My Scumbag System-Chapter 345: How To Handle A Rank 10 Tsundere’s Jealousy

I shut the door to my room and took maybe three steps before I felt it.

Cold.

Not the mild chill of an air conditioner. Not the bite of winter wind. This was the kind of cold that made your bones ache, the kind that turned breath into fog and made you wonder if you’d wandered into someone’s cryogenic freezer by mistake.

My room had become a goddamn meat locker.

Purple light pulsed across the walls in slow, rhythmic waves. Like a heartbeat. Like something alive and furious was breathing in the darkness.

Natalia sat on my bed.

She wore nothing but my dress shirt from yesterday. The one I’d worn to the mainland. The one that still carried the faint scent of Carmen’s perfume and Skylar’s clove cigarettes and Monica’s weird organic tea.

The shirt hung open. Not a single button fastened.

Her purple hair spilled across her shoulders, and those white streaks from the Necropolis glowed faintly in the weird light. Her eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide with something that was part lust and part rage.

The Cryo-Lich Ring on her finger pulsed in sync with her heartbeat. Ice crystals were forming on the windows.

Well. This was fine.

Totally fine.

Nothing about this situation suggested I was about to have an extremely pleasant or extremely painful evening. Possibly both.

"You smell like her," Natalia said.

Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that came right before someone snapped and started throwing cars through buildings.

I opened my mouth to respond.

Invisible hands slammed me against the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

My shoulders hit the wood. My head cracked back. Stars exploded across my vision, and for a second I genuinely thought she’d given me a concussion.

I tried to move my arms.

They were pinned to the door. Invisible shackles wrapped around my wrists like iron manacles, holding me spread-eagle against the wood.

The Nectar connection between us hummed like a live wire. I could feel her hunger bleeding through the bond, mixing with the rage and jealousy into something that made my heart rate spike.

"Nat, listen—"

My belt buckle snapped.

Just. Snapped.

The metal pieces clattered to the floor. My zipper tore itself open with the sound of ripping fabric. My pants were yanked down my legs by invisible hands that didn’t give a single damn about things like gravity or physics.

My boxers followed. Same treatment. Rough. Fast. Absolutely zero foreplay.

I stood there, pinned to the door in nothing but my shirt and socks, with my dick already standing at full attention like a goddamn flagpole.

Cool.

Very dignified.

Exactly how I’d planned my evening.

Natalia stared at it. Her eyes tracked down from my face to my chest to my exposed lower half, and something in her expression shifted from cold fury to predatory satisfaction.

"It already wants me," she whispered. "Even covered in her scent, it knows who it belongs to."

Her bare feet left the floor, and she drifted toward me through the cold air like some kind of beautiful, terrifying ghost. The shirt billowed around her like wings. Her hair moved in an invisible wind that didn’t exist outside her personal gravity well.

When she stopped in front of me, her mouth was level with my chest. Her breath ghosted across my skin, warm despite the freezing temperature she’d turned the room into.

"I can taste her on you," she said. "Skylar. You kissed her. You touched her. You gave her the Nectar."

I couldn’t deny it. Wouldn’t have even if I could.

"Yeah."

"And Emi." Natalia’s voice dropped lower. Darker. "You let Emi sit in your lap. Let her touch your chest. Let her smile at you like you’re her entire world."

"She’s a healer. She was—"

"I don’t care." Natalia’s eyes blazed. "You’re mine. Mine. And I’m going to make sure you remember it."

She sank lower.

Her knees didn’t touch the ground. She hovered there in front of me, suspended by nothing but her own will and her Rank 10 telekinesis, her face level with my hips.

She reached out. Not with her hands. With her mind.

Invisible fingers wrapped around my dick, cool and firm and impossibly real. They stroked once. Twice. Testing. Learning.

"The Nectar flows through your blood," she murmured. "Through your sweat. Your saliva." Her eyes fixed on the tip. "Through this."

I didn’t get a chance to respond.

She opened her mouth and swallowed me whole.

Not slow. Not gentle. Not even remotely considerate of things like human anatomy or the structural limitations of a throat.

She just took all eleven inches in one smooth, wet slide that should have been physically impossible.

Her lips sealed around the base. Her nose pressed against my pelvis. Her eyes rolled up to look at me, glowing violet and utterly triumphant.

I choked on air.

The sensation was insane. She’d coated the inside of her throat with a layer of telekinetic energy that felt like vibrating silk. Ridges and textures formed and dissolved in rhythm, massaging every inch while her actual throat muscles worked in tandem.

She pulled back slow, her cheeks hollowing out as she created suction that made my vision blur. Then she slammed forward again, faster this time, taking me to the hilt.

No gag reflex.

My knees tried to buckle.

The invisible shackles around my wrists tightened, holding me upright against the door while she worked.

She set a rhythm. Slow pull. Fast slam. Her head bobbed in the lamplight, and the wet sounds filled the room, obscene and perfect and absolutely ruining any chance I had of thinking clearly.

Saliva leaked from the corners of her lips. It dripped down her chin, slid down my thighs, caught the light like liquid crystal.

She looked up at me while she did it. Didn’t break eye contact once.

"Fuck," I managed.

She hummed in response.

The vibration shot straight up my spine and nearly ended things right there.

But then she added another layer. Some new horror she’d thought up in her jealous little genius brain.

Vacuum pressure.

She was pulling a literal goddamn vacuum inside her throat, creating negative pressure that felt like she was trying to suck my soul out through my dick.

My head hit the door behind me. Hard.

"Natalia," I ground out. "You keep this up, I’m going to—"

She doubled the suction.

Alright.

Enough.

I’d let her have her fun. Let her think she was in control for exactly as long as it took for the game to stop being fun and start being a genuine threat to my ability to walk tomorrow.

I flexed.