CHAPTER 31: STILL A VIRGIN... TECHNICALLY

She asked if she could.

I didn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t want to — but because my brain had short-circuited. Like, completely fried. Burnt toast. Blue screen of death. Gone.

And maybe... maybe she knew that. Because the next thing I knew, she was already moving.

Not in a "wait, stop, I changed my mind" kind of way — no, this was deliberate. Like she was giving me one last second to say no... and I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Her fingers brushed the waistband of my sweatpants, and my soul left my body. There was actual lightning running through my veins. I swear I could hear my pulse — in places that shouldn’t even have a pulse.

"I’ll be gentle," she whispered, her breath brushing against my neck — sweet, warm, dangerous.

Then she lowered herself.

And I—

I don’t even know what happened.

Time slowed. The room spun. My brain screamed something along the lines of this is it, this is the end, you’re not ready, abort, abort.

And then her mouth—

"Oh my God," I muttered, hands gripping the edge of the couch like I was hanging off a cliff. "Val..."

She hummed in response. She actually hummed. Like she was pleased. Or proud. Or evil. Maybe all three.

"Is it too much?" she asked mid-way while teasing.

"I—I don’t know what’s happening," I managed to gasp.

"That means I’m doing it right," she purred.

I didn’t even know what sounds I was making anymore. My soul had started to leave my body and then bam — I lost it. Literally.

Climax. Explosion. Apocalypse. Whatever you wanna call it — it happened.

I collapsed back, panting like I just ran a marathon uphill with bricks strapped to my chest.

She pulled back with the smuggest look I’ve ever seen on a human face, wiped her mouth like she just took a casual sip of a smoothie, and said —

"We didn’t have sex so... you’re still a virgin, technically."

I was shaking. I think my leg was still twitching. And then—she smirked.

"I’m not done."

"Wait—" I gasped. "You’re gonna kill me—"

"Oh stop it. You’ll live," she said, rolling her eyes with a sweet smile that should have calmed me down, but didn’t. "Probably."

"I can’t—I think I need an ambulance—"

"You need water," she said, smug. "And a round two."

"Please," I whispered, eyes glazed, head tilted back, "at least give me a 5-minute cool down..."

She didn’t.

---

The next day, I couldn’t focus.

Literally. Professor Halifax asked a question and I might’ve answered "yes" to whatever it was because all I could think about was her mouth. And the way she looked up at me from between my—

No. Stop. Focus.

People were taking notes. I was replaying sounds in my head.

Even Marina noticed something was off. She raised a brow at me from across the class with a what’s-wrong-with-you look. I looked away. She didn’t need to know.

Celestia? Oh, she was just chilling. Smiling. Twirling her pen. Looking like a literal goddess with zero guilt about the absolute chaos she’d caused in my bloodstream.

It’s been 17 hours, 43 minutes, and some seconds since I stopped counting because time stopped mattering. Because ever since Celestia Valentina Moreau knelt between my legs and said she’d be gentle—I’ve been haunted.

By lunch, I was done. Brain fried. Dignity limping. Libido confused.

I sat at our usual table with my tray of sadness and mystery meat, and she practically skipped over.

"You okay, babe?" she said sweetly, dropping beside me like a loaded nuke in thigh highs. "You’ve been out of it all day. You’re usually quiet, yeah, but today you’ve been, like...haunted. Possessed. Virgin boy malfunctioning."

I choked on my drink.

She grinned. "See? Exactly that face. That’s your ’I’m thinking about what happened last night but don’t know how to say it without dying’ face."

I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. "Please don’t."

"Please don’t what?" she purred, leaning forward, lips an inch from mine. "Say you liked it?"

"Celestia—"

"Oh, come on. Use my name one more time, and I’m touching you under this table. I will."

I almost stood up out of pure panic. "Val. Please."

She sat back, smug like a cat. "Better."

I tried to play it cool, but failed miserably. "I just...can’t stop thinking about it."

Her eyes sparkled. "About what?"

"You know what," I hissed. "You...you said ’i’ll be gentle’ and then you—"

"You’re gonna have to be more specific, babe," she said with a fake-innocent tilt of her head. "I say a lot of things."

I slammed my fork down. "You put me in a psychological chokehold and now I have a problem!"

She laughed. Like full-on doubled-over, rich-girl-snort laugh. "You’re adorable."

"Stop laughing! I’m dying here!"

"You’re horny, not dying."

"Same thing!"

Her laughter slowed, and she leaned over again, voice low, tone softer. "Hey. You know you’re allowed to want me, right? Like...I’m your girlfriend. You don’t have to feel weird. If you ever want that again—just ask."

I blinked. "What...just like that?"

She smiled. "Mmhm. Or don’t ask. Just pout a little, touch my leg, look all lost and flustered like you do."

"I don’t look flustered."

"You look flustered right now."

I looked away and yes, I was flustered. Again.

"Besides," she added, fingers trailing down my arm, "you tasted amazing. So maybe I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about it."

My brain exploded.

"Now eat your sad mystery meat," she said sweetly. "You’ll need the protein."

"...Why?"

She smirked. "Because I’m coming over tonight. Duh."

And I suddenly forgot how to use my legs.

---

To be continued...