Erin's Night (V)

By the time Andy and Erin made it back to the Suite, the sun had vanished completely, and the sky overhead was inked with stars—just visible through the top-floor glass and the glare of the hall’s sconces. They lingered at the entry, Erin holding possessively onto Andy’s arm, both of them looking forward to a dinner they were equally looking forward to prepare.

Instead, Andy opened the door to bedlam.

At first, he thought maybe the hotel’s cleaning staff (Mildred) had suffered a nervous breakdown. There was yarn everywhere—blue and green and orange, crisscrossed from one piece of furniture to the next in looping, irregular arcs, each strand taut enough to serve as a tripwire for the unwary. It zigzagged across the light fixtures and the fireplace, over the bar cart, under the dining table, up the banister to the observatory deck, forming a web so dense and uneven it was less “decorative accent” and more “crime scene evidence.” Suspended from the yarn at unpredictable intervals were objects: seashells, paper origami fish, knotted bundles of colored tissue, and the telltale red wrappers of Swedish Fish, all twirling and flickering in the faint draft from the vent.

At the heart of the web, right above the living room rug, hung a sign made from three sheets of printer paper scotch-taped into a wonky rectangle. The marker work was heavy, the letters thick, intentionally irregular, and deeply black:

spider gotcha

Andy stared, dumbstruck, then burst out laughing—so sudden and loud he startled Erin, who froze behind him on the threshold, both hands flying to her mouth in horror.

For a good ten seconds, she didn’t move. Just took it in, eyes darting from the tangle above to the cryptic sign, down to the floor, where her first step would surely bring the whole apparatus crashing down.

“Is this… is this safe?” she whispered, voice thick with awe.

He shook his head, still grinning. “It’s a Laura Original. She’s been escalating for days, but I did not see this coming.”

Erin tiptoed forward, scanning for traps. She skirted a yarn line that drooped perilously low near the TV console, only to snag the edge of her shoe on a loop rigged around a chair leg. The tension pulled two paper fish into a sudden, wild spin, and Erin yelped, hopping backward with her hands up like she was being held at gunpoint. She turned to Andy, face caught between suspicion and admiration.

“This wasn’t in the keycard agreement,” she said, a little breathless.

“Technically, there was no agreement about pranks.” Andy ducked under a strand near the kitchen pass-through and surveyed the handiwork. He was impressed by the sheer scope—the time, the planning, the fact that Laura had clearly waited until he and Erin were out of the Main Building entirely before stringing the place up. It must have taken hours, even if she was getting better at using her two bodies separately for short bursts.

“Jesus. I left her alone for one afternoon, and she built a spider fortress.”

Erin eyed the sign, then the staircase. “Do you think she’s hiding up there?”

“Doubt it.” Andy pointed at the tag line in the lower corner of the sign, a neat all-caps ENJOY :) written in blue ballpoint. “Classic hit-and-run.”

They both started to laugh, the sound rolling between them, taking the edge off the shock. Erin let herself approach the center of the web, peering at the shells and the folded fish, until she spotted something on a lower branch of the structure—a paper doll, cut crudely from mint construction paper, with two lopsided circles glued to its chest and a wild mop of copper yarn for hair.

“Oh my God,” she said, and actually cackled. “She made me.”

She plucked the doll from its perch and dangled it in front of Andy. The likeness was terrible, but unmistakable—especially the chest, which was comically oversized even by Suite standards. “You know, I should be offended, but…” Erin shook her head, genuinely delighted. “I respect the commitment.”

Andy grinned, watching her turn the doll in her fingers. “You want to keep it?”

“Damn right I do.” Erin stuck it behind her ear like a pencil and ducked back under the web, surveying the room with new eyes. “She’s really good at this. My brother’s most complex prank involved supergluing googly eyes to all my hairbrushes. But this? This is a whole new level.”

“I think it makes her feel more… a part of all this,” Andy said, tone softer. “It’s her way to say she cares.”

Erin glanced at him, then at the web, her face shifting from mirth to something warmer. “It’s kind of beautiful, actually,” she admitted. “Even if it’s a pain in the ass.”

They took a minute to appreciate the spectacle, Andy weaving through the maze and Erin mapping out which lines were rigged with traps. The Suite had never felt so alive—every shadow on the wall was animated by the movement of the hanging objects, every step a risk and a discovery.

Eventually, Andy found himself standing beneath the main web, Erin beside him, both craning their necks to admire the handiwork. The sign twisted lazily overhead, catching the light.

“You think she’s okay?” Erin asked, not looking away.

He nodded, certain. “She is. This is what she does when she’s happy.”

Erin let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her shoulders eased, just a fraction, and she watched the web sway gently, as if testing his words against the evidence hanging in front of them. “When you say it like that,” she said quietly, “it’s hard not to believe you.”

She rolled the paper doll between her fingers, then stilled. “Can I tell you something?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “When she first got here, and I fully realized who she was to you—what it meant—I was terrified.” A small, self-conscious laugh. She finally turned to face him. “How do you compete with someone who never got the chance to mess things up? Someone who lives in memory and tragedy and unfinished sentences? I kept telling myself I was being ridiculous, but part of me was always bracing for the moment you’d look at me and realize I was… second.”

Her gaze flicked back to the prank, the careful craftsmanship, the humor threaded through it. “And then she sought me out. Two days ago.” Erin swallowed. “She asked if I thought she belonged here, Andy. She was so earnest about it. Like she was scared that once you remembered who you were as an adult—once you remembered us—she wouldn’t measure up.”

His brow furrowed, sympathy blooming in his chest. Erin continued, voice tender now. “She’s never had a life like ours: no adulthood, no friendships, no chance to make mistakes and learn from them. She told me she worries she’s just… a ghost trying to pretend she’s a woman.” Her words cracked, and bright tears pooled in her lashes, but she blinked them back fiercely, refusing to let them fall.

“That,” Erin whispered, “is what broke my heart. Not the jealousy I thought I’d feel—but realizing how desperately she’s trying, and how terrified she is that she’s already lost her chance.” She drew in a shaky breath and let it go in a slow sigh. “So yeah—when you say this is what she does when she’s happy?” A small, genuine smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “Good. I hope she never stops. I hope she keeps finding ways to feel like she doesn’t have to make herself small.”

Andy let her words drift over him, understanding warming his chest. He thought of the faint disquiet he’d sensed through the bond with Laura—now it all made sense. He remembered Emi’s gentle guidance toward the memory wall the previous day, and how the new photos had shown Laura Andy as he grieved her, and his awe at her return. He looked at Erin, and without a word, he agreed completely.

They stood there a while longer, watching the shells sway and the yarn lines flutter in the recycled air, until the impulse to move finally returned. Andy reached out, took Erin’s hand, and together they navigated the maze, careful not to disturb anything. It was, after all, a work of art—and for tonight, it belonged to them.

The kitchen, when they reached it, was still in mild disarray from the prank aftermath: a few stray paper fish littered the countertop, and the pull of a single misplaced yarn strand now trailed down from the refrigerator’s handle, fluttering with every change in airflow. Erin peeled it off and tucked it behind her ear, next to the paper doll, noticing that Laura must have used the kitchen island as a headquarters to prepare her prank. Andy rolled up his sleeves and began a mental inventory of the fridge and pantry, only to find that someone—most likely one of the Mildreds—had already organized the week’s groceries by cuisine, then sub-organized them by shelf life.

“You want the honors?” Andy gestured at the fridge, but Erin shook her head.

“You pick,” she said. “I just did a whole food thing and my creativity is shot.”

“Gnocchi?” he suggested. “Or risotto?”

She made a face. “Do you want to be stirring a pot for an hour? I’ll lose patience and start eating raw.”

Andy grinned, remembering all the times they’d given up halfway through a “real” recipe and just microwaved ramen. “Stir fry?”

Erin nodded, decisive. “Stir fry. I’ll chop, you run the wok.”

They moved through the prep with old muscle memory. Andy handled the rice, setting it to steam and then triple-checking the lid, just to make sure it wouldn’t explode. Erin lined up carrots, bell peppers, and snap peas with military precision, then cut them into perfectly uniform strips at astonishing speed. Her hands were steady, nails kept short, each movement crisp and certain. When she nicked the tip of her finger, she didn’t even flinch—just pinched the cut, wiped the blade, and kept going. Andy tried not to think about how much he missed this on other date nights: the quiet, companionable choreography of a shared kitchen, the way even the most mundane tasks felt better when her hands were moving beside his.

He started the wok, drizzled in oil, and the scent of garlic filled the air within seconds. Erin passed him the vegetables in measured handfuls, timing each addition like a conductor. It was ridiculous how well they fit, even after all this time.

“Careful,” she said, voice pitched low. “You’re splattering.”

Andy looked down. A fine sheen of oil had already coated the edge of the counter. “Worth it,” he said.

She leaned closer, planting an elbow on the butcher block, and arched an eyebrow. “If you set me on fire, I’m holding you responsible.”

He glanced at her, letting his eyes trace the line from shoulder to hip. “I would never damage a rare perennial,” he teased.

She flicked a carrot slice at his head, dead aim, and it stuck for a second before falling into the wok. Andy laughed, then turned back to the flame, tossing the stir fry with exaggerated care.

By the time the dish was ready, the room smelled incredible: ginger, garlic, soy, and something else—maybe the faint, green snap of Erin herself, which somehow overpowered even the strongest aromatics. Andy plated two generous servings, handed one to her, and together they retreated to the dining table, picking their way through the web maze.

Erin tucked her legs up on the chair, cross-legged, and dug in without ceremony. Andy followed suit, using chopsticks but not bothering with the performance of them. The food was hot and a little salty, the vegetables still crisp, and for a few minutes neither of them spoke, just shoveled it in with the shared hunger of people who’d spent all day outdoors.

It wasn’t until the first helping was gone that Erin leaned back, hair stuck to her forehead with dew, and let out a satisfied groan.

“You know, I missed this,” she said. “Us. Cooking. Before coming here, I forgot how much better food tastes when you actually like the person you’re eating with.”

Andy nodded, more moved than he let show. “It’s one of the two things I missed the most about living with you.”

She smirked. “The other one being sex?”

He grinned, but didn’t answer. There was a time when he’d have dodged, or made a joke, or shrugged off the intimacy. Now, he let it hang, content in the knowing.

They talked as they finished their second helpings, conversation easy and aimless. They realized that, ever since arriving to the island, they had talked about everything except the real world. Six years of catching up, and they decided it was time. Erin caught Andy up on the drama of their old Chicago circle, how it had atomized and reassembled into unexpected alliances: “Aiden and Julia still see each other, but only in group settings because of the whole… thing.” She made a vague gesture that covered a lot of emotional ground. “Madison went full teacher mode, even started coaching. She’s like a soccer mom, except her kids are all bigger than she is and wear eyeliner.” Erin popped a snap pea in her mouth. “Kristen joined a startup but bailed when she realized the founder was dating four employees, including her.”

Andy blinked. “Wait, she was dating the founder, or—?”

“She didn’t clarify. I didn’t ask. I figured if it was a scam, at least it was a high-paying one.”

He laughed, the warmth of the room and the meal settling into his bones. “And Jessica?”

Erin’s expression softened. “She got her own place. Studio in Logan Square. It’s chaos, but she likes it. Says she has ‘a room for every mood.’ Which, you know, she's always grumpy, so that tracks.” Erin shrugged. “She’s happier now. Less… brittle.”

Andy felt something loosen in his chest. “I always worried about her. Even back then.”

Erin nodded, then glanced at him, an old, familiar mischief in her eye. “What about you?” she asked. “Your family?”

He wiped his mouth, then considered. “My parents are fine. Retired three years ago, mostly do hobby stuff now. Dad’s teaching himself to make beer. Mom’s on a weird genealogy kick.” He hesitated, then added, “They never stopped asking about you, you know. Even last Christmas, they sent a card for you.”

Erin looked down at her plate, color creeping up her cheeks. “I never knew what to do with those. I figured they were just being polite.”

“They weren’t. They really liked you.” He hesitated, then said, “They always hoped we’d get back together.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head, serious. “Not even a little. They told me I’d made a mistake. Repeatedly.”

Erin laughed, but it was a quiet, private sound. “Your mom’s going to lose her mind when you show up with a harem. Or two Lauras. Or—” She waved a hand, taking in the whole, improbable tangle of the Suite. “Whatever this is.”

Andy tried to picture it: Erin, in all her impossible green glory, on his parents’ porch, with Chloe and Sam and Claire and Marissa and all the others in tow, and two Lauras lurking in the hydrangeas, planning the next prank. He snorted, imagining the tableau.

“They’ll adapt,” he said, and found he believed it.

They finished the meal, clearing plates in tandem. Andy started the sink, Erin dried, and together they made short work of the aftermath. It was so easy, so practiced, that Andy had to stop himself from believing it was permanent—that the world outside the hotel could ever allow for this kind of peace.

He looked over at Erin, who was stacking the last of the bowls, and saw her watching him, a smile playing at the edges of her mouth.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head, hair falling forward. “You seem happy,” she said, voice soft.

He thought about it, about the hours in the arches, the tangled web in the Suite, the laughter and the stories and the food. About the way Erin’s hand fit in his, even after everything.

“I am,” he said, and meant it.

She smiled, eyes shining. “Me too.”

They stood in the kitchen, the world small and perfect for just a moment, the faint echo of laughter and the scent of garlic hanging in the air.

After the dishes were done, Andy suggested a game in the den, but Erin vetoed it with a raised eyebrow and a pointed look at the web above the living room: “I don’t trust you not to get us tangled for an hour.” Instead, she followed him up the Suite’s spiral staircase, the ascent narrowing and then opening onto the private observatory deck that overlooked the whole island.

It wasn’t much—a circular terrace, rimmed with a glass railing and furnished with chaise lounges—but the view was obscene. From here, the beach was a pale crescent below, the ocean a vast, dark mirror, and above them the sky was uncut, horizon to horizon, blazing with stars the way only islands and deserts can manage.

Erin crossed to the railing and leaned on it, hands cupped around her face. “You could see the whole world from up here,” she said, then smiled, almost sheepish. Andy set the small portable turntable, the one Claire had brought up two nights ago, and thumbed through the records he’d had Mildred bring. He found the one he was looking for—Fleetwood Mac, one of Erin’s favorites—and placed it with the care of a ritual.

He looked up, met Erin’s eyes, and saw she was waiting for him to make the next move. He offered his hand, open and palm up, the old invitation, as the first notes of “Landslide” began.

She took it, no hesitation. “You’re not going to make me dance, are you?”

“Only if you want to,” Andy said, pulling her close. “It’s your night.”

She settled against him, head on his chest, arms slung around his waist. For a moment, they just swayed to the slow, glassy notes coming from the tiny speaker, the music looping around them in a warm hush. The glass overhead trapped the sound and the starlight, turning the observatory into a floating snow globe, sealed off from everything below.

Andy felt the shape of her, the impossible softness of her skin and the lush weight of her chest, which kept a few centimeters’ distance between them even as she clung close. He found it funny, and Erin must have felt it too, because she gave a little huff of laughter and shifted, trying to flatten herself, only for her breasts to bounce up and wedge them even farther apart.

“Sorry,” she muttered, then gave up and let them be, her cheek pressed to his collarbone.

“Don’t be,” he said. “They’re great.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. “You would say that.”

He let the music carry them, the two of them drifting in slow, off-balance circles, Erin’s bare feet squeaking on the smooth tile. Outside, the night wind rattled the glass, sending a soft vibration through the floor. Erin closed her eyes and let herself lean all the way in. For once he didn’t have to say anything more. His promise was in the way he held her, the way their bodies remembered each other, the way even the silence felt like belonging. They swayed until the side A ended, then started it over. No rush, no need to speak, just the music and the sky and the sense that—for tonight, at least—the universe had finally found a way to put them together. Andy pressed his cheek to Erin’s hair, breathing in the clean, green scent of her, and felt something in his chest let go. Above them, the stars spun on, unbothered.

Andy didn’t remember the walk back down to their floor, only that Erin never let go of his hand, not even when the stairs **** them to squeeze sideways. Maybe it was the memory of dancing, or maybe it was the day of small, mounting affections building to this moment, but the Suite felt as if it had recalibrated itself around them. The entry hall’s dim lights threw lazy shadows over the yarn web; the whole place was silent except for the faint tap of a paper fish against the HVAC grate. The web, for all its looming chaos, seemed to beckon them, a net for catching everything that might otherwise drift loose in the dark.

Erin paused at the foot of the staircase, glancing at the blue-and-orange tangle overhead. “She’s going to prank us in our sleep, isn’t she?”

Andy grinned, pulling her in by the wrist. “She can’t come in on date nights. But if you’re scared, you can hide behind me.”

She snorted, but her grip tightened. The walk to the bedroom was a gauntlet of ducking and weaving through yarn lines, each one an excuse for him to brush a hand against the small of her back, or her shoulder, or the side of her neck. Each touch left a visible ripple in her, skin brightening a shade, eyes flashing as she looked at him—testing, wanting.

Inside the bedroom, the prank energy faded, replaced by something quieter and more raw. The painting of Katherine—still naked, still immortalized mid-turn, her black hair pooling at her feet—hung above the headboard. As they entered, Katherine's painted figure shifted, turning fully to face them with a bright smile, one hand lifting in a cheerful wave. Erin waved back, her fingers wiggling in a familiar greeting.

"Hey, Kat," Erin whispered, her voice warm. Then she gasped, her body jerking as if struck by an electric current. A rush of warmth flooded through her—not her own—a mixture of delight and mischievous anticipation.

"What the—" Erin stumbled back a step, looking between Andy and the painting. Katherine's expression remained unchanged, but another pulse of emotion washed through Erin: amusement, tinged with apology.

"I modified her with Coauthor," Andy explained, steadying Erin with a hand at her elbow. "She can project her emotions now. Direct communication."

Katherine's painted lips curved into a knowing smirk as she pointed between them, then gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. A wave of curiosity flowed into Erin, followed by something like sisterly pride.

"This is..." Erin laughed, steadying herself. "Weird but amazing. Can you feel me back?" She concentrated, trying to project her own excitement.

Katherine nodded enthusiastically, her eyes widening. She tapped her temple, then pointed at Erin.

"Yes, it's going well. Don't worry," Erin said, then felt Katherine's response—a burst of genuine happiness wrapped in something deeper, a longing that wasn't sad but warm, like nostalgia for something happening right now.

Andy smiled and added, “I purchased another Gift. Comfort.” He looked at Katherine, who smiled back at him wistfully, “It lets me pull Katherine out of the frame and into a shared dreamspace with me. She can touch others there, feel others in her arms.” He paused, watching Erin process it.

Erin’s breath caught. “You mean she could reach out—feel someone’s skin?”

“Exactly.” Andy took her hand. “And if you want, you can join us next time.” He looked down at Erin with an earnest smile. “Emi and Claire asked for the same.”

Erin’s breath caught. “Emi knows about her, too?”

He nodded. “She saw a replica in the Museum of Pleasures Past. She didn’t know Katherine was aware, but I told her, when she brought it up.” He looked at Katherine fondly. “This one is quite stubborn, but it’s only a matter of time before the whole harem knows about her.”

Katherine stuck out her tongue at him and shook her head. Erin grinned. “Stubborn girls are the best,” she murmured, then looked at the woman in the painting. "I'm glad you're here with us," Erin whispered, and meant it. Katherine clasped her hands over her heart, sending a final pulse of affection before gracefully retreating to the edge of her frame, giving them space.

Erin squared her shoulders, toes flexing against the carpet, and let her gaze slide down Andy's body with undisguised intent. Her breasts—huge, impossible, glorious—rose and fell in slow, steady waves. He wanted to touch them, but not yet. He liked the tension, the way her whole body seemed to vibrate in the space between hunger and restraint.

“You know,” he said, voice soft, “if you’re nervous, we can take it slow.”

She laughed, but the sound was shaky. “Slow isn’t my problem, Andy.”

He cupped her cheek, let his thumb run the length of her jawline, then traced the muscle at her neck. Her whole body shivered, nipples hardening to dark, stiff points. He leaned in, kissed her just below the ear, and felt her knees nearly give.

“Jesus,” she whispered, a sharp exhale. “You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

He moved his hands down, slow, to her shoulders, her ribs, the place where the curve of her waist met the first soft flare of hip. He squeezed, gentle but firm, and she melted into him, her head falling forward, forehead pressed to his. She breathed in, and the scent of him—soap, sweat, a hint of musk—seemed to send her over the edge.

She kissed him, hard. It wasn’t graceful or even measured—she just took, and he let her, their mouths clashing, teeth bumping, tongues finding each other in the dark. She tasted of wine and fruit, salt and want. Her hands climbed his chest, clawed at the back of his shirt, and then—without hesitation—she shoved him backwards onto the bed.

He landed with a grunt, bounced once on the mattress. Erin followed, straddling his hips, the weight of her breasts pressing against his chest, her hands pinning his wrists above his head. For a second, Andy let her have the illusion of control. He even tried to keep still. But the sight of her—hair wild, green skin glowing, body so fierce and alive—made his resolve crumble. He flexed, and the surprise in her eyes when he flipped her beneath him was almost as good as the kiss itself.

They grappled, bodies sliding and colliding across the bed. Every inch of her was hypersensitive; every graze, every squeeze made her moan. He’d barely gotten his hands around her chest when she arched up, mouth open in a silent scream, her whole body convulsing in a pleasure so sharp it seemed to short out her brain.

He paused, worried for a second that it was too much. “You okay?” he asked, searching her face.

She nodded, but she was breathless, her eyes wild. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

He kissed his way down her throat, past her collarbone, down to where the swell of her breast began. He let his tongue flick over the nipple, once, and Erin’s back arched so hard she nearly threw him off. He went slow, savoring the texture, the heat, the way her whole body was locked on the single point of contact. He circled, licked, bit gently, then switched sides, never giving her a chance to recover.

By the time he reached her belly, she was trembling. Her hands twisted in the sheets, legs spread wide, heels digging into the mattress for purchase. He slid down, tongue tracing a path from her sternum to the space just above her clit, and waited—breath fanning over her, teasing, just to see how long it took before she begged.

It didn’t take long. “Please,” she whispered, “oh god, please—” and he didn’t make her wait. He buried his mouth in her, licking slow and deep, the taste shockingly sweet, almost floral. She came fast and hard, a full-body quake that left her panting, her entire torso glazed in dew and the milk-thin sap that welled from her skin when she was aroused.

Master ate her out! +3 VP

He slid up beside her, pulling her close, and for a second they just lay there, bodies entangled, hearts hammering in a rhythm that felt shared. He stroked her hair, let his hand rest on her hip, thumb drawing lazy circles.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, still catching her breath.

He grinned, nuzzled her ear. “You started it.”

Erin rolled over, swung her thigh across Andy’s lap, and pressed her forehead to his, their faces so close the world shrank to nothing but skin, sweat, and breath. “I’ll finish it, too,” she whispered, and he felt her smile curve against his lips, a challenge and a promise.

She pinned his wrists to the mattress with hands that trembled with anticipation, then released them to draw her own down the length of his torso, mapping every rib and muscle as if she meant to memorize him forever. The electricity of it was almost unbearable.

She pushed him onto his back, her weight a welcome anchor, and straddled his hips—this time, not for show, but with a resolve that made his heart stutter. Erin was all hair and hunger, wild and green and beautiful, her skin slick with exertion, lit from within as if she glowed beneath his hands. She reached down, grasped him, and—her gaze locked on his—guided him into her, slow and deliberate. The sensation knocked the breath from his lungs, the heat and wet and pressure of her eclipsing every stray thought. For a second, he was sure he’d lose control, but she held him there, squeezing tight, daring him to last.

Erin began to move, slow at first, rolling her hips in careful circles as if calibrating the boundaries of her own pleasure. Her eyes never left his; they were dilated black, pupils so wide they threatened to devour the green. Each little movement was an escalation, a test, a message. She wanted him to see her, to know her like this. Andy tried to keep pace, but she was relentless, grinding down until her breasts bounced just above his face, until she could bury a hand in his hair and pull him to her, demanding that he taste, bite, mark her as his.

He did, gladly. He cupped her breasts in both hands, marveling at their size and softness, at the way her nipples darkened and stiffened at his touch. When he took one into his mouth, Erin gasped—a ragged, **** sound that set his whole body on fire. Every pass of his tongue made her shudder, her hands fluttering at her sides before returning with fanatical focus to his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave evidence. When he moved to the other breast, she whimpered, then retaliated by rolling her hips so hard he saw stars.

They moved together, rhythm growing sharper, more frantic. Each time she came down on him, the world collapsed to the place where their bodies met. Andy could feel how on edge she was: the trembling in her legs, the wetness pooling between them, the way her hair stuck to her face in wild streaks of green and blue. She looked like a goddess, and he told her so, and her laugh was pure defiance.

“I’m not a goddess,” she said, panting, “but I am going to break you.”

She put both hands on his chest and rode him as if she meant to conquer, to erase every memory of loneliness or self-doubt that had ever lived inside him. He let her, surrendering everything, and watched the way her face twisted and softened, the way her body moved from tension to release. Each time she neared the edge, he could feel it in her, a wave that started in her thighs and rippled outward. When she came, she didn’t cry out—she seized up, silent and shaking, squeezing him so hard he thought she’d crush the air from his lungs. Then she shuddered, eyes rolling back, and fell forward against his chest, gasping his name over and over.

But she didn’t stop. Erin caught her breath, pressed her forehead to his, and with a slow, wicked grin, began again. Andy tried to match her, to take the lead, but she held him down with surprising strength, refusing to relent. Each time he thought he might finish, she would ease up, shift the angle, **** him to hold back. It became a game, a standoff, a test of willpower as much as desire.

Edged the Master! +1 VP

He flexed his hips, grinding up into her, and Erin swore, the word lost somewhere in the tangle of her hair and his neck. She bit his shoulder, hard enough to startle, and he laughed, feeling the heat of her breath and the wetness of her mouth. He reached around, squeezed her ass, pulled her down harder, and the impact drove a fresh wave of sensation through both of them.

It went on like that—give, take, escalate, retreat—until Erin was trembling so badly she could barely stay upright. She braced herself on his chest, chin tucked to her collarbone, and let her weight drop, impaling herself fully. This time, she didn’t hold back; she bucked, her whole body clenching, and Andy felt her come apart, every muscle in her body going taut. She milked him, the pressure so intense it threatened to overload his senses. He followed her, unable to resist, every nerve alight as he came inside her, groaning her name into the darkness.

For a while, neither of them moved. Erin sprawled atop him, her cheek pressed to his collarbone, breathing hard. He wrapped his arms around her back, felt the fine tremor in her spine, and stroked her hair as if she might vanish if he let go. The room was quiet but for the tick of the HVAC, the slow return of their heartbeats to something like normal.

She nuzzled his neck, then bit his earlobe, gentle this time. “You’re okay, right?” she whispered.

Andy laughed, still dizzy. “I’m incredible. You’re incredible.”

She snorted, then rolled off him, flopping onto her back like a swimmer gasping for air. “God. That was…” She trailed off, shaking her head, lips parted in an exhausted, silly grin.

He turned to face her. “You’re beautiful,” he said, the thought unfiltered, and watched as her cheeks darkened, then spread into a smile so wide it looked like it hurt.

She reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. “You really mean it?”

He squeezed. “Every word.”

She squeezed back, and for a while, that was all the language they needed. The room was filled with the scent of their bodies, their sweat and Erin’s sweet dew, and the sleeping warmth of shared exhaustion. Andy wanted to stay here, in this bed, forever. He wanted to memorize every inch of her, every secret, every sound and sigh and silly little joke she told when her guard was down.

He brushed his fingers along her ribs, the rise and fall of her breathing. “Happy?” he asked, grinning like an idiot.

She lifted his hand to her lips, kissed his knuckles. “Actually… yeah. I think I am.” The admission seemed to startle her almost as much as it did him.

He kissed her again, this time softer, slower, and she let herself melt into it, her body fitting perfectly against his. There was no hurry, no anxiety, just the quiet glow of being wanted.

They lay that way for a long time, just breathing, not needing words.

But then—Andy glanced at the painting above the bed, and saw Katherine's figure trembling within the frame, her back arched impossibly, lips parted in silent ecstasy, eyes squeezed shut as the aftershocks visibly rippled through her painted form.

He snorted, unable to help himself. Erin rolled off him, followed his gaze, and grinned, teeth flashing white in the dim.

"That's three for her," Erin whispered, counting on her fingers. "Two for me, one for you."

Andy shook his head. "I didn't realize we were keeping score."

Katherine's painted form gradually stilled, her chest still heaving, a flush spreading across her cheeks as she opened her eyes to find them watching. She covered her face with both hands, then peeked through her fingers with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction.

Erin bit her lip, then raised her hand in a conspiratorial little wave. "You're welcome," she grinned.

Katherine's painted hand emerged from her face to give them a shaky thumbs-up before she collapsed against the edge of her frame, spent.

Andy and Erin dissolved into quiet laughter, collapsing into a tangle of limbs and afterglow.

They stayed that way until the sweat cooled, until the room was only the hush of their breaths and the slow, regular tick of the wall clock.

After a while, Andy rolled to his side, propped himself up on his elbow, and looked at Erin. Her hair was a mess, skin flushed and radiant, the faint sheen of her arousal making her glow in the moonlight. She looked up at him, eyes soft, and for a second he saw the girl she’d been, the one he’d loved before, the one he’d never really stopped loving.

They lay in the dark, bodies still pressed together, and Andy felt the sense of home settle in his bones. It was different from before—brighter, deeper, more permanent. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or if the world outside the Suite would ever let them keep this. But for now, he was content to just be.

They drifted toward sleep, the warmth of their bodies melting the last of the day’s tension. Outside the bedroom, the Suite was still—except for the soft, rhythmic sway of Laura’s yarn web in the living room, the shells and fish turning gently in the faint current of air.

They woke sometime after midnight, limbs tangled and sticky, but neither wanted to move. Erin roused first, stretching her arms overhead, then curled back into Andy’s chest, her nose pressed to his collarbone.

“I’m a disaster,” she whispered, but there was no shame in it. Only wonder.

He kissed the top of her head, then trailed his hand down her side, feeling the soft, living give of her skin. “You’re perfect,” he said, and meant it.

She grinned, but then her eyes flicked to the painting above them, and she snorted. “I think Katherine’s judging us.”

Andy glanced up. Katherine’s expression was unchanged, but there was something about the tilt of her head, the set of her mouth, that made it look like she was trying—very hard—not to laugh.

He raised a hand in a mock salute. “Sorry,” he said, voice pitched to the painting. “We’ll try to keep it down next time.”

Erin reached up and poked him in the ribs, then rolled to her back, hair fanned across the pillow. “You know,” she said, “I think I finally get it. The whole harem thing.” She turned, looking at him straight on. “It’s not about the numbers, or the sex, or even the weird magic stuff. It’s about this—” She gestured at the room, at the air, at the space between them. “The way it feels when you’re with the right person.” She paused. “It just so happens that for all of us, the right person seems to be you. Even Sam, if not romantically. And for you, it just so happens the right person is all of us.” She grinned.

He nodded, feeling the truth of it settle between them.

She took his hand, laced their fingers together, and held on.

They slept, eventually. The world outside faded to nothing, and the only sound was the slow, even pulse of their breathing, the rhythm of two hearts beating in perfect time.

Recurring Author's Note: Check out the sister season at Adrien Moore, the Man Who Waits (Harem Hotel: Athanor).

And remember to check out the wiki at: https://hhnetwork.miraheze.org/wiki/Harem_Hotel:_The_HH

Aside from info on the contestants, the locations, and so on, a new section - the Marginalia - highlights Easter Eggs, deep cuts, foreshadowings and hidden elements in previous chapters. The same section is also present as a thread on the Discord channel (the Marginalia Discord thread is usually updated more often).

BEWARE! There are no spoiler tags in the wiki, so the Marginalia chapter includes spoilers up to the last published chapter!

Also, don't forget: you're welcome to propose TF ideas for Contestants via the anonymous link here: https://forms.gle/NY5MbGrvv2ZkUknn9

While I can't guarantee they'll all be used, or that they'll be used at the next available TF vote, I look at all suggestions and will try to fit them in where necessary.

Thank you for reading!