Harem Training System: Every Girl I Train Makes Me Stronger!

Chapter 33: 33. That Wine Really Made Her Turned Into Someone Different... Might As Well...

Catherine didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in closer, the scent of expensive wine and her own floral, elven musk swirling around William’s senses.

Her hands, which had been resting on his chest, began to slide upward, her fingers tracing the hard, defined lines of his pectoral muscles with a slow, predatory deliberation.

"Don’t worry about the wine, William..." she whispered, her voice dropping an octave, losing that sharp, authoritative edge she used at the academy.

Now, it was a low, sultry purr that vibrated against his skin. "The wine isn’t making me say things... it’s just making me brave enough to say them."

She let out a soft, breathy giggle, a sound so uncharacteristic of the vice headmaster that it sent a jolt through him. She looked at him through hooded, heavy lids, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders like liquid moonlight.

"You think you’re just an instructor, don’t you?" She leaned down, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear, her hot breath hitching. "But you’re so... solid."

"So much more than those spindly elven lords or the rigid scholars."

"You have this... heat. It’s driving me insane."

She began to move her body against his, her hips grinding subtly against his thigh in a way that was far from accidental.

"Mmm... ah..." A small, involuntary sound escaped her throat as she felt the sheer mass of his muscular legs beneath her.

William felt a momentary flicker of hesitation. This wasn’t the Catherine who corrected his paperwork or debated academy policy.

This was a woman unmasked, a creature of pure, unadulterated desire. It felt almost wrong, almost like he was taking advantage of a lapse in her sanity, but his instincts, the instincts of the man he had been in a previous life, told him otherwise.

He knew this pattern. A woman this composed, when she finally breaks under the influence of drink, isn’t losing herself; she’s finally letting the real her out to play.

"Catherine," he murmured, his voice deep and grounding, "you’re not yourself right now."

"You’re going to regret this in the morning when the sun hits those silver hairs of yours."

"Then let the sun burn," she hissed, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce hunger.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward her with surprising strength. "I’ve spent years being ’proper’ and years being ’the vice headmaster,’ so tonight..."

"Just be the man who makes me forget my own name."

She pressed her lips to the junction of his neck and shoulder, her teeth grazing his skin in a playful yet demanding nip. "Ampphhh..."

"Nnh... hmmm..." Her moans were becoming more frequent, more rhythmic, as she felt the heat radiating from his large, tanned body.

"Do you have any idea..." she breathed, her hands moving down to the waistband of his trousers, her touch frantic and uncoordinated yet incredibly effective, "...how much I’ve wanted to see you lose that composure?"

"To see those muscles strain while you’re... unraveling?"

She looked up at him, her face flushed a deep crimson, her eyes wide and searching. "Don’t be a saint, William."

"Be a man... Take what you want..."

"I’m right here... and I’m starving."

As she spoke, she let out a long, trembling moan, "Aaaah... hnnn...", her body arching toward him, practically begging for the friction, the weight, and the raw power of his muscular frame to finally crush the last of her inhibitions. The air in the cottage grew thick, heavy with the scent of desire and the impending storm of their collision.

William stared at her, his expression completely flat, devoid of the romantic tension she was so desperately trying to weave. While Catherine was lost in a haze of elven passion and wine-soaked longing, William’s mind was doing a quick, pragmatic calculation.

He looked at her flushed face, her disheveled silver hair, and the way she was practically vibrating against him, and he felt a surge of pure, unadulterated opportunism.

’Seriously?’ he thought, his face remaining a mask of deadpan indifference. ’All this buildup, all this tension... and she’s basically handing it to me on a silver platter because she can’t handle her elven vintage?’

He wasn’t a saint, and he certainly wasn’t a fool. He had been a man of many appetites in his past life, and the curiosity about how an elven woman supposedly the pinnacle of grace and sensory refinement would taste was gnawing at him.

To let this moment pass would be a crime against his own hedonism.

"You know, Catherine," William said, his voice cutting through her sultry atmosphere with a bluntness that was almost comedic.

He didn’t move to embrace her yet; he just sat there, looking at her like he was evaluating a particularly interesting piece of academy equipment. "You’re making this very difficult for a man who’s trying to be polite."

Catherine blinked, her eyes heavy and lidded, a small, confused moan escaping her. "Mmm? Wh-what do you mean... ah... William?"

She leaned in, her breasts brushing against his chest, trying to reclaim the mood. "Don’t be... so... logical..."

"Logical? No, I’m being honest," William replied, a shameless glint appearing in his eyes.

He reached up, not to caress her, but to firmly grip her waist, pulling her even closer so she could feel the sheer, hard mass of his thighs. "This is entirely your fault."

"You’re the one who invited me here... you’re also the one who poured the wine. And you’re the one currently trying to grind your hips into me like you’re trying to start a fire."

Catherine let out a startled, breathy laugh, her head lolling back. "Haaah... you’re... so... infuriating..."

"I am," William agreed, his voice dropping into a low, predatory rumble. "But since you’ve decided to throw all your dignity out the window, I’ve decided to throw mine out with it."

"Because frankly? I’ve been wondering if elves actually taste as sweet as the legends say or if you’re all just high-strung and complicated."

Catherine’s eyes widened, a gasp of pure, shocked arousal escaping her. "Ah! You... you shameless... hnnn..."

"Shameless? You haven’t seen anything yet," William countered, his hand sliding from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her firmly against the hard planes of his body. "If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way."

"No more ’vice headmaster’ bullshit..." William smiles smugly. "Just you, me, and whatever mess you’ve made in this room."

"If you’re going to act like a woman who’s lost her mind, then you’d better be prepared to handle a man who’s lost his restraint."

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his gaze intense and unblinking. "So, are we going to keep talking about ’bravery’ and ’wine,’ or are you actually going to let me find out if you taste as good as you smell?"

Catherine let out a sound that was half sob, half scream of pure desire, a long, trembling "Aaaaahhh... hnnn nngh!" as she practically collapsed against him.

The "proper" Catherine was gone, replaced by a woman who was clearly overwhelmed by his blunt, shameless confidence. She didn’t care about the logic; she just wanted the heat.

"Then stop... ah!... stop talking!" she whimpered, her fingers digging into his muscular shoulders, her nails catching on his skin. "Just... take me... William! Please... hnnn... mmm!"

William grinned, a dark, triumphant expression. The comedic tension broke, replaced by a heavy, electric charge.

He had laid his cards on the table, and she had played her hand. Now, it was time to collect.