Kai didn't give her a chance to change her mind.
The moment the word "upstairs" left her lips, he was moving with the same intent that had just put a debt collector in the ground.
The adrenaline was still in his veins, a violent feeling that made his skin feel too tight.
He needed an outlet, and she had just offered herself up on a silver platter.
He scooped her up, one arm hooked under the soft weight of her thighs, the other gripping her waist.
She gasped, a sharp intake of breath that he swallowed with a growl, hauling her against his chest.
She was a woman built for comfort, all curves and soft flesh, but in that moment, fueled by the aftereffects of combat and the passive hunger of Greed Feast, she weighed nothing to him.
She wrapped her legs around him instinctively, her foot digging into the small of his back.
The friction was maddening.
"Careful of the stairs," she murmured against his neck, but her tone was anything but warning.
"I don't care about the stairs," he muttered, taking them two at a time, the wood groaning under the onslaught of their combined weight.
His heart was beating fast, the pain in his chest from Shiro's punch still throbbing with heat that only seemed to sharpen his focus.
'This is real,' he thought, his nose buried in her hair, inhaling the scent of it.
*This isn't a cutscene.*
They hit the landing at the top, and he didn't bother looking for her room.
He kicked open the first door he saw; the wood almost broke slightly near the latch. The room inside was small, cluttered with laundry and the faint scent of a closed-up space, but the bed was wide and covered in a quilt.
He dropped her onto the mattress.
She bounced, the springs creaking in protest, her hair fanning out across the pillows. Greta looked up at him, her eyes wide, pupils blown black with lust, chest heaving.
The top laces of her bodice were already straining, the tops of her breasts flushed with pink.
"You're a mess, Kai," she whispered, her eyes tracing the blood on his face, the dirt on his shirt.
"You smell so good," Kai said, crawling onto the bed and over her.
He didn't give her time to retort, captured her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head with a force that made her breath hitch.
The power dynamic had shifted.
*Is this what the game intended?* The thought flickered through his mind, distant and unimportant.
The system hadn't dinged.
There was no quest log flashing before his eyes.
He smashed his mouth to hers, not gently, but bit her lower lip, just hard enough to make her moan, the sound vibrating in his chest.
Ever her blood tasted good. Maybe because of the vampire skill, he could feel the *Greed Feast* pulsing in the background, trying to categorise her, to quantify her essence into mana or stats, but he shoved it down.
He didn't want to consume her magic.
His free hand found the laces of her dress. The fabric gave way with a satisfying tear, the strings snapping, exposing the pale swell of her breasts.
She arched her back, pushing them into his hand, her nipples hardening instantly in the cool night air.
"Eager," she gasped, breaking the kiss to look down at where his hand was kneading her soft flesh.
"Didn't your mother teach you to undress a lady properly?"
"My mother taught me to take what I want," he grunted, dipping his head to drag his tongue over the curve of her breast.
The salt of her skin mixed with the blood still drying on his chin.
It was a filthy, grounding taste.
He felt her shiver, her hips bucking up against his.
The friction through their clothes was agonising.
He was hard, aching, the fabric of his trousers doing nothing to restrain the urge.
He needed to be inside her. Now.
Kai released her wrists to fumble with the buckle of his belt, his fingers clumsy with impatience.
Greta took the opportunity to reach down, her hand cupping the bulge in his pants, squeezing firmly.
"Gods, you're big," she laughed, a low, throaty sound.
"For a boy, you pack a punch."
"Don't call me a boy," he snarled, finally undoing the belt and shoving his trousers down just enough to free himself.
He grabbed the hem of her skirt, pushing it up roughly, his hands sliding over the thick, soft muscle of her thighs.
She parted her legs willingly, her knees falling open, exposing the damp, dark heat between them.
She wasn't wearing anything underneath.
Practical woman.
No time for teasing or exploration.
He positioned himself between her legs, the head of his cock pressing against her slick entrance.
He looked down at her, her face flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes clouded with the same need that was driving him.
"Do it," she commanded, her voice ragged.
"Fuck me like you killed him."
He drove forward, burying himself to the hilt in one single, violent thrust.
The sensation was blinding.
She was tight, hot, and wet, her body gripping him like a pipe.
He groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as he began to move.
There was no rhythm, just the force of his hips slamming against hers, the bed frame slamming against the wall in a way that echoed through the tavern.
She met him thrust for thrust, her nails digging into his shoulders, raking down his back, leaving lines of fire that mingled with the dull ache of his bruised ribs.
The pain was exquisite, the pleasure on a razor's edge.
"Yes, harder," she gasped, her voice breaking on a moan.
"Don't hold back, you bastard!"
He couldn't have held back if he tried.
The alleyway fight, the magic, the transmigration, the stress of it all was pouring out of him through his cock.
He grabbed her legs, hooking them over his elbows, spreading her wider, changing the angle so he could drive deeper.
*Ah, yes, harder*
She cried out, her head thrown back, the cords of her neck standing out, her breasts bouncing with every impact.
*This is living,* he thought, the words flashing through his mind like lightning.
*This is what it means to be real.*
He reached between her legs, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing it in rough, fast circles.
"Come for me, Greta," he ordered, his voice strained.
She shattered.
Her back bowed off the bed, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her pussy spasmed around him, milking him for all he was worth.
The sensation was too much.
He slammed into her one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and let go.
His orgasm ripped through him with the force of a physical blow, his vision whiting out.
He poured himself into her, pulse after pulse, emptying everything he had into her welcoming body.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing filling the room.
He collapsed on top of her, his weight pinning her to the mattress, too exhausted to move.
She didn't complain.
Her hand came up to stroke the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his sweaty hair.
"Okay," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.
"I'll tell you where the vampires are."