The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

"Not another word," I promised, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

We lay there in comfortable silence, our breathing syncing up naturally. Her bedroom was a mess of sports posters and academic awards, manga volumes lining one bookshelf while a stack of Hero law textbooks occupied another. A pair of pink boxing gloves hung from a hook on her door. So perfectly Sloane – brilliant and fierce and unapologetically herself.

"Was it okay?" she asked suddenly, her voice muffled against my skin. "For your first time, I mean."

I froze. Fuck. Of course she’d assume this was my first time too. As far as she knew, I’d been the withdrawn, quiet Lukas Belmont for nine years. The kind of kid who buried himself in books and barely spoke to anyone. Not the kind who’d been having marathon sex sessions with her mother every night for the past two weeks.

Here is the expanded text:

"It was amazing," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Better than I imagined."

Which was technically true. The original Lukas hadn’t gotten to imagine anything. The transmigrant had been running calculations on Sloane’s Gauge progression and trying not to think about what crossing that 40-point threshold would require of him. Neither version had been prepared for how completely she would fall apart when I finally gave her what she’d been wanting.

"You imagined this?" She lifted her head, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "With me?"

I could lie. Deflect. Make it sound like casual attraction and teenage hormones. But the Oracle Feed had been reading her for months now, and I knew what landed with Sloane Fitzgerald. Honesty hit harder than performance. She’d built her entire defensive architecture around people who performed things for her.

"Don’t act surprised." I tapped her nose lightly. "I’ve seen you in training clothes for two months. Of course I imagined it."

She laughed, the sound light and carefree in a way Sloane rarely allowed herself to be. It was the laugh she saved for moments when she forgot to perform confidence and just existed. I’d heard it maybe six times total in the two months since I’d arrived in Verano. I was keeping count without meaning to.

"Fair enough. I might have thought about it too."

"Might have?"

"Shut up." She pinched my side hard enough to leave a mark. "Your ego doesn’t need the boost."

"Too late," I said, grinning. "Now I know Sloane Fitzgerald has dirty thoughts about me during training. This changes everything."

She groaned, burying her face in a pillow. The tips of her ears were red. I could see the flush spreading down the back of her neck. "I take it back. You’re the worst."

I rolled onto my side to face her, pulling the pillow away from her face. Her hair was a mess, her mascara slightly smudged at the corners. She looked nothing like the composed, aggressive girl who’d told me three months ago that I was making a mistake applying to Halloran. She looked younger. Softer. Mine, in a way that the Temptation Gauge had been tracking long before I understood what the number meant.

"If I’m so terrible, why are your pupils still dilated?" I let my hand rest against her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Why is your pulse racing?" I moved my fingers to her throat, pressing lightly against the rapid flutter beneath her skin. "Why are you already thinking about round two?"

"I’m not—" she started to protest, but I kissed her before she could finish the lie.

She melted into it immediately, her hands coming up to cup my face. No hesitation. No performance. Just Sloane responding the way she’d been wanting to respond for longer than either of us had acknowledged. When I pulled back, her eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips parted and slightly swollen from how hard she’d been kissing me ten minutes ago.

"Liar," I whispered against her mouth.

"Fine," she huffed, but there was no heat in it. "You win. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." I kissed her again, slower this time. Let her feel the difference between what I’d been doing to her before and what I was doing now. "But for the record, I’m going to need more than a minute before round two."

"Weak," she taunted, but she was smiling.

"Some of us don’t have legendary stamina, Explosion Girl."

"Don’t call me that," she said automatically. The protest was reflexive. She’d been telling people not to call her that since middle school. Too cutesy. Too reductive. She was more than her Aspect and she’d been loudly insisting on that fact since before her Gauge had a number attached to it.

"What should I call you then?" I let my hand trail down her side, over the curve of her hip. Felt her breath catch. "Sloane is so formal now that I’ve been inside you."

Her cheeks flushed pink again. "You’re impossible."

"I’ve been told. Usually by you."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. "Just Sloane is fine. Or babe, I guess. If you really have to."

"Babe," I tested the word out. "I like it."

"Don’t overuse it," she warned. "Special occasions only."

"Is this a special occasion?"

Her expression softened, the sarcasm falling away to reveal something vulnerable underneath. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I think it is."

I kissed her again because I didn’t know what else to do with the sudden ache in my chest. This girl – this incredible, fierce, beautiful girl who could level city blocks with her pinky finger – was looking at me like I hung the moon. The fact that I was lying to her about basically everything important made me feel like scum, but not enough to stop.

Never enough to stop.

"You’re thinking too much," she murmured against my lips. "I can practically hear the gears turning."

"Just processing," I said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. "This is a lot to take in."

"Regretting it already?" There was an edge of insecurity in her voice that she couldn’t quite hide.

"Not a chance." I pulled her closer, letting her feel that I was already half-hard again. "Just trying to figure out how I got so lucky."

She snorted. "Smooth talker."

"You love it."

"I tolerate it," she corrected, but her smile gave her away.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and we both turned to look at it. The screen lit up with a notification from an unknown number. I knew without checking that it was Felicity following up on her earlier texts.

"Who’s that?" Sloane asked, her tone casual in a way that meant she was anything but.

"Probably a spam call," I lied, reaching over to flip the phone face-down. "Not important."

She looked skeptical but didn’t press. Instead, she traced her fingers along my collarbone, down to the bite mark she’d left on my shoulder. It was already bruising impressively.

"Sorry about that," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Does it hurt?"

"Like hell," I admitted. "But I kind of like it."

"Pervert."

"You’re the one who bit me!"

She laughed, the sound warming something in my chest. "Fair point."

My phone buzzed again, and Sloane’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"You sure that’s not important?" she asked, nodding toward the phone.

"Positive." I kissed her forehead. "Nothing matters right now except this."

She studied my face for a moment, searching for something. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her, because she relaxed against me again.

"Good answer."