QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 138: Confused

Chapter 138 - Estela POV

The moment stretches, melts, and reforms into something new.

Forever. That’s what it feels like. I don’t even know how long it’s been.

I’m a trembling mess.

Not because of movement.But because Daphne has barely moved at all.

She’s hovering over me, her head dipped, utterly focused—with the unwavering patience of someone who has all the time in the world.

She’s been there for what feels like hours, alternating between kisses, biting gently, and sucking on my chest with such maddening attention I think I’m going to combust.

There’s no urgency anymore.

The hunger that had her slamming doors and pinning me down earlier has vanished, replaced by something deeper. Intimate. Dangerous in its own right.

She’s like a child with a new toy, fascinated and completely absorbed.

Her lips wrap around my nipple again and I gasp. Again. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

She lets go just to switch sides, trailing a kiss across my sternum as she moves. The other hand—oh God, her hand—moves to cover what her mouth just abandoned, thumb brushing over the sensitized peak in a lazy, teasing circle.

I bite down on my lip.

Because this is not supposed to feel this good.

My nerves are on fire. My body isn’t mine anymore. It belongs to her—and she knows it.

The look in her eyes says as much.

She bites gently again and I nearly squeak. Not a noise I’ve ever made in my life, but here we are.

My hands scramble for something to hold. The bedsheets? Her shoulders? My sanity?

None of them help.

"Daphne," I breathe.

She hums against my skin. The vibration shoots straight through me.

She finally lifts her head to look at me, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded and impossibly smug.

"You okay?"

"You know I’m not."

She grins. Her hand strokes my side again, nails lightly trailing.

"You like it."

I glare at her, weakly. "You do realize there are other parts of me, right?"

"Yes, but these are my favorites today."

She leans back down, making me yelp in surprise.

"Daphne!"

"Shhh," she whispers, nuzzling. "Let me worship."

She doesn’t ask for permission. She just continues.

And all I can do is lie there, utterly helpless and maybe a little in love.

Maybe a lot.

The ceiling spins slightly. My breath comes in short bursts. I feel like I’m floating.

Every time I think she’s done, she switches tactics.

Hands.

Teeth.

Tongue.

Repeat.

Her teeth graze my nipple again, and I swear I’m drenched.

I didn’t know I’d be brought to my knees like this—except I’m already lying down, chest heaving, arms limp, legs trembling, every nerve shot through with the kind of electric want that borders on unbearable.

I grip the bedsheets when her other hand pinches the opposite nipple, and my back arches off the bed involuntarily.

I want to cry.

"Daphne, pleaseee," I beg, voice cracking.

She doesn’t answer verbally. Just makes a low, amused hum around my nipple like I’m a dessert she’s not quite done savoring.

Finally, finally, she releases me with a soft, wet plop that leaves me panting. Even the cold air in the suite is too much. It grazes over me like another touch, and I gasp.

"Fine, fine," she says, lifting her head, her voice melodramatic.

"Since you begged me so prettily."

Then, without warning, she flicks one nipple and gives both of them a final, affectionate squeeze—like she’s reluctantly saying goodbye to her favorite toys.

She even sighs, dramatic and wistful. "You were good to me," she murmurs to them like a heroine in a tragic war drama parting from loyal soldiers.

My brain is static.

My body is jelly.

She shifts, her hand trailing down the center of my stomach, brushing so gently I feel every pass like heat branded into my skin.

She stops at my pelvis.

And then—then—this woman has the audacity to lean back, and start unbuttoning her white dress shirt. Slowly. Intentionally.

Each button clicks free, and my heart climbs higher in my throat with every inch of skin she reveals.

Meanwhile, I just lay there like a starfish—spread out, no energy, limbs slack, mind gone.

"You okay down there?" she asks, glancing at me over her collarbone as she slips the shirt off her shoulders.

I say some incorrigible words as a response.

She laughs, gets off the bed, and removes the plain white bralette she was wearing.

I sit up in bed, observing—I’ve never seen Daphne naked, despite us sharing a bed a couple of times.

"Like what you see?" she says, removing her slacks.

"You actually have breasts," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

She pauses mid-step, looks at me, and then bursts out laughing. She literally sits down on the bed, shaking with laughter, shoulders bouncing.

"Don’t laugh!" I say, sitting up and swatting her shoulder.

"What did you expect me to pull out a dick too? I’ve been told I do give off that energy," she says, still laughing.

I cover my face. "I didn’t mean it like that..."

"I just didn’t think, I thought you’d be..."

"Flat?" she finishes, still amused.

"Yeah," I admit, sheepish. I mean, they’re not huge but they’re there, and it catches me off guard. Did this mean I thought of Daphne as a man subconsciously?

She stands, facing me fully now, naked and entirely unbothered by my spiraling thoughts.

And just like that, my internal moral dilemma dies a swift and silent death.

Because Daphne? Daphne is really attractive.

No—like, really really attractive.

Definitely not a man.

Her body is a contradiction in all the best ways. Slender waist. Faint abs. Defined biceps. A v-line that has no right being that sharp.

I’m confused.

And very, very turned on.

And confused.

Very confused.

"That’s enough staring," she says, smirking.

Then she pushes me back into the bed, her body following, warm and insistent, nudging me further down until her short hair frames her face.

She leans down for a kiss.

Naked.

Heaven, help me.