My Infinite Investment System

The workshop door survived a third check under Ryan’s hand while the evidence review held its wounded boss behind two sealed walls.

Hot copper and stone dust crowded the temporary room while harsh lemon cleaner dried in cloudy streaks across the floor.

Thirty minutes had passed since the spectator screens woke, leaving Mika’s regulator green and enough strength back in her right leg to annoy her.

She sat on the only clear workbench with an empty glucose pouch beside her, testing her boot against the floor whenever she thought he was not looking.

Beyond the narrow door, Nia opened another supply cabinet while Jun searched the corridor with his route feed held beside his face.

"Short, black handle, silver jaw," she called from outside, placing each useless tool back with enough care to frighten the shelf.

"You have described most wrenches," Jun replied as his boots clicked past the doorway.

"Mine has a filed notch near the jaw."

"You have described most stolen wrenches."

The workshop door drifted inward.

Mika caught it with one boot, then pushed until the latch settled without clicking.

"They’ll find it," he said, keeping his voice low as he sorted three bent bolts into an empty tray.

She watched him straighten the same washer twice and asked, "Are you helping, or are you giving that hardware emotional support?"

"The washer had a difficult round," he replied while aligning it beside the bolts.

One side of her mouth bent before she caught it.

The spectator screens had awakened after her discharge, which meant every official upstairs had seen Northstar turn the maze around its own boss.

They had also seen Bartek’s bracket fail to bury them.

Mika leaned back on both hands, boots swinging above the floor, with blue light still fading under the skin at her wrists.

"We did that," she said, quieter now, while the public expression left her face.

"You did most of the property damage," he said as one corner of his mouth escaped.

"I need you to stop making praise sound like an insurance report," she said as her boots slowed.

"You held a full discharge until Jun rotated the room by six degrees, then you put it through a gap narrower than my hand."

Her boots stopped moving.

"Better," she murmured, eyes dropping to his mouth before they climbed again.

Jun’s footsteps crossed outside while another metal cabinet opened against the workshop wall.

"No wrench," he called.

"Check the repair alcove," she replied from farther down the passage.

The boots moved away.

Mika slid off the bench and landed with the metal edge pressed against the backs of Ryan’s thighs.

"How long?" she asked while her fingers found the zipper of his field jacket.

"Until what?" he asked, although the answer had reached his belt already.

She gave him a slow blink that would have made a camera clip travel, yet no lens waited inside the workshop.

"Until you stop pretending you don’t know what I’m doing."

His ears warmed first.

’Nia is looking for a wrench ten meters away,’ he thought as Mika opened his jacket, ’this is how people become cautionary signage.’

"Two minutes," she said as she glanced toward the closed door, "maybe three if Jun starts checking ceiling vents."

"That’s your reason to stop?" he asked as the zipper reached the middle of his chest.

"That’s my reason to be efficient," she said, flattening one palm against his chest.

She guided him back until he sat on the workbench with his knees apart.

The frame gave a tiny metal complaint that froze both of them at once.

Outside, a cabinet shut as she said, "That bench has always made that sound."

Jun answered from the corridor, "I wasn’t going to ask."

Mika caught sudden laughter behind her wrist while Ryan pressed his lips together.

Her real smile arrived crooked, stripping the danger from the room for one second before she stepped between his knees.

"Silence," she whispered, opening his belt with one hand, "you can manage that for ninety seconds."

"Confident," he said as his gaze dropped to her working hand.

"I’ve seen you in meetings," she replied, pressing her lips flat against another laugh.

She pulled his zipper down, pushed the waistband of his briefs low, then wrapped her fingers around his hard cock.

The first stroke drew his breath through his nose while her attention stayed fixed on his mouth.

Her grip was dry at first, firm enough to make the skin shift over the thick middle as she watched his mouth instead of her hand.

Ryan braced both palms behind him, but the trembling workbench sent one hand to the fixed vise at his side.

She gathered the wetness at his tip with her thumb, spread it down, then stroked with a slicker drag that made his hips press forward.

"That was almost a sound," she murmured.

"That was breathing," he said through a careful exhale.

"Suspiciously," she replied as her thumb crossed the wet tip again.

Mika angled her wrist at the top and let her palm cover him on each upward pass.

His cock twitched against her hand, leaving a clear line of wet across the base of her thumb.

She looked down at it.

The performance disappeared from her face one small piece at a time, replaced by open concentration and a lower lip caught between her teeth.

That look did more damage than the pace, driving his hand against the vise until its cold edge pressed a red groove into his palm.

"Please look at what you’re doing," she breathed, raising her gaze through lowered lids, "you’re losing to one hand."

Ryan released the vise, caught her waist, then pulled her closer until her hips touched the inside of his knees.

Her stroke broke for half a second as surprise opened her fingers.

"I was winning," she whispered.

"You were keeping score," he replied while his right hand slipped beneath the hem of her shorts.

He paused against the warm crease beside her cunt, near enough to feel damp heat gathered under the thin fabric.

"Do you want this?" he asked.

Mika answered by taking his wrist, sliding his fingers under her underwear, then pressing his middle finger against her wet clit.

Her breath left through her nose in a sharp little burst.

"Still quiet," she said, though the words had lost their clean edge.

"Both of us?"

"Don’t get ambitious."

He circled once, slow enough to feel her clit swell beneath his fingertip, while his thumb braced above her waistband.

Her hand tightened around his cock until three strokes passed without either of them controlling the rhythm.

She sped up when his finger moved, he pressed harder when her grip changed, then the bench gave another faint scrape across the floor.

They stopped together when Jun’s boots clicked across the corridor beyond the workshop door.

"Supply office is clear," he called toward Nia.

"Then retrace the rotation," she replied as a cabinet opened farther down the corridor.

The footsteps faded.

Mika’s forehead touched Ryan’s for one breath, laughter threatening at the corners of her mouth.

"This is a terrible celebration," she whispered.

"You’re still here," he said, letting his thumb rest above her waistband.

"I commit to bad decisions," she murmured as he moved his finger again.

Her grin vanished as her knees eased farther apart around his leg, giving him room to slide two fingers through the slick heat between her lips.

He kept one at her clit while the other traced lower without entering.

The deliberate restraint made her stroking hand falter against the base of his cock.

Ryan watched the pulse jump in her throat and said, "You like hearing me fail more than you like winning."

She opened her mouth, but his fingertip drew a tight circle before the answer formed.

A tiny sound caught behind her teeth while her free hand searched for balance.

His other hand closed around her wrist on his cock, holding her still without pulling her away.

"My turn," he said.

Her eyes widened, startled first, then dark with an interest that surprised them both.

"That was a complete sentence," she said as her wet lips parted around a quick breath.

"I have several," he replied, releasing her wrist once her fingers relaxed.

He slid his free hand beneath the back of her shorts and pulled her closer.

Mika planted one palm beside his hip for balance while he worked her clit in short, wet passes.

Her body tipped toward him.

The hand around his cock became slower, less certain, as pleasure pulled her attention inward.

"Ryan," she breathed into the space beside his ear.

He turned his mouth against her neck, stopping short of a kiss while his fingers kept the pressure she had chosen.

Her hips followed each stroke with a small involuntary roll.

The movement rubbed his knuckles against the damp fabric between her thighs.

"We have maybe thirty seconds," she whispered, voice rougher now, "and I hate that you found the exact angle."

"You put my hand there."

"I gave you an opportunity, abusing it is a personality choice."

He pressed faster.

She bit down on the shoulder of his jacket to catch the sound, and the vibration reached him through the fabric.

Her thighs tightened around his wrist as she started to cum, her cunt pulsing beneath his fingers while a broken hum stayed trapped in his shoulder.

The effort of silence shook through her before the tension eased.

Ryan eased the pressure, then withdrew once her grip loosened.

She lifted her head with unfocused eyes and said, "You’re pleased with yourself."

"A little," he replied, flexing the knuckles she had nearly crushed.

"Gross," she said as her wet grip closed around his cock again.

She used the slickness from his hand, stroking faster while her gaze settled on him with none of the earlier performance.

Ryan’s hips lifted before he could stop them, sending the bench against the wall with one betraying click.

Mika covered his mouth with her free hand, eyes bright with warning, while her other fist tightened at the head.

He started to cum across the folded polishing cloth she had pulled beneath him, hot cum streaking over the gray fabric and her knuckles.

His breath struck her palm.

She kept her hand over his mouth until the last pulse passed, enjoying every second he could see her enjoying it.

She released him, inspected the mess, then whispered, "Ninety-seven seconds."

"You timed it?" he asked while his breathing fought to become ordinary.

"I estimated," she replied as fake offense lifted both eyebrows.

"That’s worse," he said, reaching for the edge of the workbench.

She folded the cloth inward, wiped her knuckles with the clean edge, then dropped it into the sealed scrap bin.

Ryan fixed his clothes while she used the workshop sink, both of them moving too quickly when Jun’s footsteps returned.

The door opened after one careful knock, revealing Jun with his tablet raised, his attention trapped between wet hands and a crooked belt.

’I need the wrench and possibly a different guild,’ Jun thought as a route replay moved across the screen.

"I found it," he said, choosing employment.

Nia appeared behind him with both arms folded and asked, "Where?"

Jun enlarged one frozen frame where the black-handled wrench sat beneath the boss’s right shoulder plate, its filed jaw catching Mika’s discharge.

"Your pouch opened during the charge," he said, drawing the path with one finger, "Spark Step tore the wrench free and buried it in the boss."

Nia stared at the image until one eyebrow moved and said, "I want it back."

Ryan straightened his crooked belt, picked up the trial map, then said, "We know exactly where to step."