The Extra's Rise-Chapter 296: Third Mission (3)

A light brighter than thought, as if the universe blinked. My jaw dropped. "What are you doing Rachel?" I asked as I looked at her, her dress gone for a nightgown. And not just any nightgown—one that seemed designed specifically to make men forget how to breathe properly. It was a whisper of silk in a shade of pale gold that complemented her hair and left very little to the imagination.

'Wow, you may be the first guy getting jumped by a Saintess,' Luna said in my mind, but I could feel her telepathic voice trembling with something between amusement and disbelief. There was a note of impressed surprise there too, as if even she hadn't expected Rachel to be this bold.

"You are so mean," Rachel said as she came forward and settled on top of my lap with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed this moment dozens of times in her head. She put her hands on my chest, pushing me down as I put my hands on the bed to steady myself. Her weight was light, but her presence felt enormous in the small room.

"You made out with Rose and Cecilia but not me." Her voice carried an accusation wrapped in vulnerability, her sapphire eyes watching my reaction carefully.

"Yeah I did," I replied, holding back excuses or explanations that would only complicate things. Instead, I went with honesty. "So what? You jealous?"

Rachel's sapphire eyes widened at my directness, a mixture of surprise and anticipation flooding her expression as I reached up and caressed her cheek. The simple touch seemed to unravel something in her—her face flushed a delicate pink as she leaned into my touch like a cat seeking affection. Then, she put her hand on top of mine and began caressing it, her fingers tracing small patterns against my skin.

"I'm jealous enough to imprison you," Rachel said, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow contained both playfulness and a hint of something deeper, more possessive. Her eyes had that particular gleam that suggested she wasn't entirely joking.

'She got that crazy eyes,' Luna commented, her mental voice carrying a note of warning. 'The kind that says she might actually build a dungeon and keep you there if given half a chance.'

I ignored Luna's commentary, focusing instead on the girl in front of me. The frontier outpost, our mission, Marshal Meilyn's orders—all of it faded to background noise.

"Shh," I said as I pulled her in, one hand sliding to the back of her neck. Her golden hair was soft between my fingers, like holding sunlight. Then, I kissed her lips.

Her lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly sweet—like she'd eaten something with honey not long before coming here. Her kissing technique was sloppy compared to Cecilia's practiced precision—enthusiastic but unrefined, all passion and very little technique. She pressed too hard, moved too eagerly, clearly inexperienced but making up for it with sheer determination.

It was cute, seeing her seek out my lips desperately with her sloppy technique, the way she tilted her head at slightly the wrong angle, how she seemed uncertain what to do with her hands. I held back a smile as I held her head and kissed her deeply, guiding her gently, showing her without words how to slow down, how to match my rhythm.

She learned quickly, her movements becoming more synchronized with mine. Her hands finally settled on my shoulders, gripping firmly as she leaned into the kiss. A small sound escaped her throat—something between a sigh and a moan that suggested she'd been wanting this for far longer than she'd admit.

"You are so good," Rachel panted as we separated, her breathing uneven, her eyes half-lidded with a mixture of wonder and desire. A strand of golden hair had fallen across her face, and I brushed it back gently.

"Well, you are just bad," I said as I put my finger on her lips, her cheeks reddening more at the teasing comment. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It just means you need practice."

Her eyes lit up at that, understanding the implication. The flush on her face spread down her neck, disappearing beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown.

"So, you wanted to make out?" I asked with a tilt of my head as she nodded, a mixture of shyness and determination in her expression.

"Yes," she whispered, then with more confidence, "Yes, I did. I'm tired of watching from the sidelines while Rose and Cecilia... and even Seraphina get ahead."

"Get ahead?" I raised an eyebrow. "This isn't a race, Rachel."

"Isn't it, though?" She countered, her fingers tracing a pattern on my chest. "We all want the same thing. You."

There was something disarmingly honest about her statement, stripped of the usual games and pretenses that often characterized interactions between people dancing around attraction.

'She's got a point,' Luna chimed in. 'You've collected quite the harem, Arthur.'

I chose to ignore that comment too.

Then, we kissed again. This time, Rachel was more attentive, following my lead, mirroring my movements. Her hands moved from my shoulders to my hair, fingers threading through it with gentle curiosity. I let my own hands rest at her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin silk.

When we separated again, her eyes were different—still filled with desire, but now mixed with a kind of determined focus, as if she'd added "become better at kissing" to her personal achievement list.

Rachel leaned in and kissed me again, more confidently this time. Her learning curve was impressive—already she was finding the right pressure, the right rhythm. My hands moved up her back, feeling the delicate structure of her shoulder blades beneath silk and skin.

'This is getting interesting,' Luna commented, her mental voice now tinged with something that felt uncomfortably close to voyeuristic enjoyment. 'Though if she's staying much longer, you might want to engage the privacy protocols on the door. Unless you want Private Rogis walking in with a status update.'

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That was actually a valid point. I reached out with one hand toward the door panel, activating the room's privacy settings without breaking the kiss. The lock engaged with a soft click that Rachel didn't seem to notice, too absorbed in our current activity.

When we finally separated again, both slightly breathless, I found myself studying her face—the delicate curve of her cheekbones, the earnest blue of her eyes, the way her golden hair seemed to catch even the most minimal light in the room. There was something genuinely captivating about Rachel, beyond her obvious beauty. A kind of radiance that came from within.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her head tilted slightly, curiosity in her gaze.

"That you're full of surprises," I answered honestly.

Her smile in response was bright enough to rival the frontier outpost's security lights. "Good," she said, settling more comfortably on my lap. "I wouldn't want to be predictable."

And with that, she leaned in again, apparently intent on making up for lost time.

Time seemed to blur as we continued. Minutes, perhaps longer, passed in a haze of gentle exploration and increasingly confident kisses. Rachel was a quick study, adapting to my pace, finding a rhythm that worked for both of us. Her initial clumsiness gave way to something more intentional, though still tinged with an endearing eagerness that was uniquely hers.

When we finally pulled apart, her lips were slightly swollen, her hair disheveled from my fingers running through it. The composed Saintess image she typically projected had given way to something more human, more vulnerable.

"You learn fast," I said, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

She smiled, pleased by the compliment. "I excel at everything I commit to."

"Is that so?" I couldn't help but smile back. There was something refreshing about her straightforward confidence.

Rachel nodded, shifting slightly on my lap. "Ask anyone. Once I decide to master something, I don't stop until I've succeeded." Her eyes held mine with surprising intensity. "And I've decided to master you, Arthur Nightingale."

'Bold declaration,' Luna commented dryly in my mind. 'Though I think she might be underestimating the complexity of the subject matter.'

I raised an eyebrow. "Master me? That's an interesting choice of words."

"Is it?" Rachel tilted her head, the gesture reminiscent of a curious bird. "I don't think so. I want to understand everything about you. What makes you smile, what makes you angry, what drives you." Her finger traced a line along my jaw.

"So," I said, "now that you've gotten what you came for, are you satisfied?"

Her laughter was soft but genuine. "For tonight, perhaps." She leaned forward, resting her forehead against mine briefly. "But 'satisfied' implies an ending. I prefer to think of this as a beginning."

The weight of her on my lap, the scent of her perfume—something floral with hints of vanilla—and the warmth of her skin beneath my hands created a peculiar kind of comfort. Not just physical attraction, but something more complicated. A connection I hadn't anticipated.

"We should probably get some rest," I said eventually, practical concerns reasserting themselves. "Early briefing tomorrow."

Rachel sighed dramatically. "Always responsible, even now." But she nodded and slowly disentangled herself from me, standing up with surprising grace. The nightgown caught the room's dim light, briefly outlining her silhouette before settling around her.

"Thank you," she said, smoothing down her hair, attempting to restore some semblance of order to her appearance.

"For what?"

"For not comparing me to them," she said simply. "For letting me be just Rachel."

I understood immediately. Rose, Cecilia, Seraphina—each carried their own formidable presence, their own distinct appeal. It would have been easy to draw comparisons, to measure one against the others. I hadn't realized she would notice the absence of such comparison.

"You don't need to be compared to anyone," I told her. "You stand perfectly well on your own."

Her smile at that moment was different from any I'd seen from her before—quieter, more genuine, touched with something that might have been gratitude or relief.

"I'll see you at breakfast?" she asked, moving toward the door.

I nodded. "I'll save you a seat."

Rachel paused at the doorway, her hand on the panel. She looked back at me over her shoulder, a hint of mischief returning to her expression. "Don't think this means I'm going to go easy on you during the mission, Captain."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Lieutenant," I replied with mock seriousness.

She activated the door, checking the hallway quickly to ensure it was empty. Finding no witnesses, she stepped through, but not before throwing me one last glance—part promise, part challenge.

As the door slid shut behind her, I collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.