Your Girlfriend Calls Me Daddy

Chapter 159 - 160 | The Taste of Her Defenses

I leaned back and considered where to start. The transmigration? The system? The quest that required me to seduce seven women or die trying?

No. Too much. She’d think I was insane.

Start with what she could verify.

"I’m a Drain-type," I said.

She nodded slowly. "I deduced that on Friday."

"I copy abilities through physical contact. The more intimate the contact, the stronger the copy."

"Define intimate."

"Kissing works. Sex works better."

Her pen stopped clicking. "Better how?"

"Longer retention. Deeper integration. Permanent acquisition if the connection’s strong enough."

Noel processed this in complete silence. Her portfolio sat open in front of her, covered in notes and charts I recognized from when I’d found them Friday. She’d been tracking my ability usage, cross-referencing with students who had similar powers, building a case against me with the same obsessive attention she brought to everything.

"Mera," she said finally. "The spatial manipulation. You got it from her."

"Yes."

"By sleeping with her."

"Yes."

"And Cheon. The... whatever you used on Vince that knocked him out cold."

"System Interface. Lets me read Essentia signatures and apply buffs or debuffs." I watched her face carefully. "And yes. From Cheon."

"How many people have you—" She cut herself off, color rising in her cheeks.

"Slept with?" I finished. "Here? Three. Four if you count last night."

Her eyes widened fractionally. "Who?"

"Mera. Cheon. Professor Reeves."

The pen snapped in her hand.

Noel stared at the broken pieces, blue ink staining her fingers. She set them down very carefully and reached for the red pen instead.

"You slept with a professor."

"She blackmailed me into it." Technically true. "Research purposes."

"Research."

"She wanted to study how the drain works. Required hands-on investigation."

Noel laughed, sharp and bitter. "Of course she did. And you just... agreed?"

"Seemed safer than letting her report me to the NEA."

"So you’re collecting abilities." Her voice went flat. Professional. The same tone she used when presenting tactical analysis. "Sleeping your way through the student body and faculty to build a power portfolio."

"When you say it like that, it sounds worse than it is."

"How is it actually?"

I met her eyes. "Survival."

That got her attention. Her pen stilled.

"Explain."

So I did. Not everything. Not the transmigration or the death timer or the protagonist I was supposed to replace. But enough. That my ability required intimate connections to function. That without regular contact with compatible partners, the copied abilities degraded and disappeared. That I needed multiple sources to maintain operational capability.

That I was exactly the kind of person the NEA would lock away if they understood what I could become.

When I finished, Noel sat back in her chair. Her portfolio remained open but she wasn’t looking at it anymore.

"That’s horrifying," she said.

"Yeah."

"And Mera and Cheon know all this?"

"They know. They signed contracts. They’re helping."

"Why?"

Good question.

"You’d have to ask them."

Noel’s jaw worked. She picked up the red pen and started tapping it against the table in a rhythm that probably meant something in her organizational system.

"Friday," she said. "In the prep room. When you kissed me."

"Yeah."

"Were you testing compatibility?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because I wanted to." I leaned forward, forearms on the table. "Because you looked at me like you wanted to kill me and fuck me simultaneously. And I was curious which one would win."

Her face went crimson. The pen snapped.

"You’re insufferable."

"You’ve mentioned."

"And arrogant."

"Also mentioned."

"And you think you can just—" She stood abruptly, the chair scraping. "You think you can kiss me once and I’ll just fall into your ridiculous harem situation?"

"No." I stood too, slower. "I think you’ll fight it. You’ll rationalize and organize and make lists of reasons why this is a terrible idea."

"Because it is."

"Agreed." I walked around the table. "And you’ll still end up in my bed eventually."

"You’re delusional."

"Then prove it." I stopped three feet away, giving her space to run if she actually wanted to. "Tell me to leave. Mean it. And I’m gone."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her hands fisted at her sides.

"I hate you," she said.

"No you don’t."

"I should hate you."

"Different statement."

Her eyes blazed, grey going almost silver with whatever emotion she was cycling through. Pride. Anger. Want. All of it mixing together into something volatile.

"What did I taste like?" she asked suddenly.

The question caught me off guard. "What?"

"You said everyone tastes different. Mera’s cinnamon. Cheon’s honey and lightning. The professor’s..." She trailed off, apparently unwilling to repeat what I’d told her about Laurana’s complex flavor profile. "What was I?"

I could lie. Make something up. Keep that information for myself.

But Cheon was right. Honesty worked better.

"Vanilla," I said. "And frost. Steel underneath. Fire at the very bottom, buried where you thought I wouldn’t reach."

Her breathing changed. Faster. Shallower.

"That’s..." She swallowed. "Very specific."

"Your Essentia’s very specific."

"And you want more."

Not a question. A statement.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I already told you." I closed half the distance. "You’re extraordinary. And I was an idiot for not seeing it sooner."

"You’re using the drain on me right now." Her voice shook slightly. "I can feel it. You’re doing that thing where you make people want—"

"I’m not doing anything." I held up both hands. "The drain’s closed. Has been since I walked in."

She stared at my hands like they’d betrayed her. "Then why do I—"

"Because it’s real." I lowered my hands slowly. "Whatever you’re feeling. It’s yours. Not manufactured. Not manipulated."

"I don’t believe you."

"Yes you do."

Her mouth opened for another denial but nothing came out. We stood there, three feet apart, while something invisible pulled tighter between us.

"If I let you kiss me again," she said carefully, "what happens?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you run after."

Her chin lifted. "I don’t run."

"You ran Friday."

"I was... processing."

"Process faster."

She crossed the remaining distance herself, which surprised me. Her hand went to my chest, palm flat over my heart.

"The drain," she said. "Open it."

"Noel—"

"I want to know. What it actually feels like. Without fear."

I searched her face for hesitation and found only determination mixed with something that might have been curiosity or might have been want disguised as scientific interest.

Fine.

I opened the drain.

Her Essentia slammed into me like a wave, vanilla and frost and steel and fire all at once. Cleaner than Friday. Brighter. Like she’d stopped fighting the connection and just let herself feel it.

Her pupils blew wide and her breath caught. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"That’s..." Her other hand found my shoulder, nails digging in slightly. "Why is it so—"

"Compatible." I put my hands on her waist, careful. Giving her room to pull away. "We fit."

"That’s not scientific."

"Fuck science."

I kissed her.

This time she didn’t freeze. Didn’t hesitate. Just opened for me immediately, her tongue finding mine while the drain exploded wider. I tasted everything she’d been hiding under that perfect exterior. The loneliness of being too smart for her peer group. The pressure of family expectations. The fear that maybe she’d peaked already and this was as good as she’d ever be.

And underneath all of it, buried so deep she probably didn’t know it was there: the fear that she actually liked me.