these narrations.

"Eventually, you’ll want it harder." Her voice was a low, steady murmur, each word a deliberate stroke. "You’ll want it faster. You’ll wrap your hands around my waist and slam your hips up into me."

"Aaaaahhh!"

The moan tore from Arkai’s throat—raw. Immediately, he growled, clenching his jaw so tight the muscles in his neck stood out. His whole body was a battlefield, fighting itself, fighting her, fighting the images she was painting in his mind.

His hips jerked again, involuntary, uncontrollable. The sofa creaked beneath him as his legs shifted, spread wider, seeking something they couldn’t name.

His fingers, the ones not gripping hers, had torn completely through the cushion fabric, stuffing spilling out around his white-knuckled grip.

"You’ll hold me in place," Cecilia continued, "while you drive yourself into me over... and over... and over... and ov—"

"Mmmmmhhhrrrrrr—"

The sound that came from him was barely human, a growl and a moan and a desperate, keening whine all wrapped together. His head thrashed against the sofa cushion, hair wild, eyes screwed shut. Sweat ran in rivulets down his neck, soaking into his already-ruined collar.

His chest heaved. His abs clenched and released in visible waves beneath the damp, translucent fabric of his shirt. Every muscle in his body was taut, trembling with the effort of not—of not—

"Then I’ll cry." Her voice softened, just slightly. "I’ll cry and cry and cry, and I’ll praise your cock because it feels so good. Because it’s hard and big and very, very girthy..."

Arkai’s body went rigid.

His hand, the one grasping hers, tightened until his knuckles were bone-white, until she could feel the bones of her own hand pressing together. His back arched off the sofa, a full-body bow of tension and need.

POP.

The button of his trousers gave way, flying across the room to land somewhere in the darkness. The fabric strained, split, revealed.

"You—"

"Then I’ll go quiet." Cecilia leaned closer, her whisper intimate, devastating. "I’ll whisper that you’re doing so well. That you shouldn’t stop. And I’ll tell you I’m going to cum."

His eyes flew open—wild, desperate, completely lost.

"I’m going to cum, Mr. Dawnoro. I’m cumming. Right now... right now... now, cumming... cumming...!"

Arkai’s mind collapsed.

There was no other word for it. The careful architecture of his control, his composure, his self, all of it crumbled into nothing. White light swallowed everything.

And then, immediately, wet warmth.

The previously darkened spot on his trousers surged, spread, overflowed. Hot white fluid seeped through the fabric in pulses, soaking through, dripping onto the sofa beneath him. More than should have been possible. More than he had ever—

His body shuddered through it, his hand still gripping hers like a lifeline, his eyes still fixed on her face as if she held the only reality that mattered.

Then, it hit him.

The impossible relief.

It crashed over Arkai like a wave. Warm, dissolving, absolving. The fire in his veins, the desperate clawing need that had been consuming him from the inside, simply... ceased.

One moment it was there, overwhelming and absolute, and the next it was gone, leaving only the remnants of its passing and the lingering tremor in his muscles.

The drug’s effect—was gone...?

But they hadn’t done any penetra—

"I see."

Cecilia’s voice was soft, contemplative. When he managed to focus on her face, she was smiling. A gentle, satisfied smile, the smile of a scientist whose experiment had just yielded unexpected results.

"Using my mana to ease yours, and making you imagine the act, was enough to reverse the effect."

She nodded to herself, pleased.

Huh...?

Arkai stared at her, his mind struggling to catch up.

They were...

...still experimenting...?