Title: Claim Day
Chapter 16: Puzzle
Tristan
I sat cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced precariously on my knees as I scrolled through the data. My makeshift living quarters, formerly a small storage room adjacent to my lab, wasn’t much, but it had a bed, a desk, and most importantly, privacy. I’d hung my collection of vintage periodic table posters on the walls, arranged my books in perfect alphabetical order on the metal shelving unit, and set up my computer workstation with dual monitors precisely aligned at 90-degree angles to each other. Order amid chaos.
The door opened with a soft click. Portia slipped in, her dark curls slightly disheveled, lab coat draped over one arm.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, hanging her coat on the hook I’d installed specifically for that purpose. “Ramona had us stay longer than expected. First day and all that.”
I nodded, not looking up from my screen. “Understandable. Initial protocols often require additional time for proper implementation.”
Portia kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my laptop. “We spent most of the day just getting up to speed on Ramona and Phoebe’s discoveries. The virus’s structure is fascinating. The way it integrates robin DNA with human neural tissue is unlike anything I’ve seen before.”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, still focused on my calculations.
“Did you talk to Gabriel?” she asked, leaning slightly to peek at my screen.
I felt a flash of irritation at the memory. “Yes. He made all of us wait for one hour before conducting interviews, despite being in his office the entire time. Highly inefficient.” I adjusted my glasses. “He appeared nervous. Fidgety. His right hand kept tapping against his thigh in an irregular pattern: 3–2–3–1–4. Very distracting.”
“And? Did he assign you a position?”
“Yes. I’ll be working with Team Three on neural pathway analysis. My background in molecular signaling pathways apparently makes me ‘uniquely qualified’ to help understand how the neural matrix communicates with the brain’s reward centers.” I frowned. “Though I fail to see why that couldn’t have been decided immediately rather than after forty-seven minutes of questioning.”
Portia shifted closer. “I heard something interesting today. Apparently, Gabriel’s wife has been claimed by his best friend. Maren Kephart mentioned it. She’s one of Duncan’s women on my team.”
I continued typing, the information registering but not eliciting any particular response. After several seconds of silence, I realized Portia was staring at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked.
She laughed, a warm sound that I’d always found pleasant, even before I claimed her. “You really are terrible at human stuff, aren’t you?” She moved closer, her shoulder now touching mine. Not quite cuddling, but the proximity was… nice.
“I am,” I admitted, finally setting my laptop aside. “The neural connections most people have, the ones that automatically process social cues and emotional contexts, mine are wired differently. It’s like everyone else is speaking a language I never fully learned. I can memorize the vocabulary and grammar, but I miss the idioms, the tone, the subtext.” I gestured vaguely. “People are puzzles with too many solutions.”
Portia tilted her head, studying me with an intensity I found both uncomfortable and intriguing. She shifted again, moving incrementally closer. “Am I easier to read now? Now that you own me?”
The question caught me off guard. I considered it carefully. “In some ways, yes. I don’t fully understand you, I never have, but your motivations are clearer now. Before, on the few instances where you were nice to me, I couldn’t tell if you were because you wanted something, or because social convention dictated it. Now…” I paused. “Now I know you want to please me. That’s your primary directive.”
She smiled, moving closer still. Her thigh pressed against mine now, and I felt my heart rate increase. “You’re right,” she said softly. “My motivations are pretty straightforward these days.” Her eyes studied my face, my posture, my hands. “But now I’m the one trying to read you, trying to figure out what your motivations are.”
Her gaze dropped to my lap, where my body was betraying my arousal with embarrassing obviousness. “Though some desires are clearer than others,” she added with a small smile.
I swallowed hard, uncertain how to proceed. This was new territory for me. Before the claiming, my interactions with Portia had been strictly professional, often contentious. Now she was in my bed, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher but that made my pulse quicken.
“You know,” she said, her voice lower now, “you don’t have to read my body language. You don’t have to interpret my facial expressions or guess what I’m thinking.” She placed a hand on my knee. “If you want, I can just tell you everything that’s going through my mind as it happens. I can narrate my thoughts, my feelings, my desires. And you can play with that information. Decide what to do with me.”
The offer was… intriguing. A solution to a problem that had plagued me my entire life.
“No conflict,” she continued. “No tension. No misunderstandings. Just clarity.”
Her hand moved higher, reaching for the button of my pants. “I can make it as easy for you as you want it to be.”
I watched, fascinated, as her fingers deftly unfastened my pants and lowered the zipper. My breath caught as she reached inside, her warm hand wrapping around my erection.
“Right now,” she said, her voice a mixture of clinical observation and something huskier, “I’m noticing how hard you are, how your pupils are dilating, how your breathing has changed. I’m feeling a sense of accomplishment knowing I’ve aroused you. I’m wondering if you want me to continue with my hand or if you’d prefer my mouth, or my pussy. I’m hoping you’ll tell me exactly what you want, because following your instructions will give me more pleasure than anything else could.”
The directness of her communication was exhilarating. For once, I didn’t have to guess, didn’t have to navigate the treacherous waters of unspoken expectations. She was giving me a map, complete with legend and compass.
I felt my heart hammering against my ribcage as Portia’s hand moved deliberately up and down my shaft. The sensation was overwhelming, unlike anything I’d experienced before.
“Is this good?” she asked, her eyes studying my face with scientific precision.
“Yes,” I managed to say, my voice strained. “Very good. Optimal, even.”
She smiled, continuing her rhythmic strokes. “How long has it been since someone’s done this for you?”
I hesitated, embarrassment warring with my natural inclination toward factual accuracy. “Never,” I admitted finally. “This is… unprecedented.”
Her hand paused momentarily. “Never? You mean you’re a virgin?”
I nodded, feeling heat rise to my face. “Sexual interactions require a level of social fluency I’ve never mastered. The protocols are ambiguous, the expectations unclear.”
“How long have you been thinking about me this way?” she asked, resuming her ministrations. “Was all that bickering hiding something more?”
I gasped as her thumb circled the sensitive head of my penis. “I… yes. I’ve thought about it. About you. But I never believed it was a realistic possibility.” I met her eyes briefly before looking away. “One doesn’t need advanced social cognition to recognize when someone despises them. You made your feelings quite clear.”
Portia laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine as she continued stroking me with one hand while unbuttoning her blouse with the other. “And now you’ve got a chance at anything you want with me. You own me, Tristan. I’m more than happy to let you do whatever that brilliant, dirty mind of yours has been dreaming about.”
She shrugged off her blouse, revealing a simple black bra that contrasted starkly with her warm brown skin. With practiced ease, she unhooked it, letting her breasts fall free. They were fuller than I’d imagined, with dark nipples that were already hardening in the cool air of the room.
“Do you want to touch them?” she asked, leaning forward slightly.
I reached out hesitantly, my hands trembling slightly as they made contact with her soft flesh. The texture was fascinating, both firm and yielding. I explored cautiously at first, then with growing confidence as she made small sounds of encouragement.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “You can be firmer if you want. Try using your thumbs on my nipples.”
I followed her instructions, watching with fascination as her nipples hardened further under my touch. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling more rapidly.
“You know,” she said, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone despite her continued attention to my erection, “it’s interesting that you’re working so hard, and having me work so hard, on a way to deprive yourself of me.” Her eyes searched mine. “Is that really what you want? We could leave together, you know. You could keep me forever.” Her lips curved into a smile. “I could even help you claim other women. There must be some still out there, unclaimed.”
Despite the pleasure clouding my thoughts, her suggestion registered clearly. I considered it with the same analytical approach I applied to all problems.
“The scientific challenge is the primary appeal,” I said, my voice uneven as she squeezed me particularly firmly. “Reverse-engineering the claiming mechanism presents a fascinating puzzle.”
“Is that what this all is to you?” she asked playfully, her free hand now working on removing her skirt. “A puzzle?”
“In part,” I admitted with a small smirk. “Though I acknowledge this current arrangement has its advantages.”
She stepped out of her skirt, standing before me in nothing but a pair of black panties that matched her discarded bra. “So claiming me was just a calculated risk? A way to access my skills while satisfying your urges?”
“Precisely.” I saw no reason to dissemble. “The opportunity presented itself, and I evaluated the potential benefits against the potential costs.”
“Aren’t you worried about how I’ll react once I’m free?” she asked, her tone more serious now. “Knowing what you did to me?”
I shrugged, though the gesture was somewhat undermined by the involuntary thrust of my hips as she continued her rhythmic stroking. “I’m aware of the risk. But that’s a problem for a future date. It has no bearing on present circumstances or my current intentions.”
Portia’s serious expression melted into a smirk. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and slid them down her legs, revealing the dark curls between her thighs. “Well then,” she said, climbing onto the bed and straddling my lap, “I’d better make sure this time you have owning me is worth whatever storm I might unleash on you later.” She positioned herself above me, her hand guiding my erection to her entrance. “The least I can do is solve that virginity problem for you.”
She sank down slowly, enveloping me in tight, wet heat. I gasped, my hands instinctively moving to her hips. The sensation was indescribable—far more intense than any solo activity I’d ever engaged in. My brain, usually so orderly and analytical, seemed to short-circuit, leaving only raw sensation.
“Oh,” I managed, the word more breath than sound.
“That’s it,” Portia murmured, beginning to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Just feel it. Don’t overthink.”
For perhaps the first time in my life, overthinking wasn’t an option. My usually hyperactive mind was overwhelmed by the physical sensations: the slick heat surrounding me, the weight of her on my lap, the sight of her breasts swaying gently with each movement.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on my shoulders as she established a steady pace. “Is this good?” she asked, her voice husky.
“Yes,” I gasped. “Extremely good. Beyond good.”
She smiled, increasing her tempo slightly. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Everything,” I said, the word bursting from me. “Too much. Not enough. I can’t… I don’t have the vocabulary for this.”
“That’s okay,” she whispered, leaning closer so her breasts brushed against my chest. “You don’t need words right now.”
She was right. Words were superfluous in the face of such overwhelming physical input. I surrendered to the sensation, my hands exploring her body with newfound confidence: the curve of her waist, the softness of her breasts, the firmness of her thighs as they gripped me.
Portia moved with increasing urgency, her breathing becoming more ragged. She guided one of my hands between her legs, showing me how to touch her in ways that made her gasp and shudder. The feedback was immediate and unambiguous, a refreshing change from the usual opacity of human interaction.
“I’m close,” she whispered, her inner muscles tightening around me. “Are you?”
I nodded frantically, unable to form coherent speech. The pressure was building, a tension coiling tighter and tighter at the base of my spine.
She leaned forward, her lips brushing my ear. “Then let go. Come for me, Tristan.”
The permission, or perhaps the command, was all it took. The tension broke, pleasure crashing through me in waves as I thrust upward, emptying myself inside her with a hoarse cry. Portia continued moving, drawing out my orgasm until I was gasping and oversensitive, before finally stilling.
For several moments, we remained joined, both breathing heavily. My mind, usually racing with calculations and observations, was blissfully quiet. There would be time later for analysis, for considering the implications of what we’d done. For now, I simply existed in the moment. A novel experience for someone who typically lived primarily in his own head.