I opened the door.
Yuri stood on the other side, and for a split second, the data in my head met the reality. She looked… intentional. Hair down, a dark dress that wasn't for a cafe, and a bottle of red wine in her hand.
Wine.
DES's 94% glowed in the back of my mind like a confirmed alert.
"Hey," she said with a small, unsure smile on her face that vanished as she stepped in and froze. Her eyes went past me to the small table set for two, the steam still rising from the plates. "Wait. You… cooked?"
I leaned against the doorframe, not moving to take her coat yet. Let her absorb it. "You sounded like you needed a decent meal. Seemed like the least I could do."
Her smile returned, wider, genuine. She walked past me, the scent of her perfume cutting through the garlic and tomato. She set the wine on the table and peered at the plates. "You sure it's not poisoned?"
I closed the door. "It's not," I said, my voice dropping to a casual, almost bored tone. "If it was, it'd be a sedative. Not poison."
She turned, her eyebrow lifting in a challenge, but her lips were twitching. "A sedative? Why would you want to drug me, Terrence?"
I walked over to the counter to get a corkscrew, not looking at her. "Oh," I said, the word light, effortless. "I'm sure you can guess why."
The words came out flat. Casual. Like I was commenting on the weather.
A part of my mind, the old Terrence, recoiled.
Did I just say that?
But my hands didn't fumble with the corkscrew. My pulse didn't jump.
The new calibration held.
I just looked at her, waiting to see what she'd do with the line I'd just tossed into the space between us.
A faint blush touched her cheeks, but she held my gaze, a slow smile playing on her lips. "Confident, aren't you?" she said, her voice a little lower, but her thoughts were clear as day: {Okay, wow. He's not playing around.}
DES painted a tag beside her: [BPM: 77 → 84]
I let myself smirk just a little. Not for her, for the confirmation.
I gestured to the chair. "Sit. The food's getting cold."
I poured the wine for her. My own glass stayed empty. I don't drink well. One wrong sip and the carefully built version of Terrence Holt could start to crack.
She took a bite. Stopped. Her eyes went wide. Then she took another, faster. "Terrence. This is… this is amazing. Seriously."
[BPM: 84 → 79].
She's relaxing. Good.
I stared at my empty glass. The bottle was a danger. A variable.
She caught me looking. "What, you think I poisoned the wine?" she teased, nudging her glass toward me.
I looked up and met her eyes. "No. But I know my limits. And I want to remember tonight."
Her breath hitched slightly. Her thought slid into the quiet: {He's planning on remembering tonight.}
A DES tag updated beside her: [BPM: 79 → 86]
It'd be rude not to. She brought it, and letting her drink alone felt like losing a point.
I don't lose points anymore.
I poured a finger of red into my glass, raised it, and took a single, small sip. The bitter warmth hit my tongue—the first warning of the fog that usually followed.
Right on cue, a sharp, corrective pulse flashed in my vision:
> Threat Detected: Ethanol intake.
Effect: Impairs coordination, lowers social inhibition, reduces perceived value.
Action: Neutralizing. Hepatic catalysis accelerated. Neuro-inhibitory response suppressed.
Status: Sobriety maintained. Desirability metrics stable.
A clean, almost chemical clarity washed through my head, sweeping the faint fog away before it could form. The warmth in my stomach just… dissolved. My head stayed clear. Perfectly clear.
I set the glass down. The wine was just a flavor now. A prop.
The real test was her. And I was now stone-cold sober for it.
---
Dinner was a blur of good food and better data. She focused on her plate, but her mind was a live wire. Every few bites, a thought would slice through the quiet:
{Okay, just be cool…}
{He's just sitting there. So calm…}
{God, I want him to just… make a move already.}
The subtext wasn't subtext. It was a script, and she was waiting for me to start reading it.
We moved to the couch after dinner.
The space between us felt charged, not with tension, but with inevitability. She sat, tucking her legs under her, trying to look casual.
{Okay, Yuri. You can do this. Just… say something.}
She let out a soft breath, then turned her head toward me with a small, testing smile on her lips.
"So," she said, her voice light. Too light. "What now?"
I looked at her.
I heard the question beneath the question. I saw the path DES had mapped out hours ago, the one with a 94% probability.
The system was silent now. No prompts. No recommendations.
This was the final, unguided test.
I held her gaze, my own expression unreadable, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her smile to falter, for the first flicker of doubt to cross her eyes.
Then, I spoke, my voice low, a statement, not a question.
"Honestly," I said. "I just wanna fuck you right now."
A soft, distinct chime resonated in the back of my skull, not in the room, just for me. My vision framed a new line of text:
> Skill Unlocked: «Magnetic Touch» – Level 1.
Effect: User's physical presence induces accelerated emotional imprinting in compatible targets.
Note: Proximity-based. Efficacy scales with target's existing receptivity.
I read it. A new tool. Passive. Insidious.
So that's the play. My closeness doesn't just calm her. It marks her.
The system wasn't just watching. It was arming me for the next move.
Her eyes went wide. The careful, playful mask she'd been wearing cracked right down the middle.
The room's dim light caught the flush blooming across her cheeks, trailing down to where her black dress clung to her chest.
She didn't speak. Didn't move. She just held my gaze, her breath coming in short, quiet pulls. Her teeth were sunk into her bottom lip. A nervous tell, or maybe she was biting back a sound.
DES lit up with a clean, confirming pulse:
[BPM: 94 → 102 → 109...]
> Vitals confirm escalation. Target is primed and receptive. Probability solidifies at 97%.
That was the go ahead I needed.
I didn't give her time to rebuild that mask. I leaned in slowly, and captured her mouth with mine. Her soft, plush lips parted on a gasp that I claimed entirely. Her tongue met mine with tentative hunger, tasting of mint and the faint tang of her nerves.
My hand went to her thigh. My fingers slid under the hem of her dress. The fabric whispered, then gave way to smooth, warm skin.
She's not wearing anything underneath.
The thought hit me just as my fingers slid under the hem—there was nothing there. No barrier. Just bare, heated skin, already slick, parting at the first light graze of my touch.
She trembled.
Good.
In one motion, I pulled her into my lap. Her legs folded around me on the couch. Her dress bunched at her hips, pushed out of the way, and pulled tight across her chest. The sheer black fabric did nothing to hide the shape of her breasts rising fast with her breath, her nipples hard and dark against the material.
She rocked once against the growing bulge in my pants, as a soft whimper threaded into our kiss. Her hands grabbed my shoulders. First a light press, then her grip tightened, fingers digging in.
> Contact Established.
«Magnetic Touch» – Active.
Emotional Imprinting: Accelerated.
Bonding Rate: 180% Baseline.
This was my first time. I should feel lost. Off-script.
But I didn't.
I felt... calibrated. Like the training sims, but hotter.
I owned this.
I unzipped my pants with one hand, and pulled my cock out. It felt... heavier—thick, veins taut, the tip already glistening with precum. Her eyes flicked down mid-kiss, widening a fraction, but she didn't pull back. I deepened the kiss instead. Her mouth was slick and warm, swelling against mine, her tongue curling with a kind of desperate focus.
I shifted her, guiding the head of my cock to the entrance of her pussy myself. Heat enveloped me, tight, as I sank her down.
Inch by inch, her walls gripped me. Velvet, fluttering around the stretch. She moaned low into my mouth, her nipples straining harder against the fabric, begging with every quickened heave of her chest. My hands settled on her ass—firm curves filling my palms—and I thrust up shallow at first, setting the rhythm.
The couch creaked under us. The wet, slick glide of her pussy lips clinging to my shaft on each withdrawal, was the only sound in the room.
This wasn't passion. This was execution.
I kissed her through it—messy now, open-mouthed, her full lips bruised red—while I drove deeper. Her breasts bounced softly under the dress, as her nipples scraped dark peaks against my shirt.
Then I broke her. A sharp cry muffled against my mouth. Her body locked, then shattered into fierce, rhythmic tremors.
> Target Surrender: Confirmed.
Objective Completion: 97% → 99%...
Status: Locked.
It pushed me over the edge. I held her hips down hard, grinding deep as I pulsed inside her.
She shuddered through the aftershocks, her forehead pressed to mine, panting softly. Her dress was ruined. Our mixed sweat and release soaked the fabric where we were still connected.
A soft chime resonated in my skull. My vision framed the update:
«Magnetic Touch» – Level 1 → Proficiency +12%.
Effect Enhanced: Emotional imprinting deepened.
Target loyalty metric: 84%.
Note: Residual proximity sustains bond. Escalation window open.
I read it. The numbers were in. The real test was over.
She wasn't just a person anymore, she was an asset.
She was mine now.
---
To be continued...